Gene or Jean? - Part I.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 1 - It All Started in the Bathroom.

My name is Eugene, ‘Gene’ for short. I have three sisters who, when it all started, were 19 and 17, and 13. I was 15. I am the only boy. Mom and Dad must have had some kind of routine, since all of our birthdays are in August. I always view the Thanksgiving turkey with some suspicion - you do the math; how many months from Thanksgiving to August.

There are never enough bathrooms or hot water in a house occupied by three teenaged girls. Accordingly, I plan my bathroom visits with care around their expected bathroom use. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.

This time it didn’t. I was getting ready for bed and was in the shower when I heard the bathroom door open. I should have locked it, I thought. “Hey, I’m in the shower,” I shouted.

“That’s Okay,” my oldest sister Nancy, responded. “I won’t take too long.” In my family “not too long” is not only inexact but also relative,

“Yeah, but I’m through with my shower, and I want to get out and go to bed,” I said.

“Who’s stopping you?” was her rejoinder. “Just remember I’ve seen you naked lots of times.”

“But that was many years ago,” I protested.

“So?

“So get out.” I commanded. It didn’t work. I thought, what the heck, turned off the water, pulled back the shower curtain, and climbed out, stark naked and dripping wet. I quickly grabbed a towel, but not fast enough to prevent Nancy from seeing me in all of my glory.

She was leaning over the sink, doing something with her eyebrows. However, she was doing that while wearing my robe.

“My robe,” I sputtered. Nancy ignored me. “I need it,” I said. “How would you like it if I used your robe?”

“You’re welcome to it any time you want, it’s hanging on my closet door with my nightgown,” she said with a snicker. “In fact, maybe you should. You’d look cute in it.” Her robe was a filmy thing that was sort of see through, that she wore over her nightgown.

‘If that’s the way you want it, so be it.’ I thought, and holding my towel I headed for the bathroom door.

“Your towel should be tucked in around your armpits,” she said, “to cover your boobs.”

“But I don’t have any boobs,” I asserted.

My sister just chuckled. “But don’t you wish you did?”

On my way to my room, I passed Nancy’s bedroom. The door was open, and hanging from her closet door was the aforesaid robe and the nightgown that goes with it. A wicked impulse, driven from her comments about her robe, drove me into her room. I picked up her robe and nightgown. The felt so smooth and soft. My wicked impulse also drove me to put both on. Wow, what a reaction. I now knew why my sisters liked these kind of robes and nightgowns. Suitably, or maybe unsuitably, attired, I went back into the bathroom. My sister was still there.

I really had to use the toilet. “I’ve got to pee,” I announced.

“No one’s stopping you,” she answered. So I stood in front of the toilet, and started to pull up the hem of the nightgown. “No!” she loudly asserted, “If you’re going to wear my nightgown, you have to sit while you pee.”

So I sat down on the toilet,

“You know, you look really cute in my nightgown and peignoir,” Nancy exclaimed, “You’re welcome to wear the nightgown to bed. Just don’t get any stains on it.”

I just gave her a dirty look. As chance would have it, my other sisters, Emma and Gloria, were passing the bathroom at that time and heard the exchange between Nancy and me. Uninvited, they entered the bathroom. It was a tight fit and the door could not be closed.

“My, oh my,” Emma exclaimed, “doesn’t that look nice!”

There wasn’t enough room for me to stand, so I stayed sitting on the toilet with the nightgown draped around me. “He’s going to wear the nightgown to bed tonight,” Nancy said, “so I’ll just keep his robe.”

“Wait just a blinking minute,” I complained, “I’m not wearing this to bed, and I want my robe back. Anyway, I have my pajamas in my room, so you can have this stupid nightgown and robe back in a minute.”

“Gloria,” Nancy said, “you know what to do,”

Gloria chuckled and quickly exited the bathroom. I shortly found out that she had taken and hidden all of my pajamas. When this was disclosed, Emma said with a smirk on her face, “Well, Gene, I guess that you don’t have a choice now, Enjoy your night in a nightgown,” and with this parting shot all of my sisters exited the bathroom, chuckling. I was so flustered that I didn’t contemplate any alternatives to my pajamas.

With the bathroom finally all to myself, I turned to look in the mirror. The nightgown had narrow lace shoulder straps, with lace trim at the neckline and hem. The rest of it was smooth satin like material. It actually didn’t look too bad, except for my lack of boobs. I then went back to my room and climbed into bed.

Chapter 2 - The Morning After.

The next day was a Saturday, so no one had to get up early. My parents were out of town for the weekend, and had put Nancy in charge of the household, which I thought was like having Dracula guarding the blood bank. When I got out of bed, I could feel the hem of the nightgown swish around my calves, which was not a bad feeling. Not having my own robe, I put on Nancy’s peignoir.

When I went downstairs, all of my sisters were in the kitchen. Nancy was fixing breakfast, still wearing my robe. “I want my robe back, NOW!” I demanded.

Nancy chuckled, “But I need it.” she said.

I turned to Gloria. “Where are my pajamas?”

She chuckled. “Somewhere.” she said.

I was really aggravated. “I’m going upstairs to get dressed,” I declared.

“If you do, you’re not getting your robe or pajamas back,” Emma declared.

Faced with the evil cabal of my sisters, I plopped down in a chair at the table. My action provoked a response from Emma, “That’s not how a lady sits down in a chair. First, you smooth out the back of your nightgown under you and then sit gently on the front of the chair with your back straight.”

“But I’m not a lady,” I complained.

“But with a little help you could look like one,” Emma responded. Her comment met with a murmur of approval from my other sisters.

Suddenly there was a flash of light. It was Gloria with a camera. “This will look great on the bulletin board at school,” she commented.

Emma stood behind me and began to fiddle with my hair. I have honey blond hair that comes down to my shoulders. “Maybe a french twist,” she said.

Gloria left the room and returned with a comb and hair brush, which Emma used on my hair. “You really should use a conditioner,” Emma commented, “it would make your hair more attractive.”

“I don’t want attractive hair,” I complained. At this time, I vowed to myself to get a haircut today.

“Sit still,” Emma commanded, “or those photos will be emailed to all of your friends, including Sandy,” Sandy was a girl I really liked.

Faced with unfavorable consequences, I sat still and let Emma do what she would with my hair. After a few minutes, she handed me a mirror, and said, “It’s a french twist. How do you like it”

“I don’t,” I responded.

“But it looks so cute,” Gloria said.

I had enough. “When Mom and Dad come home, they’re going to hear about this,” I threatened .

“And if we tell them that we caught you wearing Nancy’s nightgown and peignoir?” Emma responded.

“You wouldn’t lie to them, would you?” I rejoined.

“Well, we caught you, in a sense, and you are wearing Nancy’s nightgown and Peignoir, so it wouldn’t be a total lie, just a little bending of the truth,” Emma argued.

“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” I announced, “now let me get dressed.”

“No, we’re not finished yet,” Emma said, and with that she put a box of makeup on the table.

When I saw it and recognized what it was and it’s intended use, I shouted, “No way!”

The camera flashed again. I could see blackmail in the works. Emma told me to turn my head, and began to apply some mascara and eye shadow. Then she did something with an eyebrow pencil and crowned it all by applying some lip color. Another flash from the camera. Emma handed me the mirror to let me see the finished product.

I had to admit to myself, that I didn’t look bad. “Okay, now you’ve had your fun, I want to take off this stupid nightgown,” I announced.

“Okay,” Nancy said, “but on our terms, not yours. Let’s go up to my room.”

When we were all in her room, Nancy handed me a pair of pink panties with lace trim and a little rose in the front. “Put these on, and you can take off the nightgown,” she said. So I put on the panties and took off the nightgown. Emma, who was behind me, put a bra around my chest and fastened it. She rolled up some pantyhose which she put in the cups of the bra. This was followed with a half slip, a short denim skirt, and a sleeveless blouse. Everything more or less fit, because Nancy and I are about the same size. Nancy then produced a pair of shoes which almost fit.

“Don’t even think about changing clothes,” Emma said while making a menacing gesture with the camera, “Go downstairs and wait in the living room.” With that, we went downstairs

One by one my sisters left to get dressed. When we all reassembled in the living room, I noted that they were all wearing jeans. “How come I’m the only one wearing a skirt?” I questioned.

“To let you show off your legs,” was the response, “and you do have good looking legs.”

“How long am I going to have to wear these stupid clothes,” I complained.

“As long as we want you to,” Emma responded.

“With you three, that could be all day,” I complained.

“All day? Now that’s a great idea, Gene,” Nancy said, “thank you for the suggestion.”

“NO,” I moaned, but by now I was getting used to the skirt and blouse. In fact, I liked the way they felt, not that I would ever admit it to the evil cabal.

Chapter 3 - Girl lessons.

My sisters then decided that I had to learn how to walk and act like a girl, a process which dragged into the afternoon, by which time I was actually beginning to like wearing a skirt. However I lived with a fear that someone would drop by and see me like this. Then came something worse.

“Maybe we should take Jean to the mall, so she doesn’t have to borrow my clothes,” suggested Nancy.

“You know, you don’t have to pick out a girl name, Emma volunteered, “just remember, when we call you Jean, it’s spelled J E A N.”

I wanted to put a stop to all of this. “I don’t think that Dad will like this,” I announced.

“I don’t know,” said Nancy, “he might think you’re kinda cute.”

“Jean IS cute,” responded Emma, “she looks a lot like you, Nancy, and you are definitely cute.”

“Well, Mom won’t like it,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” Nancy commented, “Don’t you remember all the times Mom dressed you like a girl for Halloween? I think she’d like to see you as a girl.”

So I remained dressed as a girl until I remembered that Nancy had a date that evening, and he should be arriving soon. “Look, give me a break,” I said, “Nancy’s date will be here soon, and I don’t want him to see me like this,” and I gave the skirt a little flip.

My sisters finally relented, and I went up to my room. With nothing better to do, I turned on my computer and played games until it was time to go to bed. ‘Oops,’ I thought, ‘I don’t have anything to wear to bed except for that stupid nightgown.’ I suppose that I could have used my ingenuity and found a sweat suit to use as pajamas, but I actually looked forward to the way the nightgown felt, so I put it on. While so attired, I thought that I might like a glass of milk and some cookies as a bedtime snack, so I put on the peignoir and went downstairs.

Emma and Gloria seemed to have the same idea, so we shared a plate of cookies and drank some milk. “You know, you really do look cute,” Emma said. I just grunted a reply. “Before you go to bed, you should remove your makeup and let your hair down.” I had forgotten that I was still wearing makeup and that my hair was still in a french twist.

“How do I get this stuff off?” I asked.

“Let me show you,” responded Emma, and she did.

When I woke up the next morning, I noticed that my robe was hanging in my closet, and my pajamas were neatly placed on top of my dresser. I have to admit that it was with a bit of reluctance that I took off the nightgown. I had liked sleeping in it. However, I took it off, grabbed my robe and headed to the bathroom for a shower and shave. Once dressed, I headed downstairs.

It was like yesterday never happened, None of my sisters even hinted at what had happened, although I did note a bit of a smirk on Emma’s face. Today was Sunday, and that meant going to Church. A main motivation for me was that Sandy might be there.

Chapter 4 - A ‘Girl’ Day.

A few weeks later the parents were again going to be away for the weekend. That Friday night, as I was getting undressed for bed, I noticed that the nightgown and peignoir were laid out on my bed. I couldn’t resist putting them on, and I then went downstairs for a bed time snack.

“You win,” Nancy said to Emma.

“Won what?” I asked.

“Emma bet that you would wear the nightgown and peignoir, and I bet that you wouldn’t,” Nancy replied.

“You like the way they feel, don’t you?” suggested Emma.

“Yeah, I do,” I admitted.

* * *

The next morning I went downstairs for breakfast, still wearing the nightgown and peignoir. All of my sisters were there, with sneaky smiles on their faces. It was then I noticed that there was a box of makeup, combs and a hairbrush on the table. “How about a girl day, Jean?” Emma asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” I replied.

“Then how come you’re wearing a nightgown and peignoir?” asked Gloria.

“I donno,” I answered. I didn’t want to admit that I liked wearing them.

My sisters wouldn’t let it drop, and I finally outwardly relented to another ‘girl’ day, but at the same time secretly enjoying it.

“First order of business is Jean’s body hair. It has to go,” announced Nancy. So I was given a container of hair remover, and told to follow the instructions. I was also given some shampoo and some conditioner, both of which had a perfume smell. When I stepped out of the shower, Nancy was waiting for me with a pair of pink panties with lace trim and a pink terry cloth robe. Emma handed me a towel.

“Pat yourself dry, don’t rub.”

I held the towel in front of me. “How about some privacy?” I asked.

“Girls aren’t modest in front of other girls, was Emma’s response, so I did as I was told.

As I was putting on the panties, Nancy suggested that I tuck a certain part of my anatomy back. After this, I was standing wearing the robe and with a towel wrapped around my wet hair.

“Slippers,” Gloria announced, “she needs a pair of slippers.”

“I have just the pair,” Emma announced and went to her room.. She returned with a pair of slippers decorated with some kind of feathers, and with a bit of a high heel. Naturally, they were pink. My sisters had picked out some clothes for me, which included a denim skirt the hem of which was halfway up my thighs, a long sleeved cotton blouse with ruffles in the front, tan pantyhose, a pink bra, and Nancy’s shoes.

“The ruffles help hide your lack of boobs,” Emma said helpfully, and she then began stuffing the bra.

While this was going on, Nancy was blow drying my hair and brushing it out. After Emma had finished fussing with my bra, she started applying makeup to my face. “Just a little mascara, lip gloss, and some work with the eyebrow pencil,” she declared.

At last I was allowed to look in a mirror. Although I would never admit it, I liked the way I looked. More importantly, I liked the way I felt. I was beginning to enjoy this, and I smiled at my image in the mirror.

Gloria caught this. “She must like it,” she crowed, “I saw her smile.”

The heels took a bit of getting used to, but I made my way safely to the kitchen.

“Okay, sis, You ready to do some shopping?” Nancy asked. I just nodded my head.

Emma found a jacket for me to wear, and my sisters and I piled into Nancy’s car.

I enjoyed the shopping trip, the attention which I received from my sisters made me feel pampered. At the end, I acquired two skirts, three blouses, two tops, a pair of skinny jeans, a belt, three pantyhose, two panties and a bra.

“There’s a special at one of the cosmetics counters,” Nancy announced, “let’s get her some of her own makeup.” The sales lady at the cosmetics counter was most helpful and I acquired a bag of cosmetics along with some helpful hints on applying it. The last stop was at a discount shoe store, where I acquired a pair of black flats, a pair of low heels in shiny black, and a pair of casual shoes.

Chapter 5 - Caught.

When we arrived home, we saw my parents’ car in the driveway. “Okay,” I said with some self-satisfaction, “I’ll let you explain what is going on to our parents.” I could see Mother looking at us through a window. She met us at the door.

“Is that you, Eugene?” she queried. I just gave her a weak smile. “Nancy, Emma, Gloria, suppose you tell me what’s going on here.”

“Isn’t she pretty?” Emma asked.

“She is,” Mother answered, “but that doesn’t answer my question. What have you done to your brother?”

“We were just having some fun, and we wanted to see which of us she resembles most.” Nancy explained.

“And?” Mother asked.

“Nancy.” Emma responded.

“I could see that with my own eyes.” Mother said, “My question still is ‘why’?” She turned to me. “How much of this was your idea?” I just mumbled some incomprehensible sounds in response. With that she noticed the bags from the stores.

“What’s in the bags?” she demanded.

“Some clothes,” Nancy said in a quiet voice.

“Whose?” Mother asked, only to see downcast eyes and no audible answer. Undaunted, Mother pressed on, “Your brother’s?” Emma just nodded. “Let me see,” she demanded, and my sister unloaded the bags on the kitchen table. “I don’t see any boy’s clothes here,” she commented.

Mother began to pick up each item and examine it. “I do admire your taste in clothes. But right now I want to talk with your brother, privately. You three go to your rooms and stay there until I call for you.” My sisters trooped up the stairs.

“Okay, Eugene,” she said, “tell me your side of what’s going on here.” By her use of my full first name meant that I was in trouble. Softly, and a little shamefully, I recounted the events which had started in the bathroom with Nancy, and ending with today’s shopping trip.

“So, why?” she asked, and I recounted the taking of pictures and the girls’ threats to publish them on social media. “Did you let a little blackmail cow you into doing all of this? I’m disappointed that you didn’t come to me when it started, You should know that I would have put an immediate stop to it.”

“Yeah, but,” I countered, “they said that you would believe them and not me.”

“And you believed them?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” I responded.

“There’s got to be more to this than you’ve told me,” Mother declared. “Answer me truthfully. You like dressing up as a girl, don’t you?”

Unable to answer, I just nodded my head.

“How long have you wanted to do this?”

“Ever since you dressed me as a girl for Halloween,” I answered.

“So, are you trying to blame me?” she said angrily.

“No, I’m not blaming anyone. I can’t help how I feel.”

“I want you to go to your room while I discuss this with your Father,” she commanded, “and take these clothes with you. I want them neatly put away in your dresser, or neatly hung up in your closet. By the way, keep on the clothes you are wearing until I say otherwise. Now go!”

I trudged up the stairs, only to be met by my sisters in the hall. “What happened?” whispered Nancy.

“Mon’s going to talk to Dad about this,” I whispered back, “I think we’re all in trouble.”

“I think that we should all obey Mom and stay in our rooms,” Nancy observed.

“Are you going to change?” Emma asked.

“Mom told me not to,” I whispered back.

With that we all retired to our respective rooms, to await our fates.

Chapter 6 - Consequences.

About a half an hour after being sent to our rooms, we heard our Mother summon us to come down to the living room. Dad had an unhappy look on his face but said nothing as we entered the room. Mother, as chief prosecutor, had us stand lined up by age. “Your Father and I are disgusted and disappointed with all of you, and here is what we are going to do about it.”

At this time, my Father spoke up, “I’m disappointed in you, Gene, for letting this happen. Further, I’m disgusted that you would want to dress as a girl. So, here’s what’s going to happen to you. You will dress in girls’ clothes except when you are at school or in church. I hope that will discourage your cross-dressing by getting it out of your system. We’re grounding you partly as a punishment, but mainly because I don’t want you galavnting around town in a skirt or dress. I’m afraid of the consequences of people seeing you as a girl, so your grounding is partly to protect you.

Now was not the time for me to say that being made to dress as a girl was hardly punishment; it was something I wanted to do, so I kept my own counsel.

Mother then focused on my sisters. “As you girls probably surmised, you are all grounded indefinitely,” Mother asserted. While your Father is disgusted with Gene’s cross-dressing, both of us are really angry that you attempted to blackmail your brother, regardless of the fact that he was so stupid to let you get away with it. I want you to know that any current or future hints of blackmail will be dealt with severely. Now, your Father will accompany each of you, one at a time, to collect your cell phones and any cameras which you might have. They are to be considered to be contraband, and if any of you fail to surrender all cameras and cell phones, your possession of contraband will be dealt with in a severe manner.”

She paused for a few seconds, and then said, “Nancy, go with your father and give him all cameras and cell phones.” As Nancy and Father left the room, Mother glared at the rest of us, and commanded, “You three stand where you are, and no talking with each other.”

One by one we all accompanied Dad while he collected our cell phones and cameras, all of which were deposited on the coffee table. Mother had kept us standing in a straight line, with no talking. She then stood next to Father and delivered an additional edict. “Your Father and I, knowing you to be clever children, suspect that you have uploaded some of the pictures to the hard drives of your computers. To prevent any dissemination of the illegal photographs, your Father has disconnected the wireless router,” she announced. With that Dad held up the wireless router. “We will attach anti-theft devices to all of your computers, to prevent you from taking them to a free wi-fi location.” she added. “Now, under your Father’s supervision, you will delete any photos of Eugene in a ‘compromising’ position which you have on your hard drives. When this is done, you will swear that you have no further photos. If it later turns out that some of these photos turn up, the consequences to all of you will be severe. Is all of this perfectly clear to you?” My sisters and I mumbled our assent.

Mother was not finished. “I want you to voluntarily delete any offending photos from your digital cameras and cell phones. Your Father and I will supervise this, starting with Nancy. Nancy, pick up your phone and any camera you have used in the last six months. The rest of you can sit down, separated from each other, and there will be no talking.”

The process of purging the photos took all the rest of the day and evening. I can honestly say that all of us were sufficiently afraid on the consequences that we deleted all of the prohibited photographs. When this was done, Mother had a final order, “All of you will promise that you will not take any photos of Eugene, without prior permission and supervision from either your Father or me. By the way, Eugene, that includes any ‘selfies’ you might take of yourself.” With that we were dismissed to go to bed immediately.

* * *

The next morning Mother marched into my room, unannounced and without first knocking. She immediately went to the closet to see that my girl clothes were properly hung up. She then went to my dresser to make sure that my other girl clothes were properly put away. “Okay, Eugene,” she finally said, “since you seem to like wearing skirts and dresses so much, every afternoon after school you will dress completely as a girl, under garments included, and remain that way until you go to bed. When you go to bed you will wear a nightgown. On the weekends, you will completely dress as a girl, except when you go to church. Is that clear?” I gave her my assent. “Nancy will supervise your compliance with this rule, and report any infraction. If Nancy fails to inspect you every day after school and at bed time, you will have to report her failing to either your Father or to me.”

The severity of the measures imposed by my mother were sufficient to cast a prison like gloom over the household for the next week. By the next Saturday Mom and Dad appeared to be satisfied that all blackmail photos had been located and deleted from our computers. However, my sisters and I all noted that before deleting any photos, Dad had copied them to a thumb drive. We wondered what he did with them.

Gradually, our cell phones were returned to us, and we were allowed limited relief from the grounding order, mainly to be able to attend after school activities. We were allowed to study with classmates, either at their house or ours. A few days later the wireless router was reconnected.

The next weekend the grounding edict was lifted and life more or less returned to normal, or at least as normal as can be expected in a house with four teenagers. On Saturday morning Mother took me aside.

“I’m no longer going to require that you wear girls’ clothes when at home, but, tell me, honestly, if you like wearing them?” she asked.

“Well, sorta,” I mumbled.

“Okay, get your sisters back in this room,” she commanded. When we were all assembled, she said, “Gene no longer has to wear girl’s clothes, that is, unless he wants to. To make sure that there is no undue coercion, I will have to approve of the same in advance. Now as to what Gene may wear; it must be modest, not tarted up. I was going to suggest that he wear nothing more risque than what you girls wear, but I realized if I said that you would dress like a bunch of hookers just to get Gene to look the same. So, here it is, Gene may only dress as you would when going to church. Do you understand? I want you to obey the spirit of what I have just said; no looking for loopholes.”

At that time I was wearing a skirt and blouse. “May I keep these on?” I asked Mother.

“As long as you like,” she responded, “but you might not want to while you Father is around, because he doesn’t like it.”

“How about at night?” asked Emma, “she, I mean he, has been wearing one of Nancy’s nightgowns when you were away, can he wear that?”

“If he wants to,” Mother answered, “Nancy,” she continued, “are you able to spare a nightgown?”

“No problem,” responded Nancy.

“Maybe we should buy Gene his own nightgowns,” Mother replied.

“She, I mean he, likes to wear a matching peignoir,” rejoined Emma.

“We can get him a matching peignoir,” Mother added with a smirk.

“I want to make sure that no one knows about this,” I interjected.

Mother laughed at this, and said, with a touch of sarcasm, “You mean that when you went shopping with your sisters you managed to become invisible?”

“That was different,” I responded, “everyone thought I was a girl.”

“And your point is?” Mother propounded.

“I don’t want any of the kids at school to know, I answered, “especially Sandy.”

So, everything returned to an even keel, at least for a time.

Chapter 7 - My Secret is Discovered.

Even though I didn’t dress as a girl for the majority of the time, I did like the way panties felt when I wore them, and frequently I would wear panties under my male clothes. This was all well an good until that fateful day. I had invited Sandy over to study french pronunciation from a program on my computer. I was wearing pink lace trimmed panties under my jeans, and somehow one of the cables for the computer became unplugged, and I bent over to plug it back in. Sandy was sitting next to me, and my jeans were a bit low on me, When I bent over Sandy spotted the waist band of my panties.

“What are you wearing?” she announced.

“Nothing,” I responded.

“No, it’s not ‘nothing,’ it looks like you are wearing panties under your jeans,” and with that she pulled up my t-shirt, exposing the entire waistband of my pink panties.

“You are wearing panties,” Sandy exclaimed, “Why?”

“I’m being punished,” I temporized.

“For what?”

“I’d rather not say,” I answered.

This bothered Sandy, and when she went downstairs to get some refreshments, Mother was in the kitchen, and noticed concern on Sandy’s face. “What’s the matter, dear?” she asked.

“Gene said that he’s being punished, but won’t tell me why,” Sandy responded, “it’s not like Gene to keep secrets from me.”

“He’s not being punished,” Mother responded.

“Then why is he being made to wear panties under his male clothes?”

“Oh, he is?” Mother responded, “just wait a minute,” and with that she called out, loud enough to wake the dead,” Eugene, come down here this minute!”

“Oh (bad word),” I said to myself, “I’m in deep (same bad word) now.” With that, I walked down to the kitchen.

Mother got right to the point. “Why did you tell Sandy that you’re being punished and have to wear panties under your jeans?”

“I donno,” I mumbled. A moment of silence followed.

“Why don’t you tell the truth? You know that your Father and I despise lying.” Mother asserted. She waited for my answer, but I said nothing.

“Why don’t you tell Sandy that you like wearing girls’ clothes?” she said, since I had not answered her previous question.

“Is that true?” Sandy said with a look of incredulity on her face.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I mumbled. I could imaging Sandy running out of the house, never to be seen with me ever again.

It didn’t happen. Rather, Sandy asked, “Could I see?”

“You have my permission,” said my Mother. “When he wants to dress as a girl, he has to get my permission first,” Mother confided to Sandy, “but you’ve got to promise to keep this a secret.”

“Okay,” answered Sandy.

“Why don’t you go to your room and get dressed?” Mother asked.

“Can I watch?” asked Sandy.

“Only if I’m also in the room,” said Mother. So all three of us went to my room. After undressing except for my panties, I went to my dresser and retrieved a bra and camisole, and some foam rubber breast forms which I had fashioned for myself. I put on the bra without any problem, inserted the faux breast forms and pulled the camisole over my head.

“He did that pretty quickly,” Sandy observed, “I bet that this is not the first time.”

I responded with a frown, and then went to my closet. Sandy stood up and moved next to me. In the back rack of my closet were my girl clothes. Sandy made humming noises when she saw the clothes. “May I pick something out for you to wear?” and without waiting for an answer she picked out a red and blue plaid kilt and a sheer white sleeveless blouse with ruffles.

“I have to wear a slip and pantyhose with that skirt and blouse,” I commented, and went back to my dresser where I took out a slip and pantyhose. I sat on my bed and gathered the legs of the pantyhose in a rose and slipped one foot in, after which I brought it up and did the other foot in a similar fashion, followed by pulling them up to my waist and then smoothed them on my legs. This caused a reaction, and I turned around so my back was to Sandy and tucked a part of my anatomy back between my legs.

“It’s obvious that you’ve done this before,” commented Sandy. I just grunted in response.

“Girls don’t grunt,” my mother said reprovingly. I just gave her a dirty look back as I put on my slip, and adjusted it. I then put on my blouse, and wrapped the kilt around me and fastened it, I then pulled up the hem of the kilt, reached under it, and pulled the tails of my blouse down to make it fit correctly. I returned to the closet and, squatting down, not bending at the waist, I took out my pair of flats, which I then put on.

“No heels?” asked Sandy.

“SHE is more comfortable with flats,” Mother answered, with emphasis on the female pronoun, “but maybe you should wear your heels for Sandy.” I changed into the heels. I walked back to the center of the room.

“Wow, you handle those heels well,” commented Sandy.

“Practice,” Mother commented, making sure that there was no doubt that I had dressed this way on prior occasions.

“I like the way her butt sways when she walks,” commented Sandy, now adopting the female pronoun.

“Okay, you two,” I said, “are you satisfied? May I change back to my regular clothes?” With that I sat on the bed, first smoothing my kilt under my bottom, and gracefully sitting on the edge of the bed, with my back straight, as I was taught.

Sandy chuckled. “The way you put you girl clothes on and move in them, I’d say that what you are wearing are your ‘regular’ clothes. Don’t you agree?” she said to my Mother.

“You saw what I saw,” my Mother commented. “Actions speak louder than words. Keep on what you are wearing.”

Mother suggested that we return to the kitchen for a snack. As we were walking to the kitchen, there was some hardwood floor which we had to cross, Naturally, my heels made the unmistakable clicking sound, which caught the attention of my sisters. I heard a snickering sound behind me, only to discover that my sisters, one by one had entered the kitchen..While they said nothing, the smirks on their faces said it all.

“I had nothing to do with this,” my Mother said in the way of a lame excuse, “I only gave my permission. All of this was Sandy’s idea.”

“I saw that she was wearing panties under her jeans, and one thing led to another,” Sandy said to my sisters.

Emma finally spoke, “She is a good looking girl, isn’t she?”

“Why don’t you give us a twirl,” suggested Nancy. I frowned at her.

“Yes, please,” said Sandy, enjoying every minute of my discomfort. “And, yes, she is good looking. Maybe she would look better with some makeup and her hair fixed in a girl style,” Sandy added, “I’d like to see the whole look.”

“Jean,” Gloria asked, “where are you hiding your makeup and hair stuff?”

“Yeah, where?” added Nancy. Mother looked at me, expecting an answer.

“In a box, top shelf of my closet,” I said with reluctance. Gloria went upstairs and returned with the aforesaid box, after which Nancy attacked my hair and Emma started with the makeup.

“Day or evening look?” enquired Emma.

“Go for evening,” responded Nancy.

“Don’t I have a say in this?” I asked.

“No,” answered Emma, who then turned to Sandy and said, “She’s pretty good at applying her own makeup, but on this occasion she can’t be trusted to do an ‘evening’ job.”

When Nancy and Emma were finished, I remained silent, stood up and clicked my way to the full length mirror in the hall. What I saw was a good looking teenage girl all dressed up for a date. While in the hall, I heard Nancy tell Sandy, “The best part is that her girl name sounds just like ‘Gene’ only it’s spelled differently.

“Why don’t you two finish your studying,” Mother suggested, “and then we can go out for pizza. My treat. Girls,” she said to my sisters, “why don’t you get a little more dolled up?”

She took Sandy aside, and whispered, “His Father and I hope that this is a phase which he will outgrow if we let him dress like this.” She was wrong.

Dinner at the pizza place was more or less normal, but only if a bunch of boys leering at us was normal, which my sisters assured me was indeed normal. “Mom being here restrains the boys somewhat,” Nancy confided to me.

For our next study session, Sandy insisted that ‘Jean’ be her study partner. I complied with her request, and was rewarded with some kisses. I told Sandy that when dressed as ‘Jean’ I tried to avoid my Father, since he did not approve.

Like a genie, or should I say ‘Jeanie,’ once being released from her bottle, wasn’t going to be ignored or forced back in the bottle. A part of me, which I genuinely enjoyed, was now free.

Gene or Jean? - Part 2 - French Class.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 8 - The Project for French Class.

Author’s Note: Some of the dialog that follows would naturally be spoken in the French language, but all of it is presented in English.

I was in the college prep program in high school, and had elected to take French to fulfill my language requirement. By my second year I was beginning to enjoy learning French. Part of that was due to the teacher, Mademoiselle Vert. Roughly translated, her name in English would be “Miss Green.’ Mlle Vert, aside from being very attractive, was a superb teacher, and this made her classes interesting.

My Aunt Lucille by marriage was originally from Quebec and spoke French. Since she and my uncle now lived only a short distance away, I was able to practice my French with her from time to time. In addition to this, she had a collection of what I loosely called French ‘cabaret’ or ‘art’ songs, some of which are hauntingly beautiful. With my Aunt’s help, I acquired recordings of many of these songs, along with scores and lyrics. I really liked Plaisir D’Amour written by Jean Paul Martini in the 18th century and Parlez-Moi D’Amour which was written in 1930 by Jean Lenoir. Among my other talents, I could play the piano and easily sight read most scores. I also had a good singing voice, if maybe a little higher than most of the other boys in the school.

One day, Mlle Vert announced that each student was to do a project as part of the grade. The scope of the projects was quite broad; it just had to be about France or the French language. Naturally all projects were to be presented to the class, and the use of English was forbidden. I knew immediately that I wanted to sing either Plaisir D’Amour or Parlez-Moi D’Amour or both. My Aunt was excited when I told her about the project. “You already know the accompaniment and melody,” My Aunt said, “but, mon cheri, your pronounciation must be perfect. Unfortunately,”she added, “my pronunciation is what is used in Quebec, not Paris.”

I finally decided on Parlez-Moi D’Amour, and submitted an outline of my project to Mlle. Vert. “That sounds wonderful,” she said and then added with a wicked grin on her face, “so are you going to dress up as Lucienne Boyer when you sing it?”

I frowned, “Hardly,” I replied, “a male may sing it.”

“But it would be wonderful if you did it as Lucienne Boyer, since she made it famous,” she said.

It was then that I noticed that Sandy had overheard that conversation. I hoped that she either didn’t understand what was said, or would just ignore it.

I decided to change the subject. “Could we get a piano or keyboard for this room?” I asked.

“I’ll see if we can,” she replied.

Shortly after choosing my project, I happened to mention it to Sandy, and we met at lunch to talk about our projects. Sandy didn’t mention what she had overheard about me dressing like Lucienne Boyer, and I most certainly wasn’t going to.

I asked about her project. Sandy had decided to do a presentation on French fashions.

“Do you have a color printer?” she asked.

“Yeah, why?” I answered.

“Because my printer is only black and white, and I want to print out pictures of fashions, and they will look better if in color,” she replied.

“How about Saturday afternoon?” I asked, “And you can hear my song.”

“That sounds great,” she said with a smile.

* * *

That Saturday I met Sandy at the door, with my sisters hovering around in the background. I had told them of Sandy’s project, and they were interested. As for my project, they couldn’t seem to care, since I was always singing and playing the piano. Sandy asked about the song I was singing and I showed her the score. It had a picture of Lucienne Boyer on the cover. I then played a recording of Lucienne Boyer singing the song. Hearing a female voice, my sisters suddenly became interested.

“So you’re going to sing a girl’s song?” Gloria asked with a snicker.

“It’s not a girl song or a boy song,” I instructed her, “both females and males have recorded it.”

“But are you going to sing it as a girl?” Gloria asked, ignoring what I previously said.

I just gave her a dirty look in response.

However, Sandy picked up on this exchange. “Didn’t Mlle. Vert suggest that you dress up like Lucienne Boyer when you sing it?” she interjected. Now my sisters were as interested in my project as a bunch of vultures looking at a fresh kill. This conversation was quickly getting out of control.

I tried to calm things down. “She said it as a joke,” I asserted.

“But you admit that she suggested it,” said Emma, with a wicked smile on her face.

“She wasn’t serious,” I said.

“How can you be sure?” Emma said, “after all, you do make a pretty girl.”

“As good looking as I am,” chimed in Nancy.

Sandy gave me a questioning look. “Just ignore them,” I told her, “we’ve got to work on our projects.” Finally, my sisters went away.

Chapter 9 - Preparations.

I found out from Mlle. Vert that she could not get a piano or keyboard for her classroom. “Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll record the piano track to a CD and we can use a CD player for my project. I’ll still be live for the vocals.”

I began to work on my vocal range. Because I had not been doing a lot of singing, my range had shrunk. Only a lot of practice would do the trick. I decided to transpose the score to my highest tesseratura possible. This turned out to be a high tenor, or maybe a low alto. I liked a husky sound for my voice on this song.

Getting the correct vocal range was a minor problem compared with getting the pronunciation correct. This involved working with my aunt and listening to recordings time and time again.

Finally I had the music and pronunciation down pat. Only the presentation was still up in the air. My preference was to sing it as a man. I could wear black slacks, a black long sleeved turtleneck top, a black vest, left open and a black beret. I already had the slacks. I hoped to find a vest at the thrift store. I would have to buy the turtleneck, but I could use it when I dressed as a girl, same with the beret.

On the other hand, there was the image I had conjured up when listening to Lucienne Boyer’s recording. In my mind I could imagine it being late at night and being in a cellar nightclub in Paris, dark and smoky, where a beautiful chanteuse would come out from behind a curtain and sing one of these songs. I could imagine it was 1930 with Lucienne Boyer singing Parlez-Moi D’Amour.

Then there was hard reality. Unfortunately my presentation would take place in a high school classroom, with florescent lights, and obviously no tobacco smoke in the air. Furthermore, there was no beautiful chanteuse. I would be the one doing the singing, and I was no Lucienne Boyer.

I related all of this to Mlle. Vert, and told her I would prefer to sing it as a man. The alternative just seemed to be too difficult. My image of 1930 Paris didn’t comport with reality. “That is a beautiful image you created, mon cheri,” she said. “You know, I can get some room dividers to create a back stage area. We can turn off the lights and move the chairs so the light from the windows would shine on our pretend stage. You could start your CD of the accompaniment, and step out from behind the room dividers, and sing.”

“I guess that would be the best that we can do,” I said, “we’ll just not mention that we are pretending it’s 1930, and not mention Lucienne Boyer. I’m sure that none of the other students have ever heard the song before, let alone have heard Mlle. Boyer sing.”

“I don’t know,” Mlle. Vert said, “there was a movie some years ago where a boy was transported back in time to the 1930's in Paris, and Parlez-Moi D’Amour was part of the sound track.”

“I remember seeing the movie,” I said, “that’s probably where I got my image. However, I checked out the soundtrack and the song was an instrumental. No vocals.”

“Anyway,” I added with a cynical smile, “I presume that my grade on the project will greatly depend on how well I pronounce the lyrics, and not on the quality of my voice, or what I wear.” Mlle. Vert just smiled.

Mlle. Vert wasn’t going to let my image of 1930's Paris go. “When I was a little girl, my Grandmother had a recording of the song, sung by Lucienne Boyer, and I listened to it time and time again, and fell in love with it. I too had an image to go along with the song, and that image included Lucienne Boyer.”

“How is your voice?” she then asked.

“I’ve exercised my voice and I can sing high tenor and maybe even alto in addition to baritone,” I answered.

“Then maybe you can sound like a beautiful chanteuse?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered, “anyway I have recordings of the song sung by a man, so I could do it as a male.”

“Yes, but I am captivated with the image you created, and I see it being sung by a woman,” she said.

“But I’m not a woman,” I replied.

“Your voice range is not too far off,” she said.

She then looked carefully at me, and finally said, “You probably could make a reasonable looking woman. Have you ever dressed in women’s clothes?”

I really didn’t want to truthfully answer this question, but I remember my Father’s advice, ‘When in doubt always tell the truth.’

Finally I admitted that I had.

“And how did you look?”

“I don’t know for sure, Okay, I guess,” I answered.

“Do you have any pictures?”

“No, but my parents might.”

I paused for a few seconds, and then asked, “I can’t very well wear a dress to school, so where could I change?” By asking this I had just moved singing as a girl from the improbable into the possible.

“We could get more room dividers, and make a sort of backstage changing area.” she suggested.

“I’d need help changing,” I said.

“Who are you thinking about?”

“Sandy,” I answered.

“Think about it, and we’ll talk about it later,” she concluded.

That night at supper I mentioned what Mlle. Vert and I had discussed. As expected, this caught the full attention of my sisters. “After supper, why don’t we check out the Internet?” Emma suggested.

Emma’s search resulted in several possibilities. One that my sisters liked was made of black polyester, with an A-line gathered skirt that flared out a bit. The bodice was tight fitting and made of lace, with a solid under part which went up to the bust. The lace top covered the solid part and had a vee neckline. It had lace 3/4 sleeves.

Included in the description were the sizes. Unfortunately my waist was too big and my hips and bust too small. When I pointed this out to my sisters, Emma suggested a corset. I wasn’t too sure about this.

We showed the picture to my Mother. “Do you have a dress like this?” Nancy asked.

“I don’t but why don’t we check with your Aunt?” suggested my Mother.

I didn’t like the way things were going. While I really liked wearing a dress in private, wearing it in front of the whole class was more than I wanted to do. “Look,” I said, “men have sung this song, so this whole idea of me trying to be a woman is not necessary.”

“It should be okay if you tell everyone it’s just a costume,” said Emma.

“I could do that, but most of my fellow students would ignore the costume part and only remember that I wore a dress,” I observed, “and give me all sorts of grief about it.”

Then I remembered about Mlle. Vert’s question about pictures. “Mlle. Vert asked if I had ever dressed in women’s clothes, and when I admitted that I had, she asked if I had any pictures, which I do not. Did you save any of the pictures?” I asked my Dad.

“I did.” he said, “Let me look at what I have and I will select a suitable one, if there is one that is suitable. Obviously one with you wearing a nightgown is not suitable.”

Mother was getting into the spirit of things. “Why don’t we check with your Aunt, and if she has something suitable, you could always get dressed, and your Father could take a picture.” She gave me an appraising look, and said, “Emma might be right, you might need a corset.”

At the mention of a corset, I gave my Mother a frown.

Later that week Mother and I visited my Aunt. She went to the back of her closet. Hanging in a garment bag was a black cocktail dress, with a knee length flared skirt, similar to the one we had seen on the internet. Also in the garment bag was a black corset. “You want to see if you can get into this?” she asked.

“I guess so, what’s the harm in trying.”

“Okay, ” she said, “Strip down and put on these panties.” She handed me a pair of black panties. In preparation, I had brought a black bra and my home made breast forms. I went to the bathroom and put on the panties and my bra, with the breast forms. When I returned, my Aunt gave me a knowing smile, and said, “It seems that you have worn women’s clothes before.” I just nodded my head.

Mother wrapped the corset around me. It had bra cups built in, so I took off my bra. The corset had garter straps, and fastened in front. In back were the laces. Mother fastened it, and began to pull on the laces. “Try this, and we’ll see how far we have to pull it.” With that she lowered the dress down on me, and tried the zipper. Of course it wouldn’t zip.

“I think another two inches should do it,” she said, and began to pull really hard on the laces. I complained about not being able to breath, and how uncomfortable it was. None of my complaints deterred my mother from the two inches. At last she was finished, and this time the dress was able to be zipped up.

“This corset is designed to enhance your cleavage. Put your forms in the cups, and let’s see what we have.” True to its design, it gave me a hint of cleavage. “I don’t think that I have any black hose, so you’ll have to get some. You might want to think about getting real breast forms.”
The next day my Mother and I went shopping. I put on the corset and my Mother laced it up. I then I put on my half slip, which was white, and my kilt. On top, I wore a camisole and a sheer sleeveless blouse, leaving the top buttons unbuttoned.

“You’ll need black underwear and a black slip,” Mother commented.

Suitably attired, my Mother and I went shopping. The black slip and hose were no problem. Then we went into a shop that had all sorts of under things.

A clerk approached us. “May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, my son needs some breast forms. He has to wear a costume where he is a woman.”

“Oh, I see,” she said, “and is this your son?”

“Yes,” Mother replied.

“Come into the back room, and take off your blouse and camisole,” the clerk requested, which when I did, she noticed the corset. “You came prepared. What size are you looking for?” she asked.

“B cup,” my Mother answered.

“We have quite a few gentlemen customers. Let me show you the forms that most of them like,” and with that she took a box of breast forms off from a shelf. “These can be glued on, and the join line concealed with makeup. They come with instructions, and I can provide you with the correct adhesive and removal solution.” With that, she slipped a pair of forms into the cups of the corset. “These look like a good fit,” she commented.

My Mother grimaced at the price, but bought them along with the adhesive and remover.

Once back home, it was time to try everything on. My sisters insisted on helping, even though their help was not needed. I took off all of my clothes, except for the corset and panties. I then carefully put on the stockings. “Put the suspender straps under your panties,” my Mother suggested, “It makes it much easier when you have to use the toilet.” When this was done, Mother cinched the corset a bit tighter, despite my complaints. I put on the black full slip and a pair of shoes. Then it was time to put on the dress. To my amazement, it fit and could be zipped up.

“Let me do her hair,” Nancy insisted.

“I’ll do her makeup,” Emma said.

Mother joined in and applied some makeup to my chest to give me a hint of cleavage. I went to the mirror to see the final result, and was pleased with what I saw. I looked like a young lady about to go out for the evening to a night club.

“Okay, picture time,” Father announced. When this was done, Father went to the computer and printed out one copy each of two different photographs. “Just for your information, I have erased all of the photos from my camera and the computer, so don’t even try to find them.” He put the two photographs in an envelope and handed them to me. “For Mlle. Vert,” he explained.

When this was done, he announced, “I am not at all happy with this, and I hope that your Mlle. Vert doesn’t like them and this whole idea is abandoned.” He paused for a second, and then said, “However, after seeing the photographs, I’ll bet she loves them.”

Before the start of school the next morning I pulled Sandy aside and showed her the phonograph and briefly explained what was going on. “Wow, is this you? You’re gorgeous!”

I told her that I would give her a more detailed explanation after school.

After French class was over, I gave Mlle. Vert the photographs. “Oh, these are wonderful. You just have to wear this dress when you sing the song.”

Over the next few days, Sandy and I practiced getting me dressed, my hair done, and makeup applied. We decided that I would wear the corset, breast forms, hose and panties under my school clothes, and I would wear a bulky flannel shirt to cover everything up, since otherwise the corset and breast forms gave me an unmistakable feminine figure.

Chapter 10 - The Performance - Chanson Francaise.

Mlle. Vert’s classroom was not being used during the period before my presentation, and Sandy and I were able to arrange the room dividers to provide a secure dressing area. The desks had already been moved to face the impromptu stage. Mlle. Vert gave Sandy and me notes to give to the teachers of our classes immediately prior to my presentation, asking that we be excused from those classes. Sandy and I had a whole period to get ready.

Just before French class was to begin, Mlle. Vert arrived into the classroom, accompanied by Mr. Freund, the Principal; Ms. Morris, the Chorus Director; and Mr. Hanes, the Head of the Drama Department. Mlle. Vert told me that she had invited them to my presentation. “The chorus is planning to sing some works in French, and they wanted to hear your pronunciation and see your stage presence.” she explained.

When the class was assembled, she announced that everyone was to imagine that they were in a night club in Paris in the 1930's, and with that the overhead lights were turned off.

I started the CD player and slunk out of the backstage area. The class went up for grabs when they saw me, with a greeting of catcalls and whistles. I had anticipated that this might happen and had recorded some introductory music before the start of the song. Everyone quieted down, and the actual song began. I flashed everyone a big smile and began to sing, using a slightly husky voice, the following lyrics:
Parlez-moi D’Amour
Redites-moi ces mots suprêmes :
Je vous aime...
Which roughly translated into English are:
Speak to me of love
And say what I'm longing to hear
Tender words of love
I had brought a single rose, which was in a narrow vase on the so called stage. I picked it up, and moved forward, toward the principal.

With a sexy look on my face, I brushed the Principal’s cheek with the rose when singing, in French, naturally, ‘Tender words of love.’ The Principal’s cheeks turned as red as the rose, and everyone applauded. I then moved around the room, singing to each one of the boys, individually. The boys smiled; the girls gave me dirty looks.

Towards the end of the song, I moved toward the back of the stage, and at the end of the song, everyone applauded, especially the Principal. Well, maybe not everyone, some of the girls just glared at me. During the applause, I made a curtsey, and went back behind the room dividers.

Mlle. Vert then addressed the class, “I’m pleased that you enjoyed the song. Let’s have a round of applause for the Principal for being a good sport.” During this applause, the Principal stood up and beamed a smile at the class.

Mlle. Vert continued, “Would our chanteuse come back out, along with her, I mean his, wonderful assistant?” and Sandy and I came out for a curtain call.

“I want you to know that Gene played and recorded the accompaniment, in addition to singing. Would you like to hear it again?” They did, and I repeated the song.

“Does our chanteuse have anything else?” she asked.

“I prepared another song, Plaisir D’Amour, by Martini. Would you like to hear it?” They did, and so I performed it.

There was still some time left in the class period, and Mlle. Vert invited the members of the class to quietly discuss the songs and the performance among themselves, “In French,” she announced, “I don’t want to hear a word of English from any of you.”

While this was going on, the Principal and the chorus and drama teachers came up to me, along with Mlle. Vert, who then said, “The French only does not apply to the faculty and administration.”

“Thank you,” the Principal said, “because I took German in school.”

The Chorus Director looked at me and said, “You’re not in the chorus, are you?” and before waiting for an answer, she added, “I can always use a strong female voice like yours,”

“Unfortunately, I’m not female,” I responded.

“You certainly had me fooled,” she replied, “In any event, male or female, I could certainly use your voice, so will you join the chorus?”

“Wait a minute,” the Drama Teacher said, “How about me. She has stage presence, a strong voice, good moves, and I have lots of parts for her.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, “Did I hear you correctly, that you are a boy?”

“I am,” I responded.

“Then why sing as a girl?”

“Mlle. Vert and I listened to Lucienne Boyer’s recording of it. It was her song, and to get the right atmosphere for the song, I sang it as a girl.”

“Who did your costume and makeup?”

“My Mother did the dress, and Sandy did my makeup and hair today,” I answered.

“Even if you’re lured into the chorus,” he said, looking at the Chorus Director, “I really could use both of you backstage doing costumes and makeup. So promise me you will.”

“Okay,” we both replied.

Word spread about my performance, which was a good thing, because I wouldn’t have a chance to change out of the dress until after my last class, which was Health. Interestingly, the health class was studying sex education in general, and on that day, transvestites. Being dressed as I was, a lot of comments in the class appeared to be directed to me.

I was happy when I returned home and was able to take off the makeup and especially that blasted corset. Of course, that didn’t happen right away, because, as you can guess, Mother wanted to take pictures.

The next day, Sandy asked me to take a walk with her. “Gene,” she said, “the way you got dressed and undressed, you’ve done this lots before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And you have your own girl clothes.”

“You’ve seen them,” I reminded her

“How often do you dress like a girl?”

“It depends,” I said, “sometimes I dress when I come home from school, and stay dressed until I go to bed.”

“And what do you wear to bed?”

I didn’t answer this question, which probably was as good as admitting that I wore an nightgown.

“Gene, do you like being a girl?”

“Yeah, but I like being with you as a boy more.”

* * *

Author’s note: The English translation of the songs are as follows:

Parley-Moi D’Amour:

Speak to me of love
And say what I'm longing to hear
Tender words of love
Repeat them again
I implore you speak to me of love
Whisper these words to me, dear
I adore you.

I want to hear,
to hear those words that are so dear
I want to hear you say I love you
By all the little stars above you
Your voice is like a fun caress
It thrills me till I must confess
I long to hear the voice that brings me
Such thrilling love and happiness

Plaisir D’Amour:

The pleasure of love lasts only for a moment,
The pain of love lasts a lifetime.

You’ve left me for the beautiful Sylvia,
And she’s leaving you for another lover.

The pleasure of love lasts only for a moment,
The pain of love lasts a lifetime.

As long as this water will run gently
Towards this brook which borders the meadow,
I will love you, Sylvia told you repeatedly.
The water still runs, but she has changed.

The pleasure of love lasts only for a moment,
The pain of love lasts a lifetime.

Gene or Jean? - Part III - Consequences of Chanson Francaise.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 11 - After Chanson Francaise.

Well, I had admitted that I liked being a girl at times, but that I liked being a boy when I was with Sandy. My project, or maybe my performance was no secret, and most of my friends and acquaintances thought it was funny. On the other hand, a few people thought it was perverted, and made no secret of that.

I was even hit on by a few boys who admitted that they were gay, as if my cross dressing in some way made me gay. I gently corrected their misapprehensions. What was more interesting were the number of girls who hit on me. They made it clear that they wanted me as a girlfriend, since I looked sexy as a girl, and I had my male parts. I told them that I already had a girlfriend.

To everyone, I made it plain that my motivation to wear a dress had nothing to do with sex or my gender; I was motivated by getting an ‘A’ on my project.

“Yeah, but you seemed to be enjoying wearing a dress and acting like a girl. Way too much for just an ‘A’ it seems to me,” one of my male friends said.

“Well,” I responded, “I thought it best to act the part as well as I could. I always want to do my best.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “but you make one sexy chick. If I didn’t know better, I’d ask you out.”

“I don’t think that Sandy would like that,” I said in return, “and I’m not into boys.”

* * *

Mlle. Vert was most effusive with her praise. “I’d love to see you do it again,” she said, “It was one of the best projects I’ve ever seen or heard. By the way, your pronunciation was superb, even if you had a slight Canadian accent.”

“That came from my Aunt. She helped me with the songs, and she was born in Quebec,” I said. “I hope that the Principal wasn’t offended with me teasing him,” I said.

“On the contrary. He said that it’s been a long time since a pretty girl flirted with him. He really enjoyed it,” she said. “By the way,” she continued, “he wanted me to remind you that the school has a talent show at the end of the school year, and he hopes that you will sign up for it and repeat your performance.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. I wasn’t too sure of it. Most of the contestants were garage bands, and some students singing covers of current songs. “I might do better if I gave some of them voice lessons and did their piano accompaniments, rather than performing myself”

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she added, “Ms Morris said that she would be glad to accompany you on the piano for the show, if you want.”

“I think that she wants to do it to get me into the chorus,” I commented.

“Yes,” she said, “she mentioned that too. She hinted at the possibility of some solo parts.”

“As a boy or as a girl?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, “you’d have to ask her.”

Chapter 12 - The Chorus.

Two days later, at home room, the teacher handed me a note. “From Ms. Morris, the Chorus Director,” he said.

The note asked me to show up at the next chorus practice, and gave the time and location of the same. ‘What the heck.’ I thought, “I’ll give it a go.” That is how I joined the chorus.

The chorus practice was after the last class of the day, and held in the auditorium.

I trooped into the auditorium with the chorus members. Ms. Morris saw me, and called out, “Eugene, can you come over here for a minute?”

She was smiling when I walked over to her. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your dress and makeup,” she commented. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“What part do you want me to sing?” I asked, “and don’t I have to audition to join the chorus?”

“You already did, in your French class,” she said, “you’re so much better than almost all of the chorus members, and it appears that you can read music.” I admitted that I could.

“Where are the baritones?” I asked.

“Baritone?” she asked incredulously, “I’m thinking tenor, Come over to the piano, and let me check out your range.”

As we walked over to the piano, she called out to the assembled choristers, “I’ll be with you in a minute. Quietly look over your music until then.”

She played some warm up exercises, both up and down, and I sang them. “Well, I’ll be,” she said, “you have a great range. How did you do that?”

“I worked on my range for my French class project. I wanted my voice as high as possible, given the fact that I was wearing a dress when I sang,” I said, with a smile at the end.

Ms. Morris looked at me. “you really can sing baritone, but you also can sing tenor and even alto. Want to see if you can sing mezzo? I bet you can.”

“Okay, I’m game to try, but my tonal quality in the higher ranges is not that pretty,” I volunteered.

After a bit more singing, she said, “You’ve got the range. We can work on tonal quality. Why don’t you sing tenor for now. We always need tenors. Here is the score for the first number.”

She handed me the music, and called out, “Fred, wave your hand, we have a new tenor.” I went to where Fred was standing.

“I’m Fred,” he said, “I can sing either first or second tenor, and after hearing you, it appears that you can also. By the way, this piece is a medley with a tenor duet starting at measure 59. Are you willing to sight read it as second tenor?”

“Okay,” I responded, “If Ms. Morris wants me to. I don’t want to supplant the second tenor who’s been singing it.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and he called out, “Hey, Joe, will you let Gene try the second tenor part, just for now?”

“No problem,” responded Joe, “You’re welcome to it, Gene.”

“What’s going on in the tenor section?” called out Ms. Morris.

“Gene’s going to sing second tenor for the duet starting at measure 59. Joe says it’s okay,” answered Fred.

“Are you comfortable sight reading it?” Ms. Morris asked.

“I’ll give it a try,” I said, “let me look it over for a few seconds.” It looked like a pretty simple harmony.

“Okay,” Ms. Morris announced, “we’ll start at the pickup to measure 59.”

So we sang the duet. I listened to Fred and blended with hm. It actually turned out pretty well.

“That was pretty good, great sight reading” Ms. Morris said, “but Joe, you’re not off the hook yet. I haven’t decided where I want to put Gene.”

So I sang with the tenors for the rest of the practice. When we were finished, Ms. Morris said, “Tenors are hard to find. Several of our tenors are girls, so I’m not going to waste your voice in the baritone section. I haven’t ruled out some counter-tenor solos for you.” A smirk crossed her face. “Of course, we could put you in a dress and have you sing an alto, or maybe a mezzo. solo,” she said with a laugh. “But for now, it’s a white shirt and tie, and the tenor section.”

I assured her that I was satisfied with singing tenor.

* * *

At supper that evening, I recounted my chorus experience, except for the remarks about the dress. “Ms. Morris said I have a great range, and can actually sing a higher part, like counter-tenor.”

This comment was not lost on my sisters. “So, you could sing a part wearing a dress,” Nancy said with a smirk.

“If you coached us, we could sing as an all girl quartet,” added Emma.

“With matching dresses,” chimed in Gloria.

My Dad was non-plussed. “Girls,” he said to my sisters, “enough of that.”

I couldn’t restrain myself, and got a jibe in against my sisters. “I might be flat,” I said, pointing at my non-existent breasts, “but you girls have a tendency to sing flat.”

“I can’t let you get away with such comments,” Dad said. “You will refrain from any digs at your sisters. They all have pretty voices.”

Ignoring the reprimand, I cast a smirk at my sisters. “Dad!” Nancy complained.

Chapter 13 - A Touch of Drama.

The drama department was casting its spring production. It was a conjured up musical with songs from various musicals and a thin plot. Mr. Hanes, the head of that department, was openly recruiting singers from the chorus. Ms. Morris referred to this a ‘poaching.’ “You can’t steal all of my best singers,” she complained.

“But I need them,” Mr. Hanes retorted, “I’m just borrowing them. I’ll return them after the production.”

“That’s what you always say, but you return them one or two short,” complained Ms. Morris.

“I can’t help it that they find the stage more exciting than choral singing,” Mr. Hanes replied with a smug smile.

As I expected, I was one of the choristers who was drafted. “But I thought that you wanted Sandy and me to help with costumes and makeup?” I said.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind,” he answered. “Ms. Morris let it slip that you were doing voice coaching and playing the piano, and I need both of those talents. Anyway, you won’t voice coach during performances, and then you can then work back stage with Sandy.”

“But what about the concert?” I asked Ms. Morris.

“You don’t really need the practice.” she noted, “You could come in cold and still sound great. Anyway, if I don’t let the drama department steal you, Mr. Hanes will mope around with a sad look on his face, and get everyone depressed.” she said with a laugh.

So I began voice coaching. I worked with all of the singers, and played the piano accompaniment for the practice. As a result, I learned all of the songs, and would sing along with the singers on occasion. Several of the songs were sung by an all girl trio, in harmony, sort of like the Andrews Sisters or the McGuire Sisters. Teaching the girls to sing harmony was a real task, but finally it all came together. Mr. Hanes was pleased with the results.

The costumes for the girls’ trio were very short tan skirts and white blouses with big chiffon sleeves. Because the skirts were so short, they had to wear matching panties and pantyhose. The 4 inch heels turned out to be ill-advised. At the practice before the dress rehearsal, one of the girls tripped and fractured her tibia. Mr. Hanes was frantic. “Where are we going to get a replacement?” he moaned. “Anyone have an idea? I’m desperate!”

“How about making it a duet?” someone suggested.

“I’d rather not,” he moaned.

I was sitting at the piano, ready to play the accompaniment for this rehearsal, since the orchestra wouldn’t join us until the dress rehearsal. One of the girls turned to me and softly said, “Too bad you’re not a girl, Gene, because you know our songs as well as we do, and you have a pretty voice.” Although she said this softly, it wasn’t that softly, and Mr. Hanes heard it between moans.

He strode over to us. We were afraid he was going to be angry with the interruption, but he wasn’t. “Stand up, you three,” he commanded. When we were standing he looked at us carefully. I was about as tall as the other girls, and being slender, looked to be about the same size. “Get someone up here from the costume department,” he commanded.

I began to get a funny feeling about this.

A few seconds later, Sandy appeared on stage. “Sandy, we have a problem,” he said, and explained the nature of the accident. “We need another girl to fill in, and the only likely candidate is Gene here.”

“But he’s not a girl,” Sandy said.

“Aside from that minor point, he’s the most reasonable replacement.” Mr. Hanes said to Sandy, “Will he fit in the costume, and can you make him look like a girl?” Sandy smiled at what Mr. Hanes had just said.

“Wait,” I complained, “the fact that I’m not a girl is hardly a ‘minor point’,”

Mr. Hanes and Sandy ignored what I had just said. “Yes, as to both of your questions,” Sandy told him.

“Well, then do it!” Mr. Hanes announced, and with that he turned to other problems.

Sandy took me to the dressing room. “This is going to be fun,” she said to no one in particular. “Gene, call your home, and see if anyone can bring over your bra and breasts. Maybe your corset and some panties and pantyhose, too.” All of my sisters were overjoyed to comply, after Sandy told them what had happened.

When my sisters arrived, they gave Sandy my clothes. Sandy directed me to put on my panties, panty hose, bra and breastforms. Luckily my sisters had also brought one of my camisoles. “For obvious reasons, we know that all of these are exactly the correct size,” Emma said with a chuckle.

I put on the blouse, which being loose, was no problem.

The skirt fit exactly, as Gloria observed as she zipped it up for me.

“Now the shoes,” Sandy said, “walk carefully, since these shoes have already claimed one victim.”

Nancy and Emma had me sit while Nancy did my hair and Emma did my makeup. When they were finished, they ordered me to stand and they stepped back to admire their handiwork, “Let’s go show her to Mr. Hanes,” Sandy said.

Mr. Hanes was surprised, amazed and pleased, all at the same time. “You’ve saved the show,” he exclaimed. While that might have been an exaggeration, it was nice to hear.

The production went well, and all sorts of family members, relatives and friends came to hearme sing and see me wiggle my bottom, strut my stuff, spin and show off my panties.

Chapter 14 - Recording a CD.

The talent show was called ‘Riverwoods’ Got Talent,’ which was modeled after a popular television show. It was set up as a contest, and there was a panel of judges consisting of Mr. Freund, the Principal; Ms. Morris, the chorus director; Mr. Phillips, a local record producer and Ms. Stone, the local newspaper’s music and art critic. The prize was a recording session. The audience was also allowed to vote, based upon the level of applause for each contestant.

I wore a dark blue pleated skirt and sheer blouse and all the necessary undergarments, including that nasty corset. I chose a pair of two inch heels for stability and comfort. Mom loaned me some costume jewelry. My sisters and Mom helped me get dressed and do my makeup and hair. While I knew that they derived some pleasure making me look like a girl, I also knew that they did it as an expression of sisterly love, something that I really appreciated. This didn’t prevent them from making the occasional snide comment, however.

I came in second place, so no free recording session. Well, I was pleased with second place. I had never even thought of recording my entries, because I performed en femme, and didn’t want to publicize my cross-dressing any more than I already had.

One can imagine my surprise when I received a telephone call from Mr. Phillips a week after the show. “I’ve viewed the video of the contest, and I’m impressed with your singing. I talked it over with some of the people I work with, and they think that there may be a market for a CD of French cabaret songs. We put together a list of additional songs to make a CD and to sell as singles on the internet. By the way, how old are you?”

“I’m fifteen,” I replied.

“Are you interested in making a CD?”

“I hadn’t planned on it, but now that you mention it, it sounds like fun,” I answered.

“In that case, why don’t you and one of your parents come down to the studio this Saturday to talk about it?”

“Sure,” I responded, “but why one of my parents?”

“Because we might want you to sign a recording contract, and you’re too young to sign it by yourself.”

“Oh,” I said. I paused for a moment, and then said, “Before we get into a recording session and a contract, there is something about me that you need to know, but I want you to keep it a secret.”

“What’s that,” he said with some concern in his voice.

“You’ve seen me perform as a girl. However, I’m not a girl, I’m a boy,” I confessed, and I told him how it came to be that a boy was singing dressed as a girl.

“Well, you fooled me,” he said, “not that it matters. It’s your voice that counts. We will need photographs for the CD cover and publicity, but having seen you, that will not be a problem. You make a sexy looking girl. Do any of the other panel members know?”

“The Principal and Ms. Morris,” I answered.

“It didn’t seem to bother them, so I’m not going to let it bother me,” he said. “Ten on Saturday okay with you and your parents?” I checked with Mother, and it worked for her.

“How do you want me to dress?” I asked.

“If it wouldn’t be too difficult, like you did at the show. Same outfit, same makeup,” he added.

When I finished the call, I explained the nature of what was proposed, as I understood it. My sisters had heard part of what was going on, and demanded to know all of the details. “So, my male sister is going to be a female recording star,” Emma commented, with a wicked smile. I stuck my tongue at her in response.

“Can we go along?” Nancy asked,

“Probably not a good idea,” Mother said, “But you can help her get ready.” There was that female pronoun again.

“How about it if she goes to a beauty shop on Friday afternoon?” Nancy suggested, “and get her all glammed up?”

“Wait a minute,” I interjected, “we’re not that far along yet.”\

“Yeah, but first appearances are important,” Mother added, “I’ll see if I can get her an appointment after school on Friday.”

* * *

For my trip to the salon, I wore a skirt and blouse, along with all of the necessary undergarments, including that cursed corset. Sally, the beauty shop owner greeted us when we walke in. “Now I know about Nancy, Emma, and Gloria,” she said, “but I never heard about Jean.”

“Neither had we, until a few months ago,” my Mother said with a big grin.

“But she’s your daughter,” Sally said, all confused.

“Not exactly,” Mother said, “she, or rather he, is my son.”

“Such a pretty girl can’t be a boy,” Sally said, “so, what are we here for?

“We’re going to talk to some people who want to produce a CD of her singing French cabaret songs. We want her to look as sexy and female as possible.”

“Wait a minute!” I exclaimed, “I have to show up at school as a boy on Monday, so no bangs, no highlights, and no curls. I want a style which I can make look male.”

“Those are tough conditions,” said Sally, “but I think we can do something.”

‘Something’ turned out to be pretty amazing. My hair was pulled back and some of it tucked behind my ears. The rest of it, despite what I had said, was trimmed to about shoulder length with a curl at the end. The crowing touch was a hair band. Sally explained how it could be converted to a male look. I liked it.

“Your ears are not pierced,” commented Sally, “We could do that here. A lot of boys have their ears pierced.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mother said, and my ears were pierced.

On Saturday, I did my makeup with a lot of ‘help’ from my sisters. While I wanted more makeup than normal for a daytime look, I didn’t go overboard. I wanted a slightly sultry look.

We carefully selected my outfit for the day. Pantyhose and heels were a definite. Unfortunately, so was the corset. I wore the same outfit as I wore for the talent contest, a dark blue pleated skirt and sheer blouse.

* * *

The recording studio was not what I had expected. It was on the second floor of a building whose first floor was a photograher’s studio. It had been an apartment many years ago, and the studio itself was two rooms, with a glass window between them. The main room had some kind of sound absorbing materials on the walls and ceiling with microphones and wires all over the place. There was an upright piano on wheels in the corner. I hoped that it was in tune.. The smaller room was the control room, with all of the recording equipment. In the back of the space was a small office. The kitchen, from the days as an apartment was still there, with old appliances and a beat up kitchen table. The most important thing was the coffee maker, and that was new.

Mr. Phillips greated us at the top of the stairs. “I’m so glad to see you here. I think we have a winner here.” He introduced us to the others present. “This is Joe, our electronics expert, and this is Steve, who handles the mics. Over there,” he said pointing, “is the photographer whose studio is downstairs. With him are some other helpers. We’re waiting for the co-producer who is arranging the funding for this take.”

Mr. Phillips looked me up and down, with the smile on his face growing. “Are you sure that you’re a boy? You could fool anyone.” He then called the photographer over. “How does she look? Any sign of a boy here?”

“Looks great,” the photographer said, “no sign of a boy.”

“Okay, gang,” Mr. Phillips said, “let’s start this with a look at Jean’s performance at the contest.” Joe turned on a video monitor, and started my part of the show. “We’re going to only do an audio CD. However, if we make it big, we might want to do a music video later,” Mr. Phillips added.

When the video of the show was finished, Joe said, “They could have done a better job with the mics. I see that you didn’t use a mic when you sang. We’ll have you use one when we record,” he added.

“Okay,” Mr. Phillips said, “What are you going to sing?”

“I prepared three songs,” and I handed him the scores. “Two of them are what I sang at the show; Parlez-Moi D’Amour, and Plaisir D’Amour. I worked up a third one, La Vie En Rose, if we have time for it.”

“How do you want to do this?” Mr. Phillips asked, “you said you would do the piano accompaniment.”

“I was thinking of laying down the piano track and then combine it with me singing. I even worked out two vocal parts so I can sing melody and harmony,”

“Why don’t you run through the piano part, and I’ll arrange the mics when I hear what it sounds like,” Steve said, “then we can do the vocal parts.”

The songs are not long, so I did three takes of each of the songs. “Now do you want me to do the duets?” I asked.

“Sure,” Mr. Phillips said, and we did.

During the recording session I saw a new person in the control room, who I assumed, correctly, was the co-producer, Mr. Nicholas.

When we were finished, Mr. Phillips said that he had to talk with Mr. Nicholas, and that there was coffee and cold drinks in the kitchen. He also suggested that we go downstairs for some photographs, which we did.

Mr. Phillips and Mr. Nichola were waiting for us in the kitchen when we returned from the photography studio. The Photographer came up with us and handed some digital photos to Mr. Nicholas. He gave Mr. Phillips a thumbs up.

“Let’s talk,” Mr. Nicholas started out, “We like your singing, and would like to produce a CD, and arrange for some on-line sales of individual songs. “We would like to record between fifteen and twenty songs to fill the CD, so we would like you to select either those or some other songs, all in French. We have a contract for you to review, which is conditioned on you doing the additional songs as well as the ones you did today. Additionally, we are going to send your picture and the recording of the three songs to an associate of mine in Montreal, for his opinion as to the market in Quebec. He might release demos to test the market.”

“The contract has all of the financial details, and you should look at them carefully,” Mr. Phillips added. “If the songs are only a marginal success, most of the money will go to recovering our production costs. Your share depends on how well the sales go.”

“And if it’s a total bust, who pays your production costs?” Mother asked.

“In that case, we absorb all of the production costs,” Mr Nicholas replied, “but I think it will be a success, based on what we heard as of now. Take the contract to your attorney and get back to us.”

“Well, that just about finishes it for today. Do you have any questions?” Mr. Phillips asked.

“Yes,” I answered, “can I get a copy of what was recorded today and some copies of the photographs?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “Just remember that you may not sell copies of either. We reserve those rights for advancing the costs of production. Joe, give her a CD of the session, and here are some digital copies of the photos.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Okay,” Mother said, “You’ll hear from us in a day or so about the contract. Thank you for all you’ve done.”

With that, we all shook hands and Mother and I returned home, only to have to go over all of the details of the session with my sisters and Father. All of them loved listening to the CD. My sisters liked the photos, my Father did not. “Gene, as you well know, I don’t like you dressing as a girl. I understand why you’re doing it for the CD, but that doesn’t affect how I feel.” He paused for a moment. “Having said all that, I do have to say that you make a beautiful girl,” he added with a smile.

* * *

It didn’t take me long to select another seventeen songs. What took time was arranging the accompaniment and getting the pronunciation exactly correct. For that I sought out my Aunt and Mlle. Vert.

When everything was correct, I called Mr. Phillips and arranged to record the other songs. When Mother and I arrived at the studio, Mr. Phillips and Mr. Nicholas were both there, with big smiles on their faces. “We’ve heard from Montreal.” Mr. Nicholas said, “As you remember, we said that we might released them there, and the three songs you already recorded doing well on internet sales. There appears to be a demand for the CD.”

“Then let’s get the rest of the songs recorded,” added Mr. Phillips.

* * *

A few weeks after the CD was released, I received a surprise call from Ms. Stone, the critic for the local paper, who had been a member of the panel for the talent show. After introducing herself, she said, “I noticed a piece in the trade paper saying that a CD of cabaret songs has been released, and was doing well for a foreign languge recording. The name of the artist rang a bell, and I finally connected you with the CD. Are you aware of this?”

“To the extent of the royalty checks I’ve received, then the answer is yes,” I responded.

“I liked your singing at the talent show, so I ordered the CD, and I like that even better. I also did some checking, and spoke with Mr. Hanes at your school. He related an interesting fact, that you jumped in when a girl broke he leg, despite the fact that you’re a boy . I saw that production. I always thought you were a girl, until Mr. Hanes told me differently.”

“Well, I’m trying to keep that fact from wide distribution,” I said, “that’s why I told Mr. Hanes to not announce that I was taking the injured girl’s part.”

“But now you have a CD with the picture of a very pretty girl on the cover,” she said, and then paused, “so whose picture in on the cover?”

“Mine.”

“Oh wow, if your story got out, now that would be news,” Ms. Stone said.

“I hope it doesn’t,” I said. “After all, a CD of foreign language songs has to have a very limited audience.”

“Not in Quebec,” she responded, “sales are doing very well there. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had requests for personal appearances.”

‘Oh, (bad word)’ I thought.

“Anyway,” she continued, “the reason for my call is that I’d like to do an interview of you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” I said.

“Well, you don’t have to allow an interview, but there is enough material available for me to do an interesting article even without an interview,” she said with the hint of a threat in her voice.

“If I do an interview,” I said, “could you agree to, and keep certain items out of the article? As and afterthought I added,” and no photographs”

“Wrong. My editor and I want photos.”

“With me as a boy or as a girl?”

“Your call,” she said.

“Okay, I’ll do the interview as a girl,” I agreed, and I did.

When the article appeared, it was titled ‘Local chanteuse a hit on the international scene.’ I was identified only as ‘Jean.’ with no last name.

There was very little fallout from the article. It appears that most of the students at my school weren’t interested in French cabaret songs. Mlle. Vert was interested, and had me autograph a copy of the article, as I did for Ms. Morris, Mr. Hanes and the Principal, Mr. Freund.

Four out of the other five members of my household were happy to have a sister and daughter who was a minor celebrity. My Father wasn’t.

And then there was Sandy. “I’m really pleased for you, but I can’t brag that my boyfriend is a noted female singer,” she complained, but with a smile.

* * *

Over the summer I was asked to go to Montreal to promote the CD and to give some concerts, which turned out to be a lot of fun. I even did an interview on a local television station, and sang one of my songs. My Mother went with me, even though my sisters really wanted to go. I celebrated my sixteenth birthday there. One neat thing about my trip was that I was able to use some of my royalties to buy clothes for the trip, female clothes that is. Naturally, my sisters demanded that they accompany me on my shopping expeditions.

I had to get a passport which identified me as ‘Eugene,’ a male, so I had to travel as a boy. When I packed my suitcases, I was sure to put boy clothes on top, so if my suitcase was opened, a bunch of frilly girl clothes would not immediately be visible. As it was, I didn’t have any problem at the borders.

It appeared that I was better known in Montreal than in my own home town, a situation which I liked.

However, my musical career was only beginning, which meant that I was spending more time as a girl than I had before. As can be imagined, this led to certain situations which needed to be resolved.

Gene or Jean? - Part IV - Looking for Answers.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 15 - Am I a Boy or Am I a Girl?

As a result of dressing as a girl for my French class project, I was spending more and more time as a girl. While Sandy had been enthusiastic about my cross-dressing at the start, she seemed less and less in favor of it as time progressed and I spent more time en femme. She wanted a boyfriend.

My Father just didn’t like it. He was reluctant to discuss my cross-dressing; he left it to my Mother to tell me of his concerns. “Your Father had hoped that your cross-dressing was a phase and that you would grow out of it.” she said, “Now he thinks that you might be turning into a girl. He thinks that you are more girl than boy, and he wants you to go to counseling.”

Sandy shared my Dad’s concerns. Therefore, I agreed to go to counseling.

Because my Father was going with my Mother and me. I decided that wearing my boy clothes would be a good idea. The counselor shared an office suite with several other professionals in a building downtown. Nothing really fancy. We told the receptionist that we had an appointment with Dr. Lisa Goodman and a minute later Dr. Goodman escorted us into her office.

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” she asked.

“My son, Gene, likes to dress up like a girl, and I’m afraid that he wants to become a girl,” my Dad declared.

“Is that correct, Gene?” she asked me, “do you like to wear dresses and skirts?”

“I do, on occasion, wear a dress or a skirt,” I answered. I decided to not volunteer any information, so aside from answering her question, I said no more.

“So, do you wear any other girls’ clothes when you wear a dress or a skirt?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Everything,” I replied. This time I decided to expand my answer, “panties, pantyhose, slip, camisole, bra and heels.”

“How does that make you feel?” she asked.

“I like it.”

“You’re dressed as a boy right now. Why?” she asked.

“Dad doesn’t like seeing me in a dress or skirt,” I answered.

“Is that right, Mr. Torne?” she asked my Father.

“Yes.”

“How about you, Mrs. Torne?”

“You wouldn’t believe how cute he, or rather she, is when all dressed up in a skirt or dress,” my Mother answered.

“I take it that you approve of his cross-dressing?”

“Well,” my Mother started to say. She then looked at my Father and continued, “I know that my Husband doesn’t like it, so rather than saying I approve it, let’s just say I don’t object.”

“Do you ever help him cross-dress?”

“On occasion. However, my three daughters seem to enjoy helping him dress,” my Mother answered, “So he doesn’t always need my help.”

Dr. Goodman then shifted the conversation. “So, why are we here, and what do you hope to accomplish?” she asked all of us, in general.

“To find out why he likes to cross-dress, and to figure out if he wants to become a girl,” my
Father answered.

“Is that correct, Gene?” Dr. Goodman said.

“Pretty much so,” I answered.

“Why?”

“I’m curious, and I think that my girlfriend would like to know,” I responded.

“You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Are you and your girlfriend intimate? By that, I mean do you have sex?” she asked.

“Nothing outside of an occasional kiss and hugs,” I responded. From the corner of my eye, I could see that my parents were relieved with this answer.

“Gene, have you ever gone out in public wearing a dress or skirt?” Dr. Goodman asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it”

“I had a project in French class, and I sang some cabaret songs in front of the class, and I wore a dress for it because I was imitating Lucienne Boyer. I then filled in for a girl who broke her leg in a musical being produced by my school and had to wear her costume, which included a mini-skirt. I also repeated the cabaret songs at a talent show held by the school. Each of these time, I wore female clothes.”

“How did that go?” she asked.

“Fine, no problem/ My voice range is high enough to sound like a girl.” I answered.

“Tell her about Montreal,” Mother interjected.

“What about Montreal?” Dr. Goodman asked.

“Well, based on my performance at the talent show, a record producer wanted me to do an album of French cabaret songs, which I did. The album and some singles were introduced in Quebec, because all of my singing was in French. The album has been doing fairly well for what it is, and I was invited to Montreal to promote the album and for some concerts. Naturally, I dressed as a girl for all of this. I couldn’t dress as a boy, because my photo as ‘Jean’ was prominent on the CD cover, and everyone expected to see a girl,” I answered.

“So you dressed as a girl when you performed. I can see why you did that. However, do you ever go outside as a girl when you aren’t performing?” she asked.

“Yes. When I shop for clothes, and sometimes just when I feel like doing it,” I responded.

Nothing further was said for a few moments while Dr. Goodman made some notes. She then continued, “Well, before our next session, I have questionnaires for each of you to fill out,” and she handed each of us a questionnaire. I could see that mine was thickest. “I want you to be totally candid with your answers, so it would be best if you didn’t share your responses with each other. If Gene knew that you would see his answers, it may affect what he says.”

Dr. Goodman then turned to Mother, and said, “I want Gene to have a complete physical exam, and to have some blood tests done. I have a list of what tests I want,” and she handed a paper to Mother. “I would like to listen to the CD, if possible, and would like to see some photos of Gene while dressed.”

With that, the session ended.

* * *

My sisters and Sandy wanted to know all about my counseling session. “Well,” said Emma, “do we have a new sister, or still have an icky brother?” I chose to ignore the question.

Sandy wanted to know if I was turning into a girl, for other reasons than those expressed by my sister. “I think we are growing closer,” she confessed, “and I don’t want to be a lesbian.”

The questionnaire was lengthy and comprehensive. I did note a lot of questions which related to whether I thought that I was a girl trapped in a boy’s body, and whether I thought that I should have been born a girl. I gave negative answers to these questions. There were a lot of questions about my sex life, which I found a little amusing, since to date I didn’t have a sex life. Other questions asked if I had ever dated or had sex with a boy. Some of the questions gave me an insight into other sexual practices, such as anal sex. I had never even heard about this before, not even in sex education classes.

The next counseling session was a continuation of the first. We all turned in our completed questionnaires. “I want to review the questionnaires before out next session,” Dr. Goodman said. She then turned to the results of my blood tests. “Gene, the tests show that you have a slight hormone imbalance. Other than that, all of the tests are normal.”

“What does the hormone imbalance mean?” I asked.

“It means that your estrogen level is higher than usual, and your male hormones are slightly lower. It’s nothing to be alarmed about, because the imbalance is not severe. I’d like to monitor it in the future.”

“Does this mean that I’m turning into a girl?” I asked.

“At this time, probably not, since the imbalance is slight. Your doctor noted that you have not started puberty yet, and that must be factored in. When you go through puberty, that all may change. If you notice any changes in your nipples, please bring that to my attention, because that may indicate that the imbalance is increasing.”

Am I growing tits, I wondered?

At the end of that session, Dr. Goodman said, “I’d like to have Gene come to the next session fully dressed as a girl. Mr. Torne,” she said to my Father, “you do not have to attend if seeing your son in a skirt or dress would bother you.”

“I have seen him in a skirt or dress many times, and it does bother me, but what we are doing is important, so I’ll be here,” my Father answered. Dr. Goodman liked his answer and smiled with approval.

I dressed very carefully for my next counseling session. I decided to wear a dark blue knee length skirt, which meant dark pantyhose, black panties and a black half slip. Naturally, I had to wear the corset. Because the corset was black, I decided on a dark brown sweater on top. I wore a pair of black heels. I had Nancy help me with my hair. She pulled it back and used a red hair band. My makeup was daytime, and the colors subdued.

While my parents and I were walking to the car, my Father said, “Despite not liking you wearing girls’ clothes, I must honestly say you look very pretty, pretty enough for a father to be proud of the way his daughter looks. So, rather than being unhappy, I’m trying to be proud of my cute daughter.”

“Dad, that’s the sweetest thing you could say,” I replied, “Thank you,”

Dr. Goodman checked me out when I arrived with my Parents. ‘Stand up tall,” she commanded. “Now turn around.” I slowly turned completely around, and then did a fast twirl, which lifted my skirt. Dr. Goodman smiled.

“Now let me see you walk.” I walked a few steps in her office. “Let’s try this in the hall,” she said, and we all went out into the hall where I walked the length of it several times. When we returned to her office she carefully watched as I sat down. “You present yourself well as a girl,” she said, “how much of that is from practice and how much is natural?”

“My sisters were more than happy to spend countless hours coaching me,” I answered, “so I have no idea how much is natural.”

“But you look all girl,” Dr. Goodman commented. “So there must be something in your appearance that is natural.” She made some notes on a pad.

“You have a feminine figure,” she said, “how do you do that?”

“A corset,” I responded, “a painfully tight corset.”

“Other than the corset, what else are you wearing under your skirt and sweater?” she asked.

“Pantyhose, panties, bra with breast forms, a half slip and a camisole.”

“Am I correct in assuming that you have a complete feminine wardrobe with multiple skirts and dresses, along with underwear?”

“Yes,” I answered. “I needed a lot of clothes for my trip to Montreal,” I explained.

“Are you ever afraid that you will be ‘read’ when out in public?” she asked.

“I’m not aware that it ever happened, so my answer would be no. Of course, a lot of people know that I’m a boy in a dress, by reason of my performances,” I answered.

“You said that you sometimes go out of the house dressed as a girl, for no particular reason, other than to just do it?”

“Yes,”

“Why?”

“I like dressing as a girl. I like the way the clothes feel. I like the way boys check me out, and I just like being a girl,”

“Would you like it if you could dress as a girl all the time?” she asked.

“I haven’t thought about it, because there are so many times, like when I’m in school, when I have to be a boy.” I answered, “and I don’t think that Dad or Sandy would like it.”

“Do you ever imagine yourself getting married, and if so, as a groom or a bride?”

“Both,” I answered, “you see, I am close to Sandy, and if we married, I would have to be a groom. I cannot picture myself as a bride to any of the boys I know, so the boy in my imagination is rather vague.”

“Would you like to have children?”

“I think so,” I admitted, “but I haven’t looked that far ahead.”

“Have you ever dated a boy?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” I replied.

Dr. Goodman then changed the direction of our conversation. “Your Father has said he does not like you presenting yourself as a female. Does how he feel impact into what you have told me?” she asked.

“I know how Dad feels. I love him, and I respect his opinions, so I would have to say that how he feels impacts my answers,” I responded. I turned to look at my Father and he looked happy when I said this

“There seems to be uncertainty as to whether you want to be a girl,” Dr. Goodman observed, “we’ll have to explore that in further sessions.”

No conclusions yet.

Chapter 16 - The Dating Game.

Shortly thereafter, I mulled over the question that Dr. Goodman had asked me; if I ever dated a boy. I wasn’t sure that I had even formally went on a date with Sandy. We were close, but had we gone out on a date? I decided to change that.

Sandy and I were studying together one afternoon. “Would you like going out with me to a movie or something like that?” I asked Sandy.

“You mean like on a date?” she responded.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I responded.

“Sure,” she said, “when?” She paused, and then continued, “with the boy Gene or the girl Jean?”

“The boy,” I answered.

“Good!” she said.

I had my drivers’ license by then, so I suggested a movie and pizza. Hardly original. We arrived at the mall with some time before the movie was to start, and Sandy suggested we browse the music collection at one of the stores. While most CD sales were on-line, the store had a reasonable number of CD’s for sale. Tucked away in a corner was a display of foreign language CD’s.

“Let’s look if there are any CD’s which would help us in French class,” she suggested. I noted that there was a terminal to look up CD’s which could be ordered and picked up at the store.

There was a clerk at the terminal. He asked us what interested us.

“French language.” Sandy responded.

“You know, there is a CD in French by a local singer, Jean or something like that. We have it in stock in the foreign language section. One of my friends bought one, and I listened to it. Nice looking chick on the cover, and what a sexy voice. I’d like to meet her.”

I started to blush, but he didn’t see that. “I think I know the CD, and I already have a copy,” Sandy said, “and you are right, she is good looking and her voice is really sexy.” I, the owner of the ‘sexy’ voice continued to blush, but said nothing.

“Are you selling a lot of them?” Sandy asked.

“More than I would have otherwise expected. Maybe because she is from around her, or maybe because she has such a sexy voice. I just don’t know,” he said.

We left the store without buying anything. As we were walking to the movie theater, Sandy could not resist teasing me. “I see that you with the sexy voice said nothing.” she said, “afraid of giving yourself away?”

I just grunted in response.

The movie was nothing special, no Oscars for it in the future. What was special was that when I put my arm on Sandy’s shoulder, she laid her head on mine.

We continued to date. After one of these dates, Sandy said, “We’ve been dating for a while, and you seem to enjoy it. I know that I do.” She then let the other shoe drop. “You’ve never gone on a date with a boy, have you?” I admitted that I hadn’t. “Most girls like going on dates with boys,” she posited. “If you think you are a girl, shouldn’t you at least go on one date with a boy?”

“Wouldn’t that be like cheating on you?” I said.

“Not if you had my approval,” she answered. “I think that you need the experience.”

“No boy has ever asked me out for a date,” I said.

“That’s because all the guys know you’re a boy and going out with me,” she responded.

“If a boy asks me out for a date, I’ll think about it,” I said, “but no promises. What happens if he’s a total jerk? I don’t want to go out with a jerk.”

“Okay, no jerks,” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I’d be scared to go out with a boy,”

“Maybe I can arrange for a double date, if you don’t mind me going out with another guy,” she suggested.

“I don’t like you going out with another guy,” I complained.

“You’re jealous,” she responded, “how sweet.”

Despite my reservations and concerns, Sandy arranged a double date. We would meet the guys at the movie so neither would know my address. Sandy’s date, Bill, was a friend of her cousin. My date, Bob, was a cousin of Bill’s.

Some way my sisters found out about my date. I think that Sandy leaked it to them. In any event, they went into high gear getting me ready. “A little black dress!” exclaimed Emma.

I did not have a little black dress of my own, but Nancy had one that fit me. With my corset, it gave me a nice looking figure. “Pantyhose, or stockings?” was Emma’s suggestion.

“We can put straps on the corset, so stockings are possible,” Nancy said.

I had very little input into the whole process. I wanted to complain that the dress was too short, but to no avail. When they were finished, I looked in the mirror and saw a cute, sexy, teenage girl.

I had told my Parents that I was going on a date. I just didn’t say with whom. My Parents naturally assumed that I was going out with Sandy. In a sense, this was partially true.

I drove to Sandy’s house. Driving in heels was, well, ‘different.’ We did, however, make it safely to the movie theater. Sandy had arranged to meet Bill and Bob at a kiosk in the mall. After introductions and some small talk we went to the theater. We sat together in the theater, Bob to my left and Sandy to my right, and Bill to Sandy’s right.

While in the theater I let the hem of my dress ride up, exposing a hint of my stocking tops. Bob noticed, but then he leaned over to me and whispered, “I appreciate the show, but you should know that I’m into boys, not girls.”

“You mean you’re gay?” I whispered back, “as opposed to being transgendered.”

“Gay, not transgendered,” he whispered in response.

“Then why are we on a date?” I asked.

“My Parents,” he answered, “When I told them I was going on a date with a girl, they were overjoyed. They don’t approve of my orientation. I hope that Bill can take a photo on his phone to show them. It’ll take some of the heat off of me.”

I had to smile at this. If only they knew the truth, they’d probably blow a gasket, I thought.

Halfway through the movie, I decided to try something. I took his hand in mine and held it. He made no attempt to stop me and take his hand back. After the movie, Bill suggested that rather than a pizza we got some takeout and ate it at his house. On the way to his house, Bill and Sandy rode together, That left Bob and me in my car.

On our ride to Bill’s house, Bob said to me, “If I wasn’t gay, I’d really go after you.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I answered.

“Why,” he asked.

“I’ve got a secret, and if I tell you it’s got to remain a secret. Okay?” I said.

“Okay,” he replied, “so what’s the secret?”

“I’m a boy.” There, it was out.

“You mean that you have a p. . .” he started to say.

I interrupted him in mid sentence, “Yes.”

“Wow,” he said with astonishment, “I’d never have guessed. You look so feminine.”

“That’s the goal of every cross-dresser,” I said, “to look so much like a girl so that no one would guess.”

When we parked in front of Bill’s house, he touched my face with his hand, and turned it toward his. He then leaned over the front seat console and kissed me. I felt his tongue on my lips and opened them up.

When we broke off the kiss, I though, ‘Wow, I’ve just kissed a boy.’

“That was for being so nice,” Bob said, “this evening has to have been weird for you, but it means a lot to me. As you saw, Bill took some photos, which I’m going to show my Parents. My Parents strongly disapprove of my homosexuality. They think it’s a phase which will pass once I met a ‘nice girl. I’m sure that you understand that’s not how it works. Anyway, they demanded that I go on a date with a nice girl. What is really funny is that you are supposed to be the ‘nice girl.’ They are happy that we are going on this date. If they knew all of the facts, they would go ballistic.”

“I think that I understand,” I said, “My Dad really hates my cross-dressing, but he tolerates it because of the money.”

“What money?”

“I recorded a CD of French cabaret songs as a girl, and I’ve been receiving royalties from the sales. Not a lot of money, but Dad can’t ignore it. Anyway, I am glad if I can help you with your parents.”

With that, we went into Bills house to eat the take-out food.

While driving home with Sandy, she asked, “Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No, I actually had a good time,” I answered.

“Did Bob tell you about his parents?”

“Yeah,” I answered, “and Bob and I think that it’s really funny that I’m the girl.”

“So you told him?” Sandy asked.

“Yeah, it seemed to be the right thing to do.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“We kissed,” I replied.

“Did you like it?” she asked.

“It was nowhere as good as kissing you,” I answered.

“Good answer,” she said with a smile.

Chapter 17 - Meeting Bob’s Parents.

I was surprised when Bob called me a week later. “You’ve been super, and I had a good time on our date. Something has come up, and I’d like to ask you for a favor.”

“Ask away,” I responded, “the worst thing that can happen is that I refuse.”

“You may want to, after you hear what I’m asking,” he continued. “You see, my parents saw the photos of our date, and now they want to meet you, and want me to invite you to a barbeque this Sunday afternoon at my house.”

“I’m going to assume that you want me to look like a girl. So what’s so bad about that?” I asked, “aside from the possibility that I’ll drip barbeque sauce on my rack.”

“Well, my parents are a little intense,” he answered. “You see, they invited some friends and relatives, and they want to show you off as my girlfriend. They are a bit embarrassed that I’m gay. They hope that you being there will show that I’m not gay. I don’t like it, but you can understand that I want them off my case for a while, and you being there could do it. It might not be a lot of fun for you, but you seem to be the kind of person who can handle it.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “I understand your situation, and I’ll do what I can to make your life easier.”

“Thanks a whole bunch,” he said, “I owe you. There’s one other thing. My parents are both professors. My Dad teaches French.”

“Well, then I’ll wow them with my language skills,” I said.

* * *

That Sunday, I took great care in what I wore and my appearance. I had told my Mother and Sisters what was happening, and my Sisters went into high gear.

“What kind of look do you want?” asked Nancy.

“I want to look like an innocent, demure young lady,” I answered.

“Look here, sister,” Emma declared, “we’re good, but we can’t do magic. Demure we can do, but you innocent? No way.” After going through my wardrobe and my Sisters’ wardrobes, we finally decided on a plain white A-line skirt that was about four inches above my knees, a pink frilly blouse with chiffon sleeves and a pair of white tennis shoes.

My Mother observed all of this. “I don’t think it’s nice to deceive Bob’s Parents,” she declared.

“You mean, like you never deceived Dad?” Emma stated.

“That’s different,” Mom said.

“Is that because you’re married to him?” Emma questioned. My Mother gave us a dirty look in response, and then decided to change the topic of discussion.

“You need a white purse,” she said, “I think I have just the purse,” she said, and she went to get the purse.

* * *

When I arrived at Bob’s house, he met me at the door. “You look wonderful,” he said, “all girl. Let me introduce you to my Parents and some of the guests.” There were a lot of guests. “My folks want to show you off to everyone,” he said, “Their idea, not mine.”

Bob’s parents appeared to be glad to meet me. “Enchantee,” Bob’s Father said.

“Merci,” I replied.

“Do you speak French?” he asked, with a hopeful tone in his voice. Speaking in French, I replied that I was taking French in school. He immediately responded with a torrent of French, probably to test my fluency. I understood most of what he said, and I was able to make suitable responses, also in French.

“You seem to be quite fluent,” he said. “I’m impressed.”

Bob’s Mother interrupted, “He’s always happy to meet someone who speaks French. He thinks that it should be a mandatory rule that everyone learn French. He’s disappointed that Bob isn’t that fluent” Bob’s Dad gave her a dirty look, but otherwise ignored the dig.

“Have you ever heard any French songs?” he asked. I admitted that I had. “I recently bought a CD of French cabaret songs. You want to hear it?”

Bob’s Mother interrupted again, “She didn’t come here to listen to that frog music,” she said. Bob’s Dad didn’t like the use of the word ‘frog’ for ‘French.’

I began to get a funny feeling about this CD. Could it be the one I recorded, I wondered?

Bob’s Mother introduced me to all of the relatives and guests as ‘Bob’s girlfriend,’ which I found interesting. While circulating I noticed that they had a Bosendorfer piano.

“That’s a beautiful piano,” I said.

“Do you play?”

“Some,” I answered.

Despite the disparaging remark about ‘frog’ music, Bob’s Dad found the CD and carried it over to me. It indeed was the one I had recently recorded. He looked at the cover picture and at me, and then repeated the same. I could see him making the connection. “Mildred,” he announced, “Bob’s girlfriend is the singer on this CD!”

“How nice,”she absently responded. Then what he had said hit her. “What?” she exclaimed as she snatched the CD from her husband’s hands. Like her husband she repeatedly looked at me and the CD cover. “Well, I must say, you’ve made his day.”

She turned to her husband. “She doesn’t have to hear any of the songs on this CD, she’s heard them millions of times.”

“Would you sing one for us?” Bob’s Dad asked.

“My pleasure,” I responded.

“Hey, everyone,” Bob’s Dad announced as he waved the CD in the air, “Bob’s girlfriend is the singer on this CD, and she’s willing to sing one of the songs for us.”

“How about Parlez-moi D’Amour?” I asked.

“Great choice,” he responded, and I sat down at the piano, smoothing my skirt under me as I did. I played a brief introduction, and then launched into the song. When I finished I stood up and curtseyed to the applause.

A few minutes later Bob came up to me. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said.

“That’s alright, no problem,” I responded with a smile.

“You’ve really made Dad’s day,” he commented. “I don’t know what he’ll do when we break up.” We had planned to tell everyone that I had made up with my boyfriend and that Bob and I would not be dating anymore.

Later on, Bob’s Dad took me aside. “How many years of French have you taken?” he asked.

“This is my third year,” I answered.

“Any plans to major in French in college?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“As you know, I teach French, and your grasp of the language and pronunciation are very good. I would be happy to have you consider going to my school and taking French. You probably would not have to take the introductory courses, but go directly into the advanced courses.”

One song was followed by another, and the barbeque evolved into a musical soiree. As a parting gesture I autographed the CD cover, which greatly pleased Bob’s Dad.

Bob and I were able to find a few minuted to be with each other. “I really want to thank you for all you’ve done. You made a real hit with my Parents, and taken some heat off of me. If you and Sandy weren’t an item, I’d like to date you, since you are a boy.”

“I’m not into that scene, but I’ll take what you said as a compliment,” I responded, “Thank you.”

When I arrived back home, my Mother wanted to know how it went. I related that Bob’s Dad was a professor of French, and that he had my CD, and connected me with the CD. “So, I did a lot of singing,” I said. I met up with Sandy the next day and she wanted to know the same. I gave her the same answer which I gave my Mother.

Later on, I related the events to Mlle. Vert. It turned out that she knew Bob’s Dad. “He thinks that I’m a girl, so please don’t tell him that I’m not,” I asked her.

Chapter 18 - Dad comes around.

It was after a counseling session that my Father and I had a frank talk. “I’m well aware of the fact that you have been sneaking out while dressed as a girl.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘sneaking,’ it’s more like I don’t flaunt my dressing in front of you because I know you don’t like it,” I said.

“I appreciate that you don’t want to cause me discomfort,” he said, “but I feel like you are dressing behind my back.”

“So, what do you want me to do, other than stopping dressing entirely?” I asked.

“Well, I know that there are times when you have to dress as a girl, like when it deals with your CD, but I also know that you also dress as a girl just for the fun of it.” He paused for a few seconds. “I can deal with you dressing as a girl. I don’t like it, but I don’t want to be cut out of parts of your life. What I propose is that you not conceal your dressing from me, with the understanding that I don’t approve, but with the further understanding that I will not forbid you from dressing whenever you wish.”

“I hope what you mean is that I can wear a dress or skirt anytime I’m going out or even when I’m at home in the same room as you,” I said.

“That’s pretty much it,” he responded, “but in doing so, I would like you to refrain from looking like a hooker.”

“I can live with that,” I responded.

“And no prancing around half dressed,” he said.

“Okay, no prancing,” I agreed, with a smile at my own cleverness.

“Wait,” he said, “the important part is not ‘prancing’ but in being half dressed.”

“Okay, nothing that my sisters wouldn’t do,” I assured him.

“Wait a minute,” he said, “you know I don’t have any control over them. Don’t use them as a role model. I’m hoping that you will be more modest.” I had to smile at this comment.

With that we called Mother in and told her what Dad and I had decided. One positive result was that Dad would tell me how nice I looked when dressed even if he didn’t like it. “I love you, and I don’t stop loving you when you wear a dress,” he said.

Chapter 19 - Confusion at Counseling.

I had a private session with Dr. Goodman where I had an opportunity to tell my counselor about my date with Bob, and the reasons. “Did you kiss him?”she asked.

“Yes.”

“Anything more?” she then asked.

“No.”

“Did you enjoy kissing him?” she asked.

“It was okay, but I like kissing Sandy more,” I answered.

“You knew that Bob was gay when you kissed. Do you think that this affected how you felt about kissing him?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, “it did seem a little gay, and I don’t think that I’m gay.”

“Have you ever thought about dating a straight boy?” she asked

“Not really,” I responded, “I don’t think that Sandy would approve.”

My counselor made some notes. “You don’t have a lot of experience in sexual relationships, which makes it difficult to determine your preferences,” she said. “Have you noticed any physical changes?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Why don’t you and Sandy discuss you going on dates with boys.” she suggested.

Sandy and I discussed my dating boys. She didn’t like the idea at all, even thought my counselor had suggested it. I, of course, didn’t know any boys who would want to date me.

Except for Bill. I ran across him at the mall, when I was dressed. “You look pretty good,” he said, “You want to catch a movie this weekend?”

‘Wow,’ I thought, ‘I’ve just been asked for a date by a boy.’

“Sure,” I answered.

I dressed very carefully for my date. I wanted to favorably impress him. I wore an A-line skirt and blouse. Underneath it, I decided to wear nylons and my corset. While at the movie, I felt him put his arm around me, and I put my head on his shoulder. Then he kissed me. It was wonderful, as good as kissing Sandy. Bill and I continued to date, and I let his hands have a freer range. While I told Sandy about the dates, I didn’t go into great detail, but rather I made it seem like I was only doing it because of what my counselor had suggested. I knew that sooner or later, we would have to go beyond kissing and hugging. That opportunity arose one Sunday afternoon when I was at his house. His parents were not home. He made a suggestion of what we could do. I didn’t want to. I was a boy, not a girl, and that left me with a negative feeling. Because of that and because Sandy did not like my dating Bill, I stopped going out with him.

I related my experiences to my counselor. Rather than reaching any conclusions, it just created more questions. “I don’t think you know what you want to do at this time. I suggest we hold off making any decisions until we get a better idea of what you really want to do,” she said.

Chapter 20 - Another CD.

It was at the end of my junior year at highschool that I received a call from Mr. Phillips, my record producer. “Nicholas and I were discussing you the other day. Your CD went over better than we expected, and we were trying to figure out whether it makes sense to produce another. We may want to change the format somewhat, since I think that the market has enough French cabaret songs.”

“What kind of format are you looking for?” I asked.

“You’ve got a sexy voice, so something that would capitalize on that point. If you’re interested in that, Nicholas and I will scout around for likely music.”

“How about I write my own songs?” I ventured.

“You can do that?” he said, with a strain of disbelief in his voice.

“I’ve done a few, and I think that I can.”

“Then why don’t you see if you can do some more and make a rough tape for us to hear.”

“Okay,” I said.

I spent my free time over the next month working on composing some songs. The music was difficult enough but the lyrics were harder. During this process, I discovered that it made sense to have the lyrics down first, rather than trying to get the lyrics to fit a melody which I had written.

At last I had about 20 songs, some better than others. If I wrote additional verses for some of them I felt that I could fill a CD. Of course, the producers may not like any or all of them. Using a digitizer and some microphones I made up a CD and sent it to them.

As expected, some of the songs were rejected, but Mr. Phillips and Mr. Nicholas liked the others. “We’ll get the rights to some other songs, and we’ll have enough for a CD. The ones you wrote we’ll release as singles. As to the ones we rejected, we’ll put the scores up for sale. Maybe some other singer will want to record them. Naturally, we will copyright all of the songs as well as your singing. We want to hold the copyright, and we will pay you for assigning the rights, independent of how well the songs do on the market.” Mr. Phillips handed me a contract. “Take this to your lawyer and let us know as soon as possible, since we want to start recording in the near future.”

They had suggested that some strings would work well with the songs, and I went back home to write string parts. “If you have problems with the string parts, I know an arranger who can take care of it. In fact, we might want the arranger to work on all of the songs.”

When all of this was done, we started recording. The arrangements were well done, and I had practiced all of the songs at home, so we ended up doing more songs in each session than they had planned. Naturally, both Mr. Phillips and Mr. Nicholas were pleased with this because it reduced the production costs.

When the music was released, Mr. Phillips called Ms. Stone, the critic for the local paper and she interviewed me again. It was later that I found out that our local paper was syndicated, and the interview was published in quite a few papers. This really helped sales. For the second time, I traveled around promoting the CD and giving concerts, not as the headliner, but as a warm up for the main act. This time I took Nancy with me as my manager.

Chapter 21 - Music Video.

My senior year in high school was not particularly notable. Sandy and I continued to date. I took a fourth year of French. I received royalties for my second CD. But there were a few notable exceptions. I was driving in my car and I heard one of my rejected songs being performed. At first I didn’t recognize it, because the singer’s style was so different from mine, however, her style suited what I had written.

One day Mr. Phillips called. “I’ve had some inquiries about you writing additional songs. I think you need an agent to handle this.” Our family lawyer knew some agents, and soon I was connected with one. One of the first things my agent did was to suggest making a music video.

Mr. Nicholas agreed to front the cost of producing the video, provided that he and Mr. Phillips could tell me what to wear. “We want something sexy. This is the entertainment business, so we don’t want to hear anything about only being a sex object. Just face the fact that if you look sexy, the more both of us make on the video.”

“How about the dress I wore before?”

“You looked good, but we are thinking about something slinky with a slit that will allow you to show some leg.”

“Who pays for it?” I wanted to know.

“We’ll rent it, so we’ll pay,” Mr. Nicholas answered, “I want you to go to this shop, and ask for Margie. She knows what we want,” and with that he handed me a card from the shop.

My sisters were really interested in this. “If you’re going to show some leg, you might want to consider stockings and garters, rather than pantyhose,” Nancy advised.

I called the shop and made an appointment to meet with Margie and gave her my sizes and measurements. The day before going to the shop, I visited the beauty salon. “It has to look sexy,” I told Sally, and sexy was what I got. I spent a lot of time getting dressed and applying my makeup.

When I went to the shop Margie had selected some dresses for me to try on. “All you have to do is put them on. Mr. Nicholas said that I was to chose which one you will wear.” All of the dresses were revealing and all had a slit to show off a leg. When she made her decision, she said, “You know the color, so select your hose to go with it.”

Mr. Nicholas and I arranged the date for the shooting of the video. When this was done he said, “Don’t worry about your makeup and hair. I’ll hire a makeup girl and a hairdresser for the session, in addition to Margie. I’ll also hire some studio musicians to accompany you, since you’ll be busy strutting your stuff and singing.”

On the day for the video, Nancy went with me, even though my other sisters wanted to go. I wore stockings, not pantyhose, and everything that would go with the dress which Margie had selected.

We arrived before everyone else. Someone had set up the area for the video, with a backdrop. The studio provided a director, who went over what I should do and where. We then practiced the songs and the director made some changes in what I was to do. By the time we were finished Margie, the makeup artist, and the hairdresser had arrived. “The rest of the people will be here in forty-five minutes. See if you can have her ready by then.” When I had my costume and makeup on and my hair fixed, the musicians and the video crew were there. I ran through everything, and some changes were made in the lighting. Then the actual shooting began. While the director was pleased with the first take, we did some additional ones, just to be sure. After that I took off the dress and gave it back to Margie.

I was pleased when the video was released and I saw some of my classmates watching it on their tablets and cell phones. No one connected me, as Eugene, with the girl in the music video.

No answers yet.

Gene or Jean? - Part V - The Halloqueen.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 22 - Sylvia.

At last I graduated, and was heading off to college, to major in French Literature with a minor in Business. I figured that I would not be cross-dressing while in college, so I left all of my feminine attire at home. I figured wrong.

Sandy also graduated. However, she was enrolled at a different college. This put a strain on our relationship which shortly resulted in her connecting with a boy at her college. When she broke the news to me, she pointed out that her new boyfriend did not like to wear women’s clothes. I was hurt, but because she broke up with me, I hoped that she wasn’t also hurt. Oh, well. As a result I was in the market for a new girlfriend. I was still considered to be a slightly nerdly boy who was slightly feminine. Not good for finding a girl friend.

I was now only occasionally seeing my counselor. What was new were the dynamics of my relationships. She asked me if I wanted to be a girl, full time. While the thought had some good points to it, I just wasn’t sure.

After breaking up with Sandy and a while at college, I met Sylvia. I was at the student union, and went into the cafeteria for lunch. As expected, the place was crowded, and I wandered around looking for an empty seat. There was an empty seat at a table across from this girl. She looked up from her tablet and, taking off her ear buds, invited me to sit down. She then returned to looking at her tablet. I asked her what she was watching. “It’s a new music video of this fantastic girl singer,” she replied. “Oh?” I said, and she showed me what was on her laptop. It was me. Of course, I was wearing my boy clothes, and she didn’t make the connection. When the music video was over she put down her tablet. “Did you ever watch this video?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, “a few times.”

“Isn’t it fantastic?” she said, “I’d love to attend one of her concerts. How about you?”

I admitted that it would be nice, omitting that if there was such a concert, I would have to be on stage, wearing a dress.

We seemed to get along with each other and chatted for about a half an hour, until we both had classes.

I had her name and her telephone number, so I called her and asked if she wanted to meet at the cafeteria again. She did.

“So, what is your major?” she asked.

“French Literature with a Business minor,” I replied. “How about you?”

“Sociology,” she said, “so you must have studied French in high school,” she added.

“All four years,” I replied.

“I took two years of French in high school, and I’m taking French here to satisfy my foreign language requirement,” she volunteered. “Maybe you could help me with my French?”

“I’d be happy to,” I responded.

“You know, when we first met, I was watching this music video.” she said. “The girl in that video also did a whole CD of French cabaret songs. Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” I responded.

“Did you like it?” she then asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I said, breaking away from one word answers.

“My French prof played two of the songs in class,” she said. “My prof said that the pronunciation was good, but with a slight French-Canadian accent. He said that as second year students we probably wouldn’t be able to recognize it. Did you?”

“I heard that. Since I have an Aunt who grew up outside of Montreal, and who now lives in the same town where I live, I practiced French with her. She has a slight Canadian accent, or so I’m told, so I also have that accent,” I said.

“I live in an apartment with three other students,” she said, “how about you?”

“I live in a dorm room with a jock on an athletic scholarship,” I answered. “He considers French to be a sissy language. Naturally, we don’t get along.”

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, “Why don’t you come over to my place and translate the lyrics of the songs for me?” It appeared that the translation was part of her homework.

“I can do that,” I replied, “when and where?” She told me her address and suggested Sunday, about two. She gave me her last name, so I could locate the correct apartment.

“All of my roomies are from my town, which is how I found the place,” she told me. “One is a sophomore psychology student. Another is a junior and is studying to become a teacher. The other, a senior, seems to be majoring in boys. She goes out a lot and I never see her study,” she said with a smile at her own humor. I smiled back.

On Sunday I eschewed student grunge and wore slacks and a shirt with a collar. When I knocked on the door to Sylvia’s apartment, a good looking redhead answered the door. “Hey Sylvia,” she announced, “Frenchy is here!” and she asked me in.

Sylvia came into the front room. She was wearing a cute pair of tan shorts and a pink T-shirt top. She had sandals on her feet. She looked wonderful. “You have to excuse Ann,”she said, “she probably forgot your name. Have a seat.” She then went into another room and returned with the CD of cabaret songs.

It appeared that Ann was the senior who, as Sylvia said, was majoring in boys. Sylvia put the CD in a player, and Ann grabbed the jewel box. I could see her scrutinizing my photo on the cover. I was getting nervous, but before anything could happen the first song started. I translated as the music played.

“You did that pretty quickly,” Ann observed, “Either you’re faking it, or you’ve done this before.”

“I translated all of the songs into English for an assignment in high school, so I know it,” I responded.

“The translation is for a class assignment due tomorrow,” Sylvia confessed.

“Then you should do your own translation,” I warned her, “As I told you, I’ve had four years of French in high school, so some of my translation might have a nuance which you are not expected to know as a second year. Which two songs have you chosen?”

“Plaisir D’Amour and Parlez-Moi D’Amour,”she said.

“Good choices,” I said, “I like both of those songs.”

We went into the kitchen and sat at the table, and Sylvia began to translate. I only corrected obvious mistakes. Sylvia called me a few days later and gleefully reported that she received one of only two ‘A’s’ on the translation. “You’re my good luck charm,” she said, “Will you help me out in the future?”

“With pleasure,” I responded. So we established a routine where I would tutor her on Sunday afternoons. Occasionally I would bring some of the materials which I was studying to see if she could follow along. Sometimes she could and sometimes she couldn’t. Our study sessions expanded into occasional dates.

Thus the tutoring sessions blossomed into a relationship, and I spent more and more time with her.

Chapter 23 - Halloween and becoming the ‘Halloqueen.’

It was in mid-October that Ann announced that her sorority, Sigma Rho Sigma or SRS, was sponsoring a Halloween party. All students were invited to attend because it was a fund-raiser. Sylvia made it plain that she wanted to go with me.

“But I don’t have a costume, and I’m a little short on funds right now, so I can’t buy or rent one,” I explained. “I only have enough to pay the admission price.”

“You have to be in costume to get in,” Ann explained, “Maybe we can come up with something.”

“Sue,” Ann announced, “can you come in here for a minute. Gene needs a costume for the SRS Halloween party. Do you still have that floor length formal gown you wore to the dance last spring?”

Ann then turned to me. “Think that you’re man enough to wear a dress in public?” she asked. Now that was unique, I thought. I had always associated wearing a dress to be feminine.

I knew that I would go for it. I hadn’t worn female clothes since summer. In fact, I didn’t bring any with me to college. I was sure that my roommate would not approve. I wanted to wear the dress, but I had to make it look like I was somewhat reluctant. I had no problems with dressing.

“I don’t know,” I began, “but I suppose I’m enough of a man to do so.”

“Good,” Ann said. “Sue, bring the dress in here, please.”

Sue returned with a long garment bag. “I don’t know if it will fit. I had to wear a waist nipper with it.” She held up a dark green floor length gown.

“Do you have the waist nipper?” Ann asked.

“Yeah,” Sue responded, “It’s in the garment bag.”

Ann turned to me. “I don’t suppose you know what dress size you would wear?” she said. “No, of course you wouldn’t,” she said, answering her own question. I certainly knew my dress size, but I had no desire to question what she said and let on that I cross-dressed. However, I really wanted to wear that dress.

Sue was a bit on the chunky side. Ann looked at the size on the label and looked at me. “I think this will work,” she said. She held the dress up to me. It was then that I noticed that it had a slit up the left side of the skirt, well above mid-thigh.

“Okay, let’s see if he can get into it.” Ann announced. She then turned to me and said, “strip down to your underwear.”

The waist nipper was pinned to the hanger. “Sue, give me that waist nipper,” Ann said. She handed it to me. “Here, put this on,” she commanded. I knew how to put it on, but pretended confusion. Finally, Ann helped me put it on. It did it’s job and my waist shrank, pushing my flesh upward. “Looking good,” Ann commented.

Ann turned to Sylvia. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Here, help me put this dress on him.” Sylvia and Ann put the dress over my head, and let it slip over my body. After doing this, Sylvia zipped it up. Both Ann and Sylvia stepped back to view their handiwork.

“It fits perfectly,” Sylvia commented.

I just fidgeted a bit, and examined the slit. “Is this necessary?” I questioned.

“It makes you look sexy,” Ann responded, “All girls want to look sexy.”

“But I’m not a girl,” I complained, insincerely. Ann and Sylvia ignored what I had said.

“Now let’s see about shoes,” Ann commented. “Let’s see what we have. Here, sit down,” she commanded.

Force of habit caused me to smooth the back of the dress as I sat down on the front of a chair, my knees together and my back straight. I noticed that Ann was studying this but she said nothing. I knew my shoe size, but didn’t volunteer that information. After trying on several pairs, one pair was found that wasn’t too tight.

“Stand up, and let me see you walk in heels,” Ann commanded. I certainly knew how to walk in heels, but I did my best to totter a bit as I walked. “They’ll do,” Ann declared.

“Okay, girls,” Ann added, “let’s make a list of what else we need. Panty hose or stockings and garter belt?”

“I wore panty hose,” Sue said, “If he wears stockings, some bare thigh will be visible.”

“Even the better,” Ann said with an evil grin. “What do you think, Sylvia?”

“Stockings and garter belt,” Sylvia replied with a grin, “ I kind of like a sexy, slightly naughty look.”

“Okay, black garter belt and stockings,” Ann continued, as she made notes on a piece of paper. “Panties,” she said, “we can’t forget panties. Black and brief.” She looked at Sylvia and Sue for confirmation. “Maybe a short black half slip with a matching slit. Do you have one, Sue?” Sue acknowledged that she had just the right slip.

“Okay, now for the top, she said, “He’ll need a black bra, and maybe a black camisole. We’ll see what we have in the apartment, and see what fits.”

She made a few further notes. “Okay, Frenchy, you can take the dress off,” she said. They unzipped the dress and helped me take it off.

“What are we going to do about his hair,” Sue asked.

“Pulled back with some pulled behind his ears, a head band, and the rest with a curl at the end,” Sue suggested.

“Or maybe a french twist,” suggested Sylvia, “something sophisticated.”

By now I had all of my clothes back on. Ann was studying my face. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a cute face, almost too cute for a boy?”

“No,” I lied.

“Well you do,” commented Ann. “With a little makeup and doing something about his hair, we could walk him all around campus, and everyone would think he was a girl. You want to try?” she asked me.

“Definitely not!” I asserted, knowing full well that she was correct.

The next few days consisted of a crash course in acting and moving like a girl, which I really didn’t need. It also consisted of learning how to dance as a girl, which I did need.

One might ask why I let a bunch of girls get me to dress up as a girl. First, I really liked Sylvia, and she seemed to favor the idea; second, it was Halloween, the cross-dressers’ holiday and; third, I wanted to dress up, I liked doing it.

I was blissfully unaware of the possible consequences.

* * *

On the day of the Halloween party, Sylvia and her roommates all joined in for my transformation. Sylvia did my hair and Sue my makeup, all under Ann’s supervision. With my hair and makeup done, Sylvia, Sue and Rachael, the other roommate, went to collect the other clothes, leaving me alone with Ann. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she asked. I noticed that she was holding my CD of cabaret songs, with my picture on it. I knew that I looked a lot like the picture.

“Yes.” I admitted, “but please don’t tell anyone.”

“This is you on the cover,” she said.

“Yes,” I further admitted.

“And you sang the songs on the CD, didn’t you?” Again I had to admit it was true.

“Why don’t you want Sylvia to know?” she asked.

“Because I like her, and want to continue our relationship,” I responded, “if she knew that I cross-dressed, she might drop me like a hot potato.”

“But then again, she might not.”

At this time, Sylvia, Sue and Rachael returned with the clothes I was to wear to the party. I started to undress, assuming that the girls would leave the room, giving me some privacy. I assumed wrong. No one moved.

“How about some privacy,” I requested, which the girls intentionally misunderstood.

“Ann, Sue, do you need privacy?”Sylvia asked.

“Not us,” Ann replied for herself and Sue, intentionally misunderstanding my request.

“Rachael, Sylvia, do you need privacy?” Ann asked in turn.

“No, we’re fine,” Rachael answered for herself and Sylvia.

“None of us need privacy,” Sylvia said to me.

“Not for you, for me,” I said with frustration edging into my voice. All four of the girls started laughing at their own joke, but none of them made any indication of leaving the room.

“Okay, so be it!” I declared, took the panties, faced the wall, took off my pants and underpants, and slid on the panties. It was some time since I had last worn panties, and I savored the feeling they gave me. I then took off my shirt and undershirt, and turned around to face the girls. I had used a hair remover the night before and my skin was smooth and hairless. I put on the waist nipper and Sylvia helped me with the bra, not that I really needed any help. I put on the garter belt, and fished the suspender straps under the panties. Ann gave me a knowing smile when she saw me do this.

I sat down and started to put on the stockings when Sylvia said, “Let me help you with that.” Her help included rubbing her hands up and down my legs. She then fastened the straps of the garter belt to the stockings.

Sue handed me the half slip, and said, “The slit goes on your left side,” as if I didn’t know. Rachael slid the camisole over my head, while Ann balled up some pantyhose to stuff into the bra.

At last it was time for the gown. All of the girls assisted putting it on me, and pulling it so it hung correctly. Rachael then knelt on the floor and put on my shoes.

“Nail polish,” Ann announced, an produced a bottle of red polish. “It matches your lipstick,” she said. All the while I could feel Sylvia rubbing my butt. The last step was packing a purse.

Sylvia and Ann then completed getting ready, and Sue handed me a coat. Ann, Sylvia and I then stepped outside. A breeze lifted up the skirt of the gown, opening the slit. I could feel the cold air on my left leg.

I sat down on the rear seat and turned as a lady would do when getting in a car wearing a dress. This was not lost on either Ann or Sylvia. Sylvia then got into the back seat with me, to my left. Ann was sitting alone in the front seat. Once we were all seated, we fastened our seat belts. Sylvia took the middle of the back seat, and with an innocent look on her face, found the slit in my dress and ran her hand up and down my left leg.

* * *

The sorority had rented a hall off campus, and it was appropriately decorated for Halloween. I paid for Sylvia’s and my admission and hung up our coats. The main room was fairly large, with tables and chairs around the outer edge. There was a small stage at the far end, with only a piano on it. Because this was off-campus, there were two bars, one for over 21 and one for under 21. Two of the sorority members were checking ID’s. Those over 21 were given orange and black wrist bands. which allowed them to buy alcoholic drinks. Both bars were busy when we walked in. Ann introduced us to some of the sorority members and then left us on our own.

All of the sorority members wore name tags. The Halloween party was part of the rush to get new members. Ann had hoped that Sylvia would join her sorority and Sylvia and I were seated at a table with some sorority members.

I sat to Sylvia’s right, probably to give her access to the slit in my dress. To my right was a sorority member named Tiffany. Tiffany obviously though that I was a girl, and began talking about the advantages of joining the sorority.

“That sounds great,” I told Tiffany, “but I can’t join.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I’m not a girl,” I replied. When I said that, she looked at me in total astonishment.

“But you look like a girl.”

“It’s my Halloween costume,” I said.

While we talked I could feel that Sylvia’s right hand had found the slit in my dress, and was rubbing my stockinged leg. While that was pleasant, I was afraid I’d get aroused.

I noticed that there were a lot of boys milling around, checking out the girls. Two of them came up to Sylvia and me and asked us if we wanted to dance. “Sure,” Sylvia answered for both of us. “Come on Jean, let’s dance.” I had no choice but to comply. Tiffany heard this exchange and gave me a strange look as I stood up and the boy took my hand.

“I’m Fred,” he said, “and from what your friend said, you must be Jean.” The music was loud enough to make conversation difficult until the DJ put on a slow dance song. Then Fred said, “You’re a good dancer. What is it about you girls, most of you are good dancers.”

“I have three sisters, and we all taught each other how to dance,” I responded.

When Sylvia and I returned to the table, Ann was sitting where Tiffany had sat. “It looks like you scared poor Tiff away. What did you do?”

“She was trying to get me to join Sigma Rho Sigma until I told her that I wasn’t a girl. I probably should have just gone along with her.”

“She probably has it in for you,” Ann said. “We have a little contest that we do every year, where we pick a Halloqueen. She’ll probably make sure that you’re one of the contestants.”

“But I’m a boy, I can’t be Halloween queen, or Halloqueen as you put it.”

“That never stopped anyone in prior years,” Ann commented, “I actually think that you have a good chance of winning. By the way, part of the contest is a talent contest. You shouldn’t have a problem with that,” she added with a chuckle.

As the evening progresses, I found that Sylvia couldn’t keep her hands off of me when we were not dancing.

About ten, the DJ announced, “After I take a break, we’ll start the Halloqueen contests. The ladies of the sorority have picked the contestants, and will now escort them to the stage.” With that the sorority sisters fanned out to bring the contestants to the stage. You didn’t know you were a contestant until one of the sorority sisters brought you to the stage. I remembered what Ann had said, as I noted that Tiffany made a bee line toward me. With a wicked smile on her face, she pulled me toward the stage. She had to let me go when we got to the steps leading up to the stage, but she and some other sorority sisters blocked any avenue of escape except up the steps. I lifted my skirt and climbed up the stairs, followed by Tiffany.

Once on the stage she said, “You have a handy slit in your skirt. Show them some leg.” I moved my left leg out of the slit. I noted that everyone could see my stocking tops. This was greeted with wolf whistles. I blushed.

There were twelve contestants on the stage, both boys and girls, with a variety of costumes. One girl, who was the President of Sigma Rho Sigma had a microphone. She introduced herself and gave out the rules of the contest. “There are twelve of us, each with a poster board with the number one through twelve. One of these girls will stand behind each contestant in random order. No contestant will know their number. One by one on my command, a sister will turn her poster board so the number is visible. You are to clap or otherwise make noise when a contestant’s number is shown. The four contestants with the loudest response will move into the final phase, and yes, you may vote as many times as you wish.”

And so the selection began. The numbers were called in random order. Some contestants received only a little applause, but for others the response was deafening.

“That was for a warmup,” she said, “We will do it several times more to be sure that we have the correct finalists.” She turned to the contestants, and said, “This is supposed to be fun. Let’s see some big smiles.” I complied and flashed a big smile with my red lipsticked lips. With that, the contest commenced.

“Now for the elimination. I will call out the numbers of the contestants who have been eliminated. One of our sorority sisters will guide that contestant center stage, and he or she will give us his or her name and tell us where he or she is from. After that, he or she may leave the stage.”

Eight of the contestants were eliminated. I was not one of them. “Let’s hear it for our contestants who were eliminated. You were all good sports.”

After the last eliminated contestant had left the stage, she said, “Okay, these are our four finalists. I want each of you to walk back and forth on the stage and strut your stuff.”

“You in the audience are encouraged to yell, cheer, whistle or clap,” she told the audience. The noise was deafening as each of us strutted across the stage. It appeared it was louder as I did it.

The President of SRS then pointed at me. “Let’s see some leg, honey,” she commanded.

What the heck, I thought, and I lifted the hem of my skirt, and stuck my left leg out to a tumultuous response. My stocking top and garter straps were clearly visible, along with some thigh. I looked at the other finalists. Three of us were boys in drag. The fourth was a foxy looking girl in a brief and sexy witch costume.

“For obvious reasons, we can’t have a swimsuit competition, but we can have a talent competition.” She turned to the audience, and said, “None of our finalists have had a chance to prepare for this portion of the contest, so the results may be interesting.” She smirked as she said this.

The first finalist was the girl in the witch costume. “And what are you going to do?” the President asked.

“I could dance, but I need music.”

“What song?”

“Theme from New York, New York.”

“We may have to wait until the DJ comes back, unless we have a volunteer to play the piano,” the President said.

I raised my hand. “I’ll do it,” I said, and walked to the piano. I smoothed my skirt under me and sat down. “When ever you’re ready,” I said. The girl nodded and I started to play. She was really good. I hoped she’d win.

When the girl was finished, there was thunderous applause. The President turned to me and said, “Thank you for playing the piano, but don’t think that it satisfied your part of the talent contest,”

The other two finalists each elected to sing a song, and again I volunteered to accompany them on the piano. One was okay, but the other one couldn’t keep in tune and went flat.

Finally, the President turned to me. “Introduce yourself and tell us what you are going to do.”

“My name is Gene, and I’m going to sing a French cabaret song called ‘Parlez-moi D’Amour,’ which means ‘speak to me of love.’ Because it is a French song, I will sing in it French. I will also accompany myself on the piano.”

So I gracefully sat at the piano and turned my face to the audience, and began. When I finished, there was dead silence at first, then some clapping, and then a thunderous response. I stood up and curtsied. This brought an even greater response.

By this time the DJ had returned, and he played the same song from my CD. When that was finished, the President held up her hand for silence and said, “You did a great job of imitating what the DJ played. Have you heard the recording before?”

“Yes, many times,” I answered.

With that I was allowed to leave the stage and return to the table. Sylvia gave me a big hug with one hand on my butt. “You really knocked them out.”

The sorority President then announced that the panel of judges would meet and pick the new Halloqueen for the year.

“I’m sure that you will win,” Sylvia said.

I did, and was called back to the stage receive an orange sash with ‘SRS Halloqueen’ on it and to have a tiara placed on my head, supposedly by last year’s Halloqueen, who was a boy wearing a long dress.

As I was walking back to the table, Tiffany intercepted me. “Being Halloqueen is a year-long event,” she said with a wicked grin. “It looks like you’ll have to buy some skirts and dresses, that is, unless you already have a stash of them.”

Back at the table I asked Ann what this year long event as SRS Halloqueen was all about. “Let’s see, you crown next year’s Halloqueen, but you figured that out already. If the Halloqueen is a girl she is asked to join our sorority and we waive the first year’s dues. Since you are a boy, you are made an honorary member of our sorority.”

“Is that it?” I asked with a feeling of relief.

“Not quite,” Ann continued. “Our sorority participates in all of the school events, and you will be with the girls as our honored Halloqueen, This includes riding on our float in the homecoming parade, leading the first dance at dances, attending the winter carnival, valentine’s day, spring fling, and stuff like that. We’ll tell you when and what, as needed. Oh, you will be our queen at any sorority events for our members, except for chapter meetings.”

I didn’t like the way this sounded. “What’s this about skirts and dresses? Tiffany told me I would have to buy some skirts and dresses.”

“Oh, when you attend these events, you will wear a skirt or dress as the occasion warrants.”

“What if I just refuse?”

“Aside from proving that you have no school spirit, you go on all of the sororitys’ black list, which means that none of the sisters will go out with you. Come on, it’s a lot of fun, so don’t be a spoil sport.”

She then moved closer to me and whispered, “After watching you get dressed today, and how you walked and acted this evening, I’d be willing to bet that you like to wear girls’ clothes, not to mention that you are wearing hose and a garter belt. Most guys wouldn’t stand for that. I’m also willing to bet that you already have a wardrobe.”

I didn’t respond.

“Since you don’t deny it, I’ll take that as a yes.” she said with a grin.

As we were leaving, Sue asked me if I wanted them to drop me off at my dorm.

“Heavens no!” I emphatically responded, “my roommate is a jock and I can’t let him see me like this.” Accordingly we all went back to the girls’ apartment.

Sylvia offered to help me change back into my boy clothes. While she was doing that, I felt her hands roaming over my body. Every few moments she kissed me. “Seeing you in a dress really turns me on. Just you, not anyone else.”

When I returned to my dorm room, my roommate wasn’t there, and I quickly undressed and climbed into bed.

Chapter - A Visit Home.

The next morning I decided to drive back home and pick up some of my female wardrobe, and I asked Sylvia if she wanted to go with me for company. “Sure,” she replied, “When do you want to head out?”

On the ride, I mentioned that the dorm rooms were kind of crowded, without a lot of room to put things. “So tell me,” she asked, “what are you picking up?”

“Stuff,” I replied.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just stuff.”

This didn’t satisfy her, so she said, “Ann mentioned that she thinks that you like to dress as a girl and that you have some female clothes. Is that it?”

“Sorta,” I vaguely answered.

I introduced Sylvia to my parents, and went into the basement to get some boxes. When I came back up I asked my mother if she had an extra garment bag.

“Let me get it,” she said, and when she handed it to me she whispered, “for some of your girl stuff?”

“Yeah,” I replied and then told her about being crowned ‘Halloqueen,’ and why I needed the clothes. “Maybe it’s best if we didn’t tell Dad.” I added in a whisper.

Sylvia went to my room with me. She was delightfully amazed at the number of skirts, dresses, blouses and the lingerie I had, not to mention shoes. With her help I packed up a reasonable wardrobe, including the corset. When we were done, we sat on the bed and I related what happened in French class and everything thereafter, including the recordings I made. I also mentioned that I wrote songs, and since there was no piano available, I was taking a keyboard and headphones back with me. After an early supper, Sylvia asked me to bring my CD’s with me and we left.

I knew that I could not keep my girl clothes in my dorm room. My roommate would not understand. Therefore, I squeezed my clothes into Sylvia’s closet and dresser. “We’re about the same size, so I’m going to love borrowing some of your clothes.” I did leave the keyboard in my dorm room.

When Ann, Sue and Rachael were back, Sylvia made me tell them about the CD’s which I had made, and I explained how it contributed to my cross-dressing.

Chapter 34 - Homecoming.

A week later, Ann mentioned that I, as Halloqueen, was riding on the Sigma Rho Sigma float at the homecoming parade. “We have to find something appropriate for you to wear. It’s my guess that the thrift store has a collection of prom dresses, and maybe we can find one there.”

If I was looking for a dress, I decided that I should look like a girl, and with Sylvia’s help I picked a plaid kilt and cream colored blouse. I decided that a corset was necessary, and after I put on my panties and pantyhose, I put on the corset. There was no lack of volunteers to help tighten the laces. I put on the skirt and blouse, and started on my makeup. That I was able to do it so quickly and well amazed the girls. I then fixed my hair with a headband. I grabbed a coat and I was ready to go. Sylvia insisted that she and Ann go with me, Ann being a representative of the sorority upon whose float I would be riding, wearing the dress we hoped to find.

When at the thrift store, I noticed that most of the prom dresses were either worse for wear or an inappropriate style. Sylvia then spotted a floor length white gown, which was my size. It almost looked like a bride’s dress. I noted, thankfully, that it did not have any slits. While I had it on, we looked for a white or cream coat, since it was likely to be cold on the day of the homecoming game and parade. After buying the dress and coat, we went to a shoe outlet and found a pair of white shoes with two inch heels.

After this, Ann said, “Gloves, she needs some white gloves, maybe with white lace trim.”

“How about a full slip, or something to make the skirt of her gown puff out a bit?” suggested Sylvia. “It would help her hips look bigger.” It should be noted that I didn’t object to their use of the feminine pronoun; in fact I kind of liked it.

When we arrived back at the apartment, the first thing I did was to order a pizza to be delivered, after which Sylvia and I put away my purchase. We returned to the living room and chatted with Ann for a while. “I’m so glad that you’re getting into the spirit of things,” Ann commented.

Sylvia sat close to me on the couch, and alternatively rubbed my knee and fiddled with the hem of my kilt. Ann noticed this and announced that she was going to her room to rest and said, “Call me when the pizza is here, and you two, try to behave.”

Sylvia tried to behave but failed miserably. As soon as Ann left the room, Sylvia said. “Seeing you dressed like this turns me on,” and with this she grabbed hold of me and put her lips on mine. I could feel her tongue on my lips and I opened them up to her tongue. From then on, our hugging and touching just got more bold. Finally the pizza arrived and we called this fact out to Ann.

When Ann returned to the living room she had to notice that both Sylvia and I were both a little flushed in the face, our lipsticks were smeared beyond all recognition, and our clothes were disheveled. “I thought I told you two to behave,” she said with a huge grin, “but it’s obvious you ignored me.”

“You told us to behave. You didn’t say whether we should behave well or badly, so we didn’t ignore you,” Sylvia retorted with a smile.

“You two are impossible.”

On Homecoming day we were told to assemble at the stadium parking lot at ten. I knew it would take me some time to get ready, so I slept on the couch at the girls’ apartment. As I was ready to enter the bathroom to change into my pajamas, Sylvia stopped me. “No, that won’t do,” she said, and then added, “wait here for a minute.”

When she came back, she took my pajamas from my hand and handed me a long white nightgown and matching peignoir. “This’ll get you in the proper frame of mind for tomorrow.” She then moved closer to me and whispered, “I wish I had a double bed,” with the innuendo unsaid.

There was nothing to do but to go into the bathroom and put on the nightgown and peignoir, and go to the couch.

I awoke early, before the girls were out of bed, and went into the bathroom to use a hair remover on my body. When this was done I gave myself a close shave, and put on my panties and bra, covered by a robe. By this time the girls were finally up. I went into the living room to allow them to use the bathroom. I then put on the corset and slipped the breast forms into the cups. I tightened the laces as well as I could, and put on my pantyhose. Rachael walked into the living room with her morning coffee. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked. I nodded my head, and she went back into the kitchen. When she returned, I asked her to tighten the laces of my corset, which she gladly did.

After this I put on my full slip and my shoes. I waited until all of the girls were in the living room, because I wanted some help with the dress. Ann and Sylvia helped me with the dress. At this point the girls left the room to get themselves ready. I returned to the now vacant bathroom and applied my makeup, a little heavier than usual. I called to Sylvia and she helped me with a sophisticated up style for my hair. This I followed with some jewelry, the tiara and the sash.

It wasn’t much later that the girls themselves were ready, and at a quarter of ten we put on our coats and left the apartment. My gown was long enough that I had to pick up the hem when I negotiated stairs.

The stadium was not far away, and we arrived about a minute before ten. One of the sorority girls had a big urn of coffee and some doughnuts. The sorority President came up to me. “You look outstanding,” she said, “Much better than I expected.”

“As Halloqueen, I wanted to do it right, and not give the sorority a bad name,” I replied.

“We all appreciate it. By the way, have you met your court who will be riding with you on the float?” and with that she introduced them. They were all wearing formal dresses, and looked really nice.

Tiffany then came up to me. “Nice gown,” she said, “did you have it already or did you have to buy it?” she said making reference with a catty remark she had made to me at the Halloween party.

“I bought it at the thrift store, just for this occasion,” I said,

The President heard this, and said, “Lay off of her. We are overjoyed that she is in the spirit of things, and took the time to look really pretty.”

When the time came, my court and I climbed onto the float. I would have liked to say ‘gracefully climbed’ but it was impossible to be graceful. My ‘throne’ was a white plastic lawn chair perched on the highest part of the float. There were other chairs, a little lower, for the court.

The parade path wound around the campus and part of the town. We were scheduled to arrive back at the stadium shortly before game time, and would make one circuit on the track inside of the stadium for the crowd. I felt like a queen, waving my gloved hand at the people along the parade route and in the stadium. Once outside the stadium we climbed down from the float, exposing a lot of lingerie in the process. There was a portion of the stands reserved for us, near the end zone, and thankfully near some restrooms.

I like football, even if I am way too small to play it. I enjoyed the game, even if our team lost. The sorority had planned a reception in the chapter rooms for parents and alumnae. During the reception a girl who had graduated two years ago came up to me. “I see that you were chosen to be the Halloqueen this year. I can see why you were chosen, you’re a really pretty girl.” Tiffany, who was close by overheard our conversation and just had to interject, “He’s not a girl.” The sorority President overheard this and glared at Tiffany, and moved her away.

“Not one of your fans, is she?” the girl asked.

“Hardly,” I responded.

“But tell me, are you really a boy? I know that boys have been crowned Halloqueen in the past.”

“Tiffany is right,” I responded, “I’m really a boy.”

“But you look so feminine,” she said, “I was going to ask if you were going to pledge this sorority, but I guess the answer is that you can’t. Too bad.”

“My girlfriend is going to pledge, and for this year I’m an honorary member, I said.”

“I’m Diane,” she said as an introduction, “and you are?”

“Gene, short for Eugene, but on days like this I spell it ‘Jean’,”

“You’ve got me interested, can we sit down and talk for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” I answered and we moved to some vacant chairs.

I had mastered sitting gracefully in this dress, and when Diane saw this she said, “You really know how to sit in that dress.”

A moment later she said, “Do you feel humiliated having to wear a dress?”

“Hardly, first of all, a lot of people have seen me in a dress and know that I’m really a boy. I have not received a great deal of grief about it. Second, I like wearing a dress and my girlfriend likes it when I’m dressed.”

I then related my cross-dressing starting with my project in French class, and going through making the CD’s, after which I circulated around the room.

When we were back at the apartment, I asked Ann, “What’s with Tiffany? every chance she get, she gives me a hard time?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but she’s on academic probation, and if she doesn’t pull up her grade point she’ll be out of here,” Ann said, “and from what I’ve heard it doesn’t look like she’ll make it.”

At this point I wanted to change clothes and get out of that blasted corset.

Chapter 35 - The Holidays.

Silvia’s parents, for some reason, couldn’t pick her up for Thanksgiving, and I volunteered to give her a ride back and forth. Fortunately, this detour only added an hour to my drive home. Classes for Wednesday afternoon were cancelled, and Sylvia and I were able to get underway before noon.

When we arrived at Sylvia’s house, her Mother fixed us a late lunch, and we chatted for a while with her parents, all the time with her Mother ‘checking me out.’ I guess I passed the test, because her Mother gave me a hug when I left.

When I arrived at my house, the first thing I noticed was a huge banner which said, “Welcome Home, Halloqueen.” After supper, my sisters cornered me and demanded details of my reign so far as Halloqueen, especially my experiences of being hit upon by boys.

“It’s too bad that you’ll have to stop being Halloqueen next Halloween,” Gloria said, “and no more dresses.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” rejoined Nancy, “I bet that this is just the beginning.”

They were able to extract some information about Sylvia. “Does she object to you wearing a dress?” Emma asked.

I should have only said that she didn’t mind, but to my regret I admitted that she was turned on when I wore a dress or a skirt. As could be expected, they cross-examined me about this interesting fact. Each question was more risque that the prior one.

“So,” stated Emma, “whenever you want some, all you have to do is put on a skirt. How convenient.”

“That’s not how it is,” I rejoined, “you make it sound so dirty.”

“Well,” she responded, “if you’re wearing a skirt, it gives her easier access. I’m well aware of how this happens, based upon personal experience.”

“Enough!” I stated, “you’re telling me more that I want to know.”

When it was time for bed, Emma handed me a nightgown. “I’m sure that you will want to wear this to bed,” she said, with a smirk. I did, but I got up first thing in the morning so Dad wouldn’t have to see it. Thanksgiving dinner was pretty much as usual, except that my cousin Jane was there and had to hear everything about me being Halloqueen. She already knew about my CD’s so it wasn’t a total surprise.

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, I called Sandy, just to see how things were going. Despite our breakup, we were cordial with each other. She pointedly wanted to know if I was still cross-dressing.

I had a lot of homework and a paper to write, so I spent most of my remaining time reading Proust and Balzac.

Chapter 36 - Dancing Queen.

Several sororities jointly hosted a Christmas Dance to be held at the same place as the Halloween party. Naturally, as Halloqueen my attendance was requested. “Do I have to have a date?” I asked Ann, “after all Sylvia will be there.”

“You may bring a boy as a date if you want, but it is not required,” she answered. “However,” she added, “you will be rather busy the whole evening.”

“Doing what?”

“Well, all the officers of the sororities met and decided that you should be the honorary hostess for the dance. You will welcome everyone to the dance, and will lead off dancing with the head of the fraternity council.”

“Does he know about me?”

“I don’t know, but that shouldn’t be a problem, After that you will dance with all of the officers of the fraternities who are there. I’d suggest you find a pair of comfortable heels,” she added with a laugh.

“What should I wear?”

“Either the dress you wore when you won the contest or the dress you wore on the float.”

“I like the white one,” I said.

“I think everyone else likes the green one,” she said, “We can get you some red accents to make it look festive.”

By now Sue had joined the conversation. “You know, red stockings and red garter straps would look great, give it a Christmas look.”

“You know, you’re right,” Ann agreed. “Bright red, not dark red or burgundy.”

“And we all expect to see a red leg come out of the slit, a lot.” Sue suggested.

“That means red shoes,” Ann added.

Sue obviously didn’t trust me, so she and Sylvia hauled me to the mall and corset shop for my purchases. Of course, I wore a skirt and blouse for the occasion. They insisted that the garter straps matched the hose.

On the day before the dance, the President of the sorority sought me out, and handed me a box. “It’s a corsage. The fraternity council bought it for you.”

I opened it up. It was red, like my hosiery.

The next day I used a hair remover. The girls handed me a bag. “New Lingerie,” Sue said, “Red.”

About three-thirty in the afternoon the girls started working on me, starting with my red lingerie and stockings. This time Rachael worked on my hair. She had decided that a high pony tail was a good choice, since it could be tied with a bright red ribbon.

The girls had a discussion about my makeup. As usual, I was not consulted. They finally agreed on heavy eye makeup, with a lot of red in it. They even treated me to a set of false eyelashes. Shortly thereafter Ann came out of her room with bright red nail polish. I had let my nails grow, so I didn’t need false nails, although this was discussed.

At my trip to the mall, the girls had insisted on red shoes. The ones they chose had open toes, so the same red nail polish was put on my toe nails. The only thing I liked about these shoes was that they were more comfortable than any of the others I had tried on.

They were done sometime before five, when they went to their rooms to get dressed. While they were getting ready I snuck a look in the mirror. I really looked all tarted up, especially when my left leg was outside of the slit.

I was supposed to be at the dance at about six. The dance was to start at seven. Rachael had a red purse which she loaned to me for the occasion. Sylvia, Rachael and I rode together, and arrived at the dance a minute before six. The presidents of the sororities were already there. When I walked in, they all looked at me with astonishing approval. “Wow, you really outdid yourself, you look absolutely delicious and beautiful,” one said.

“Let’s see some leg,” another added.

“Ooh, hosiery and garters,” a third said, “very sexy,” she added.

“You’re going to drive those frat boys crazy,” another said, “expect some dirty looks from their dates.” Then all of them individually told me to behave myself with their dates.

One of them whispered to me, “Are you sure you’re really a boy? You look all girl tonight.”

Their dates had been standing around the bar when I came in, but like moths and flames, the came over. “Hey, sexy,” one said, “I can’t wait to dance with. . .Oof!” He didn’t finish his statement because his date jabbed him in his stomach with her elbow.

“Watch it, buster,” she said, hinting that otherwise it would be a chaste night for him.

It was then that one of the girls handed me a red sash with ‘Halloqueen’ in silver letters on it. Then the girls gave me the schedule of what I was to do and when to do it.

The doors opened at six-thirty, and by seven the place was crowded. As expected, most of the boys gave me admiring looks and their dates scowled at them and gave me dirty looks. However, there were some girls who gave me admiring and inviting looks. Sylvia, who stood beside me was the one who scowled at them and gave them dirty looks. “Just remember, you’re mine,” she whispered and patted my butt.

At seven-thirty the DJ handed me a microphone, and I made my welcoming remarks. Then the dancing started. As scheduled, my first dance was with the head of the fraternity council. After that, I must have danced with all of the officers of the fraternities. Although it was fairly well known that, as the Halloqueen, I was a boy, none of them invited me to consider joining their frat.

All evening I showed a lot of leg, and there was no doubt as to what I was wearing underneath my gown. I was in cross-dresser heaven.

All of Sylvia’s roommates had dates, and when the dance broke up they and their dates went out for something to eat, or maybe something else. I didn’t ask. That meant that when Sylvia and I went back to her apartment, we were the only ones there. Decency dictates that I not mention what then happened.

When I woke the next morning, I discovered that I was wearing a sheer nightgown, and curled up with Sylvia in her bed. It was a little cramped, but I remembered that neither of us had complained about it the night before. We both got up and went into the kitchen and made coffee. It was then we noticed that not all of Sylvia’s roommates were present in the apartment.

Chapter 37 - Rush.

Fraternity and sorority rush started right after the prior term’s grade were released. Sylvia was invited to join several sororities, and chose Ann’s. I, on the other hand, was only invited to join one fraternity. I suspect that Ann and other members of her sorority had a hand in pressuring the frat to make that invitation, since the sorority which Sylvia joined wanted their members to only date fraternity guys.

Another factor may have been that the college kept track of all of the fraternity members’ grade point averages, and the fraternity which invited me to join, Rho Lambda Epsilon or RLE, was dead last in grade point averages. My first term grades were very good; one B and the rest A’s, a fact which would benefit the fraternity.

There were some casualties in the grade point battle. Tiffany did not return for the next semester. My dorm roommate was placed on academic probation. If he didn’t improve his grades dramatically, he wouldn’t be allowed to play in any sports, and would loose his athletic scholarship.

Shortly after the semester began, I went to my dorm room to study and tickle the ivories on my keyboard. My roommate was there, with a book open on his desk and a desperate look on his face. Knowing that he was on probation, I only said hello.

He then turned to me. “Hey, egghead,” he started, “my grades stank, and the dean suggested that I find a tutor or my days here are numbered. How are you at math?”

“Pretty good,” I said, “Why?”

“Can you tutor me in math?” he said with a look of desperation, “I can pay you for your time.”

“Ok,” I said. “What other courses do you need help in?” I asked.

“All of them, but math is the worst.”

“Aren’t we in the same music history course?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“I can help you there, too.”

So I agreed to tutor him. He had to repeat last semester’s math course. I looked at his textbook. It appeared that it had barely been used. I had taken the same materials in an advanced placement course in my junior year in high school. So the two of us set up a tutoring schedule.

It turned out that he wasn’t stupid; he just didn’t seem to grasp the idea that he was supposed to learn something at college. I also found out that none of the fraternities would touch him with a ten foot pole because he had such a lousy grade point average. It appeared that the frat which he wanted to join was the same frat that I was joining. It was referred to as the dumb jock fraternity, not that I minded.

As a result of the tutoring, we opened up to each other. “So, you’re pledging RLE,” he said, “that’s the one I wanted to join, but I can’t with my lousy grades.”

“Well, let’s get your grades up, and maybe you can join next year.”

“Will you put in a good word for me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I answered. I liked the thought that he was indebted to me.

Gene or Jean? - Part VI - How I got a job wearing a dress.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 38 - The Winter Carnival.

The college sponsored a Winter Carnival every year near the end of January to give everyone a chance to blow off a little steam. There were all sorts of activities such as figure skating contests, snow man building, and even sleigh rides. Some of the frats and sororities had booths with food, hot cider and cocoa. Others set up carnival type of games. The college even cancelled classes for Friday. Naturally, my presence, as the SRS Halloqueen, was requested, and because of my position, RLE didn’t object.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I lamented to Sylvia.

“Said just like a woman,” she responded. But in my case, I didn’t. My feminine wardrobe was limited by where I could keep it. So the girls and I went shopping. I was able to borrow a white fake fur trimmed parka, but I had to buy ski pants and snow boots.

Suitable attired, and wearing my Halloqueen sash, I was assigned to SRS’s booth, selling cider and cocoa. I was in the booth, with only two other girls, when I spotted Frank, my roommate, heading over. Panic. “I have to get out of here,” I said. I didn’t want Framk to see me.

“You can’t leave now,” one of the girls said, “we’re too busy.” So I ended up serving Frank a cup of hot chocolate. He was too busy ogling the other girls to make the connection between me as Halloqueen and his roommate, but that was about to change.

Two additional girls arrived to man the booth, and one of the girls said, “We’re okay now, why don’t you take a break.” It was then that Frank came up to the booth again.

“Hey, Halloqueen,” he said, “why don’t you and I walk around together.”

I hesitated. “Go ahead,” one of the girls said, and I took off my apron and stepped out of the booth.

As Frank and I walked we made the usual small talk. When I mentioned where I was from, he said, “My roommate’s from there. Do you know him?”

“Yes,” I answered.

We talked about the courses we were taking. While I well knew what he was taking, I feigned interest in his courses. When he asked me about my courses, I didn’t think about it, so I answered him.

“My roommate’s taking the same courses,” he commented.

‘Oops,’ I though, maybe I’m giving him too much information.

We talked about me being the Halloqueen and what I did as Halloqueen. “I go to all of the school functions and sorority functions,” I answered him.

“Yeah, I saw you at the Christmas Dance.” he commented, “you really looked foxy in red and green. That slit up your skirt was really sexy.”

“That was the whole idea,, or at least the sorority’s idea.” I responded, “It wasn’t mine.”

“Hey,” he said, “don’t they say, ‘ if you’ve got it, flaunt it,’ and you’ve got it.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, smiling at Frank.

“You ever talk to my roommate about why he doesn’t go to dances and suff like that?” Frank asked.

“We may be from the same hometown,” I answered, “but that doesn’t mean I’d ask about stuff like that.”

During our conversation, I let slip some more facts which connected me, the boy, with the Halloqueen. Frank’s grades may leave something to be desired, but, as I said, he wasn’t stupid. Then, it came to him. He stopped walking and turned to look at my face.

“Ahh, eer,” he mumbled. He then found his voice. “You’re my roommate!” he declared. I had to admit that he was correct.

“How come you never told me?” he said.

“I knew that you didn’t like cross-dressers,” I said in the nature of an explanation.

“Yeah, maybe, but right now I like a certain cross-dresser,” he said as he took my hand in his. We continued to walk. Frank seemed very happy to show me off to his friends, like I was some trophy.

That week, I was tutoring Frank, and he said, “How come you never wear a skirt here?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” I said, “anyway, it takes me a lot of time to look like a girl.”

“Maybe so, but you’re really good at it,” he said, “all of my friends were impressed that I was walking around with the one and only Halloqueen.”

I did, however, dress up for him, to satisfy his curiosity. “You really look good,” he said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d want to kiss you.” He paused, still looking into my eyes, and then said, “What the heck?” and he kissed me.

“You kiss like a girl,” he said.

“I didn’t think you’d like it if I kissed like a boy,” I responded.

“Well . . .,” he said.

“No matter how I kiss, just remember that I have a very jealous girlfriend.” I said, “and I don’t think that I’m gay.” However, after swearing me to secrecy, Frank admitted that he was.

Chapter 39 - Valentine’s day.

Like the prior dances, the sororities and frats were hosting a Valentine’s day dance, and as Halloqueen I had a role in it. The first problem: What to wear.

“Something red and slinky,” suggested Rachael.

“With a slit up the side,” added Sue.

“Great,” I said, “but I don’t have anything like that. You know, I could wear the white dress I wore on the float.” The girls didn’t like that idea.

“Shopping time,” Ann declared. “Get dressed, and wear your corset.” When I was suitably attired, we headed to a discount dress outlet. Once there, the girls went directly to the cocktail dress section. Rachael was the first to strike pay dirt. She came up with a red cocktail dress that was a little shorter than knee length. The main asset, however, was a slit up the left side. She handed it to me and directed me to try it on.

It fit.

Rachael’s discovery only encouraged the others. As always. my opinions were not solicited, and I was told to just stand there, try on dresses, and be quiet.

Sue found a pink dress with a full skirt. “This would be darling with her red hose,” she suggested.

A slinky pink dress, with a slit was then found. The hem of this was just below mid-thigh. Way too short, I opined. I was ignored.

After a lot of conversation, the pink one with the slit was chosen, probably because I already had red lingerie.

The procedure for the Valentine’s dance was much like the Christmas dance. While sitting in the kitchen, I noticed that Sue was using a lot of makeup on my face. “Go easy on the makeup,” I said, “I don’t want to look like a cheap hooker.”

“Oh, I won’t do that,” Sue said, “I’ll make you look like an expensive hooker,”

The dance was much like the Christmas dance. I started with some words of welcome. When I stepped up on the stage, I was greeted with the usual whistles. I decided a little tease was in order, so I smiled broadly, hiked up the hem of my skirt an inch or so, and gave everyone a good look at my leg which included the top of my stocking and a garter strap. This drove the boys wild, and I noticed more than one girl elbow her date in the ribs.

As before, I started the dancing with the President of the fraternity council, and then what I called the ‘mandatory’ dances with officers of the fraternities.

Then I noticed Frank, my roommate. He came up to me and asked me for a dance. “As long as you behave yourself,” I said.

“You’re so beautiful, that may be difficult,” he said, “I keep on thinking what’s underneath that dress.”

“Try not to,” I said.

“You know, you can come directly back to our room, you don’t have to change first.”

“Sylvia might not like that,” I responded, “and there is chance that I might stay overnight at her apartment.” It was a lot easier before Frank knew that I was the Halloqueen and I knew that he was gay.

“Anyway, don’t you have a boyfriend?” I asked.

“I do. You.” he answered.

Not what I wanted to hear.

Like Christmas, I spent the night at Sylvia’s apartment.

Later that week, Sylvia, along with the other girls and I were sharing some takeout food at the apartment. “Who was that big hunk I saw you dancing with,” Sue asked.

“That might have been Frank, my roommate.” I answered.

“Does he know?” she asked.

“He figured that out at the Winter Carnival.” I answered.

“And he still wanted to dance with you?”

“Well, yes,” I said, “and I discovered something about him. He’s gay. So now I have a boyfriend in addition to a girlfriend.”

“You only need a girlfriend, me,” Sylvia said, “has he tried anything funny with you?” she asked.

“No.”

“Keep it that way.” she said.

“He likes it when I dress,” I added.

“So do I,” Sylvia said. “Just don’t let him see you.”

Chapter 40 - Spring Break.

With spring break around the corner, a lot of my fellow students were planning to go to Florida. I was not one of them.

Mr. Phillips had called my agent and asked if I would ‘cut’ another record. Since making my last CD I had been composing and writing some new songs, and I readily agreed. He scheduled a session in the middle of the week. When I told this to Sylvia, she had some reservations. “I had hoped that you could spend some time with me at my house,” she said.

“I can,” I replied, “either at the start of the week or the end of the week. The start might be better, because I don’t know how many recording sessions there will have to be.” So, after my last class, Sylvia and I packed my car and headed off to her house. At Sylvia’s insistence I had packed a suitcase of girl clothes. I wasn’t sure why, because I had enough girl clothes at my house to cover the recording sessions. It was when we were at her house, I found out that Sylvia had planned a weekend of me being a girl, starting with going out to dinner with her parents.

“What about your parents?” I asked, “Won’t my dressing come as a surprise to them?”

“No,” she said, “I told them about you being the Halloqueen and sent them some pictures, so they’re expecting it. In fact, they may be looking forward to it.” I couldn’t imagine why.

After coming back from shopping on Saturday afternoon, Sylvia said it was time to start getting ready to go out to dinner with her parents. When we were ready, we met her Mother in the living room, “Your Dad will be with us shortly. He had some wardrobe issues.”

A few minutes we were joined by a nicely dressed middle aged woman. Sylvia jabbed her elbow in my side and chuckled.

Surprise, surprise, the woman was her Dad - her dad was a cross-dresser! He, or rather she, was wearig a maroon dress with a full skirt. The top part had a square neckline, and she wore a delicate gold necklace. Her makeup was subdued, and she was wearing a wig. “Sorry for the delay,” she said, “I couldn’t get my breast forms to look right until I realized that I had mixed two different sets. You girls might not understand, but maybe Jean would.”

“I do.”

“Mom says that she likes it when Dad dresses,” Sylvia said.

“It turns me on,” Sylvia’s Mom added.

“It must be genetic,” I muttered to myself.

“I heard that!” Sylvia said, “and maybe it’s true.”

“You have such a nice figure, how do you do it?” her Dad asked.

“An uncomfortable corset,” I replied.

“See,” her Mother said to her Dad, “how many times have I told you to get a corset?”

“Okay, maybe I will,” he replied.

So it was four ladies who went out to dinner that evening. Sylvia’s Dad was very interested in me being the Halloqueen and I had to relate all of the details.

Sylvia wanted to go with me to the recording studio, so at nine on Wednesday morning we met Mr. Phillips and Mr. Nicholas at the studio to go over the music. I was wearing a skirt and sweater. The first thing we did was for me to play and sing what I had written, as Mr. Nicholas timed each piece. After I had sung a song, they placed the score in one of two piles, ones we would include in the CD and ones we would not. “These we will put on the market to sell. As you will recall, we did that for your last CD, and we have actually sold about half of them,” Mr Phillips said, more for the benefit of Sylvia than for me.

Mr. Nicholas then pulled a pile of scores from his briefcase. “Why don’t you read through these?” he suggested. “We’ll record the ones you wrote today, and you can practice these others this evening and we will record them tomorrow.” He and Mr. Phillips had timed it perfectly. The recording crew began filtering in just as we finished going through the music. This time a drummer and string bass player arrived with the crew.

I laid down the piano track, first with the drums and bass, and then without. After this I laid down my vocal track and my vocal harmony track.

It was mid-afternoon when we finished. “Good session,” Mr. Phillips said. “Now go home and practice these others and we’ll meet at ten to record them.”

When the session ended, neither of us had eaten lunch, and Sylvia asserted that we were famished. We stopped at a fast food joint to satisfy our hunger pains.

No one was at my home when we arrived. There was a note on the table directing me to take a casserole out of the refrigerator at a certain time, and put it in the oven. The note continued to say that my parents would be home about six.

“I’ll have some time to go over these pieces,” I declared. Sylvia, who got turned on when I wore a dress or skirt had other ideas and led me to my bedroom. I had no idea when any of my sisters would arrive home, but neither of us really cared. Afterwards, I started rehearsing the music supplied by Mr. Nicholas, and finished about midnight, with a break for dinner.

The second recording session then went much as the first had done, except that Mr. Nicholas had me speed up or slow down some of the songs. As before, we completed the session by mid-afternoon.

After stopping for some fast food, we went back to my house. My parents were not due home from work until at least five-thirty, and as before, Sylvia had an idea as to how we should use the time before they came home.

The rest of the week Sylvia and I went shopping and otherwise amused ourselves.

Chapter 41 - Girlfriend.

At Sylvia’s insistence I remained dressed on our trip back to the campus, and after I dropped her off at her apartment, I went to my dorm room. Frank was there.

He looked me up and down, and then said, “Welcome back, girlfriend.”

“You’re very nice,” I responded, “but I’m not your girlfriend. As you well know, I’m not even a girl.”

“But you look like one,” he rejoinded, “and a very pretty one at that.” He moved over to me and surprised me with a kiss. I did not kiss him back. “Aw, sweety, you can do better than that,” he complained, and kissed me again. This time I responded. Still holding me he slid his hand down to my butt, and began rubbing.

“Enough!” I declared, “Please stop that at once.” He reluctantly released me and moved away a bit.

“I bought you a present as thanks for your help,” he said, and he pointed to a parcel on my bed.

“You pay me for my time as a tutor,” I said, “and that’s enough. You don’t have to give me presents.”

“Well, aren’t you even going to open it?” he asked.

“Well, okay,” I answered. Inside the parcel was an ivory colored nightgown.

“I got one just like it for me,” he said, with a smile.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I don’t know how I can wear it here.”

“That’s simple,” he said, “we lock the door, take off our clothes, and put the nightgowns on.”

“In your dreams,” I said, and folded the nightgown and put it back on my bed.

“Aren’t you even going to try it on?” he asked as he locked the door, “I will if you will.”

I just sighed, and started to undress. Frank did the same.

The nightgown was very pretty, at least on me. Frank’s was a plus size, and not as attractive on him. I started to take the nightgown off. “No, leave it on for at least a few minutes,” he said and he moved toward me and gave me a hug. He followed this with a kiss, and I could feel him fondling me.

While it felt good, I insisted he stop. We took off the nightgowns. I still had my panties on, and there was a involuntary bulge as a result of his fondling me. He saw it, and said, “So, you have to admit that I turn you on. That’s good, since you turn me on.”

I turned to him and said, “We’ve got to talk.”

“About what?” he responded.

“You hitting on me,” I said. “You’ve got to find a boyfriend or girlfriend of your own.”

“It’s not that easy,” he said. “It’s not like I can put up a sign or ad in the paper saying ‘Gay football player seeks lover. Cross-dressers welcome.’ I can’t let the guys know that I’m gay. You’re the only one on campus that knows.”

I thought for a moment and said, “Have you contacted any LGBT groups?”

“No,” he responded, “if I walked into a meeting, my secret would be out, so I can’t.”

“I’ve never looked for a gay lover,” I said, “so I can’t be of much help to you.”

Frank thought for a minute, and then said, “I’d go to a LGBT meeting if you’d go with me. They’d think that I was your protection, and not suspect that I’m gay.”

“But everyone would think that I was, so your answer is no.” I responded. “I guess that you’ll have to go trolling near gay bars,” I said.

“Which ones are those?” he asked.

“Go looking. I certainly don’t know.” I concluded, “In the mean time, no touching or kissing.”

I finally gave in and went with Frank to a LGBT meeting. A lot of those present cast hungry looks at me, which I ignored. Frank was successful and it was not too long thereafter that he found a lover. I accommodated them by leaving them alone in the dorm room for their trysts. I even gave Frank’s lover the nightgown which Frank had bought for me.

Chapter 42 - Spring Fling.

The final event which the sororities and frats hosted was the ‘Spring Fling’ which followed the frat and sororities’ initiations. I was in a quandry. They wanted me to be there as Halloqueen and to dance with all of the new members of the frats, but my fraternity wanted me present as a new member. I hoped that I could attend as a new frat member, and not as Halloqueen, but that was not what the powers that be decided. I suspected that Ann had a part in this.

They decided that I would be the Halloqueen, and as such be introduced as a new member of my frat, fully dressed, as they directed, in the same clothes as I wore at the Valentine day dance. I was directed to show a lot of leg. I finally went along with what they had planned. However, someone was needed to dance with all of the new members of the sororities, and a likely suspect was convinced to do the same. Of course, I was to dance the first dance with him. He didn’t like the idea, and neither did I, but we were pressured into doing it.

There was one surprise. During the time the DJ was on break, Jill, the President of SRS, presented me with a photo album of all of my appearances as Halloqueen. When she presented it, she made a little speech, acknowledging how I was one of the best Halloqueens for many years, and how I really showed school spirit, and a lot of leg. She even plugged my new CD.

After Spring Fling, the student body worked on final projects and papers, and prepared for the final exams. Frank was pleased with his performance that semester to date. Going into finals he had a good average in his courses, and he felt confident that he would do well on the final exams.

I also felt confident that I would get A’s in most of my courses, which I did.

Summer was approaching and I hadn’t lined up a summer job. Being a self-employed songwriter just didn’t cut it. The earnings from my recordings were modest. I needed a real job.

Sylvia and I were sitting at the kitchen table in her apartment. At her insistence I was wearing a blue pleated skirt, pantyhose, heels and a black chiffon blouse. When I related my problem to Sylvia, she suggested that I list my assets and see if they suggested a job. Sylvia picked up a pencil. “Give me an asset,” she said.

“Fluent in French,” I responded.

Sylvia chuckled and said, “Great looking legs.” She twirled the pencil around, “good in bed,” she added.

I looked at her list. “These sound like the qualifications for a high priced courtesan,” I said.

“There’s a thought,” she said.

“Not a very good one,” I muttered.

“How about sings and plays piano?” Sylvia said as she wrote them down.

“Not much use for flipping burgers in a fast food joint,” I responded.

“Don’t be so negative,” she said.

“I’m not negative,” I rebutted, “I’m a realist.”

“And a cute realist,” she said, as she slid her hand up my skirt.

“Oh, we can’t forget ‘likes dresses with slits up the side’,” she added.

“I don’t,” I countered.

“But I do, when you wear them,” she said, with a wicked smile on her face.

“Hummpf,” was my response.

“Let me improve your mood,” she said as she took hold of both of my hands and lifted me up off of my chair, and led me to the bedroom.

About an hour later we were again sitting at the kitchen table. My mood indeed was better. “Hey,” I said, “I just got a check from the record company. Let’s go somewhere fancy tonight for dinner.”

“That works for me,” she responded. “Now, what to wear?” she posited.

“Coat and tie,” I answered.

“Spoil sport,” she said, “I was thinking a nice dress,”

“For you? That would look nice,” I responded.

“No, for you, silly,” she rejoined.

“If you insist,” I said.

“I do.”

So I changed into a deep violet dress with an A-line skirt and fitted bodice. Sylvia was likewise attired, and we headed downtown to the Carleton House, the most fancy restaurant in town. We hadn’t made reservations, so we had to wait in the lounge area, which was okay, because a woman was playing cocktail piano. “You could do that and sing,” Sylvia speculated.

Chapter 43 - A Job Offer.

It was a half hour later that our table was ready. We could hear the piano in the dining area. As we were being escorted to our table, I mentioned to the maitre d’ that I really enjoyed the piano.

“Enjoy it while you can,” he said, “because she and her husband are going away for the whole summer.”

“But you have a replacement?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said, as he looked me up and down, “You play?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“She’s a recorded professional,” Sylvia interjected.

“You union?” he asked.

“No,” I responded, “Is that important?”

“Gotta be union to work here,” he said.

“How hard is it to join?” I asked.

“If you’ve got a gig lined up and pay your dues, you’re in.” he said, “If you’re interested, come by on Monday afternoon and talk to the manager,” he added.

So that Monday I wore a cocktail dress which I borrowed from Ann, and Sylvia and I went to the restaurant. The manager checked out my appearance. “You look okay, now let’s see if you can play as well as you look,” and with that he led me to the piano. I sat down and began to play. “Okay, you can play,” he said. “I’ll give you the names of some songs, and let me hear you play them.”

Two of the songs he named were on my CD’s, and I had those down cold. I noticed that there was a microphone near the piano. The manager saw me looking, and asked, “You sing?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Two of those songs are on a CD I released a while ago.”

“You’ve got music on the market?” he asked with a little incredulity. I nodded my head.

“Could you loan me a copy?” he asked.

“No problem,” I responded.

“Okay,” he continued, “we have music three hours Wednesday through Sunday evenings. We pay union scale. Tell the union that I hired you. Can you start three weeks from Wednesday? That’s when our current pianist is leaving for vacation. The gig runs through Labor Day when our regular pianist returns.”

“So I’m hired?”

“You bet,” he responded. “If you’d like, I’ll buy you and your boyfriend dinner on Wednesday and you can talk to Adele about what you can expect.” Adele was the regular pianist.

Sylvia was not happy that she was not included in the free dinner, but she assured me that it was okay provided that I took her shopping with me. “All of the girls agree that you need some more cocktail dresses for your job. So, who’s going to be your boyfriend on Wednesday?”

“I think I’ll ask Frank,” I responded.

That evening I mentioned my new job to Frank. “I’ll be playing cocktail piano five evenings a week at the Carleton House restaurant. They want me to come over on Wednesday with my boyfriend to give me a chance to talk with the regular pianist before she leaves for the summer.”

“So?”

“I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend. You’re big enough to be my protection. You get a free steak dinner out of it,” I said, “That is, if your boyfriend doesn’t pitch a hissy.”

“Just a meal?” he asked, with a gleam in his eye.

“Just a meal,” I responded , forcefully.

The next day the girls and I went shopping for cocktail dresses for me. It became readily apparent that my only purposes of being there was to make sure the dresses fit and to pay for them. The girls were having a great time, the more risque the dress, the better they liked it. Naturally, all of the dresses had revealing slits.

I objected. “You realize that I’ll be sitting at a piano, so the dress will fall open, revealing a lot of leg.”

“And that is a problem?” Ann said, “I don’t think so.”

I ended up with two new cocktail dresses, one in royal blue and another in a deep maroon, The hems of both came to a few inches above my knees, and the bodices were fitted. Naturally, buying a dress wasn’t all. We looked at shoes. I reminded them that I had to use the pedals on the piano, but I still ended up with four inch heels. Then came stockings. The girls insisted that I have stockings, not pantyhose. Since the dresses would be revealing, they insisted that I purchase new lingerie, in black.

So, suitably attired, I picked Frank up at the dorm. He was dutifully impressed. “I wish that you were my boyfriend,” he said, “You look so beautiful and sexy.” When I drove to the restaurant, the skirt of my dress fell open at the slit, exposing my stocking tops. Poor Frank couldn’t keep his eyes from my legs.

Adele, the regular pianist was maybe fifty-five and a plus size. “You’re going to drive them wild,” she said when she first saw me. Frank and I had our dinner in the lounge, next to the piano. Adele and I traded off sets. “You’ll do just fine, Honey,” she said. I asked about boys hitting on me. “I never had the problem. At my age, I consider being hit upon to be a compliment. Some men will want to buy you drinks. The bartenders will give you a soft drink when this happens. Just tell them what you like.” She paused. “Of course the guys buying you drinks will get charged as if it were a mixed drink. Keep a tip glass on the piano. You should collect a few bucks extra every night. If anyone gives you a problem, give a signal to the bartender and someone will be sent to rescue you.”

Frank and I left when Adele was finished for the evening, and I drove Frank back to the dorm. His boyfriend was waiting for us. I leanded over and whispered, “You want me to spend the night at the apartment?”

“That would be a nice idea,” he said. When I got to the apartment. Sylvia also thought it was a nice idea.

So I had a summer job lined up. It was only 15 hours a week, but at union scale, which would earn me more over the summer than if I was flipping burgers. However, I couldn’t help wondering why I seemed to need to wear a dress more and more.

Gene or Jean? - Part VII - Conclusions.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 44 - On the Job.

Classes were over, and I maintained a respectable grade point. The girls had gone their separate ways and I had moved into their apartment for the summer. I found out that Frank had pulled himself out of academic probation and was eligible to play football. Sylvia had a summer job at her Dad’s company, which meant that she had to work on Monday and Tuesday, the only days I had off. I would really miss her.

Before we all went our ways for the summer, Sylvia had an astute observation, “You’re going to be dressed for five of the seven evenings of the week, so why not make if full time until college starts in the fall?”

“That’s a good idea,” I responded, “that way I can have my hair done in a really feminine style, and maybe have some highlights. That way I won’t have to change the style all summer.”

“So you’ll be Jean the whole summer?” Sylvia wanted to know.

“Yeah, that’s about it,” I responded, “You know where I can get my hair done?”

“I know a good salon, and you could make an appointment for the day that classes end.”

“Okay,” I said, “but there is a problem. All of my casual clothes are my male clothes, so I’ll need to get some feminine casual clothes if I’m going to be Jean all summer.”

“I can help you there,” she responded. That was obvious. Sylvia loved clothes shopping with me. I had plenty of skirts, blouses and dresses. What I needed were the kind of clothes that girls wore to class and around town. “Let’s walk around and observe what girls wear when dressed casually.” So we began a reconnaissance by walking around town and campus, and then went shopping. Sylvia insisted that I wear my kilt and a blouse.

I saw and rejected any distressed jeans. Shorts were good, Capri and cropped pants worked, as well as some leggings and exercise pants. “You’ll need quite a few,” Sylvia observed, “because you will need something to wear during the day on the days you work.”

Naturally, a collection of tops were also required. “There are so many cute tops, it’s hard to decide,” Sylvia observed.

We also hit the shoe stores for some casual shoes and sandals.

My appointment at the salon was for later that week. Sylvia delayed her return home so she could accompany me for my ‘new look.’ While I had visited salons before, this was my first time at this one. We went in, and met Gail, who would do my hair. “And what do you want?” Gail asked. “The works,” Sylvia announced.

“I’m perfectly able to figure out what I want,” I said reprovingly.

“No, you can’t,” Sylvia answered. “Have I ever given you bad advice?”

She turned to Gail. “Jean’s got a gig at the Carleton House restaurant playing cocktail piano five evenings a week. She needs to look glamorous.”

“I want something that is easy to take care of, since I have to look good five days in a row. I wonder if I could have a standing appointment for Wednesday afternoons. I play Wednesday through Sunday.”

Gail lifted up some of my hair. “When was the last time you had a trim? You have some split ends. You ever try highlights?”

“It’s been a while,” I responded, “and no, I’ve never tried highlights.”

Sylvia felt compelled to explain why. “You see, Jean is a boy, so she cannot have highlights when she is in boy mode. She’ll be dressed as a female all summer, so she can have highlights.”

Gail gave me a questioning look. “Sylvia’s right. I can have highlights and a very feminine style until Labor Day, at which time the highlights have to go and I need a style which is less feminine.”

“Why do you need to wear skirts or dresses this summer, just to play cocktail piano?” Gail asked.

“I got the job when Sylvia and I went to the restaurant, at which time I was wearing a dress. They hired me as a woman.”

“You’re not, umm., err?” Gail asked.

“No, I’m not gay or transgendered,” I answered. Sylvia just rolled her eyes when I said this.

“Then why did you wear a dress?”

“It’s a long story. If you want, I can explain it to you while you do my hair.”

“This has got to be good,” Gail said, with a smile. “Do you want a make over?” she added.

“Of course she does,” chimed in Sylvia.

“Okay, Honey,” Gail said, “when we’re done with you, you’ll look good enough to win a beauty pageant.”

Sylvia couldn’t let that pass. “She already has.”

“What?” Gail asked.

“It’s all part of the story,” I responded,

Gail examined my face. “I can see why that could have happened. Your face is too pretty for a boy.”

Gail then led me to a chair. “I’m going to wash and trim out the split ends. Then we’ll decide what to do with this beauty. What kind of styles have you tried before?”

“A french twist, a pony tail, brushed back with a headband,” I answered.

“Which one did you like best?” she asked.

“All of them,” I replied.

“Can I change the color?”

“As long as it’s not too much. After all, I’ll have to dye it back to it’s normal color at the end of the summer and I return to college as a boy.”

Gail then began to work on my hair, during which time I told her about my times in skirts and dresses, with a lot of volunteered commentary coming from Sylvia.

“So, Sylvia is your only girlfriend,” Gail observed, “and no boyfriend?”

“You’ve got that right!” exclaimed Sylvia.

“And you don’t mind it when he wears women’s clothes?” she asked Sylvia.

“I don’t mind, in fact I like it. It turns me on,” Sylvia answered.

We, and that included Sylvia and Gail, then selected a style. I suggested an up do, and Sylvia provided the details.

When my hair was done, I was moved to a makeup station. When finished, I loved the look. I had also asked for a manicure. “Do you want artificial nails” the manicurist asked.

“I have a job as a pianist, so the answer is no. Just trim them and shape them.”

* * *

The day arrived when I was to start my job. I used a hair remover and took a long bubble bath, which left me with a feminine aroma. I took my time to get ready. Sylvia had insisted on stockings and garters, and I did have to use the corset to fit into my cocktail dresses. Because of the dark color of my dresses, I had to wear black stockings and black lingerie. I had an appointment at the salon that afternoon for my hair and makeup, and for this I wore a skirt and blouse.

After my visit to the salon, I trimmed my nails and used a dark maroon polish to go with my make up. At five I put on my dress and added some costume jewelry. When done, I looked in the mirror. ‘Pretty darn good,’ I said to myself.

Driving to the restaurant in heels meant that I had to drive very carefully. I also reminded myself that my license identified me as a male, so I didn’t want to get pulled over by the police. I parked in back and let myself in using the employee entrance. The manager greeted me as I entered. “Ready for the big day?” he asked.

“I think so,” I answered, How do I look?” I turned around so he could see. Naturally, when I did that the slit in my skirt opened, showing a lot of leg. He smiled when he saw that.

“Very good,” he commented, “I want you to come with me up front for a minute.” When we got there, I saw a big poster, professionally done, that said, ‘For a limited time only, international recording star Jean Torne.’ Below this was my picture and below that it said, ‘Every Wednesday through Sunday, 6 to 9 through Labor Day.’ I was impressed, and I thanked the manager. Near the bottom, the poster said that my CD’s were available for purchase.

There were quite a few patrons in the lounge, and I could feel their eyes following me as I walked to the piano. I sat down, gave the patrons a big smile, and started playing. After playing for a while, I noticed that there was some applause after each number. I bowed my head in acknowledgment. There were a group of businessmen sitting near the piano. Then one of the men came up to the piano, and put some money in my tip jar. “I heard that you can sing. Are you going to?”

In response, I said, “let me see if this microphone is on.” It was. I decided that Parlez-moi D’Amour would be a good number. I took the microphone and said, “I’m going to sing a song in French, roughly translated as ‘Speak to me of Love,’ I want you to imagine you are in a cellar night club in Paris in the 1930s, when Lucienne Boyer sang this song.” While I sang, I noticed that conversations between the patrons had stopped. When I finished, I received a pleasant round of applause, so I stood up and curtsied, naturally showing a lot of leg coming out of the slit in my skirt. The men seemed to like this, as did the manager who told me so when I took my first break.

My first week was very successful. The manager told me that a lot of people were coming in just to hear me play and sing. “Liquor sales are up,” he told me, “That makes us very happy.”

I had some business cards printed up which said, ‘Cocktail Piano With Jean,’ which had my cell phone number on it.

* * *

A few weekends later Sylvia and her parents came up to hear me perform. Sylvia and her parents were all wearing summer dresses. I sat with them during a break. “You all look so pretty,” I said.

Sylvia’s Dad smiled. “I just wanted to join in with the fun,” he said, “or at least as much fun as I can have when wearing this blasted corset.”

“Don’t complain to me. You Daughter made me buy dresses which make it necessary for me to wear a ‘blasted corset,’ so if you want to blame anyone, blame Sylvia,” I said.

“But you both look so good,” Sylvia said defensively.

“Sylvia told us that you are dressing as a female all the time during this summer,” Sylvia’s Mon said.

“I had my hair styled with highlights added for the my job this summer, so I couldn’t very well walk around wearing boy’s clothes,” I commented.

“I don’t know about that,” Sylvia retorted, “most of the college girls walk around wearing unisex clothes, but I have to admit that you look better dressed as a girl.”

“So, what do you do with your time off?” Sylvia’s Mom asked.

“I work on music, read, shop, and even go swimming,” I answered, “I found this delightful one-piece suit with a little skirt on the bottom to cover up a certain area.”

“You’re going to have some interesting tan lines by the end of the summer,” Sylvia chuckled.

“I’ll deal with that when school starts,” I responded.

“Like how?”

“Maybe a tanning booth, topless, I guess.”

Sylvia’s Dad was looking at me. “Do guys ever hit on you? The reason I ask is that when my wife and I go out with me wearing a dress, I get hit on. How do you deal with that?”

“I tell them that I have a very jealous lover,” I answered with a smile.

“Darn tooting,” Sylvia interjected.

“What do you do?” I asked Sylvia’s Dad.

“I tell them that I’m married,” he answered.

* * *

It was later that week that I got a call from Mr. Nicholas. “I hear you’re doing well at the restaurant. Any thoughts about another CD?”

“I can come to see you on any Monday or Tuesday,” I said. “I also have written some new songs, and I can bring the scores with me.” We arranged that I would come over a week from Monday.

* * *

One evening while I was performing, I threw in ‘Parlez-moi D’Amour.’ This caught the attention of a group who turned out to be a committee of professors. They were at the college to plan a symposium on French nineteenth century literature. As I was ready to take my break, two of them came up to me. “Great song,” one of them said. The other asked, in French, how I came to know the song. Of course I responded in French. I added that I was a French literature major. They all liked this and a discussion of French literature ensued.

One of them picked up one of my business cards and said, “We’re planning a symposium here over the Christmas holidays, and we wonder if you would be available to play for the reception,”

“We had planned to play a CD during the reception, but live music would be better,” another one said. He turned to the rest of the committee and asked, “Do you have that CD?”

Just then a man got up from the table with a CD in his hand. Surprise, it was Bob’s Father. He looked at me and began to laugh. “If you want to know if she knows these songs,” he started, holding up the CD, “look closely at the CD and her. This is her CD.”

After the break, I played and sang each song from the CD and added a few extras. I was hired for the symposium gig. They all stayed to listen until I was finished at nine. After that, Bob’s Father came up to me to chat. He volunteered that he, his wife and maybe even Bob would be at the symposium. It would be nice to connect with Bob, since I had previously pretended to be Bob’s girlfriend to deflect some grief Bob was receiving because he was gay, and I wanted to know if his parents were still giving him grief.

Chapter 45 - Some Changes.

It was in July that Sylvia visited me for a weekend. After some passionate lovemaking, Sylvia and I were lying in bed, naked. She was looking at my chest. “Your nipples and areolae look bigger than I remember,” she said.

“Yeah,” I replied, “and they are more sensitive.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“I called my Mom. She called her Doctor, and the Doctor ordered some blood and other tests. I can have the tests done here and the results sent to my Doctor. I have an appointment to see the Doctor a week from Monday. I’m seeing if I can make an appointment with my counselor the same day.”

“Have you thought any more about whether you want to transition?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot, it’s just that I haven’t come to any conclusions.”

“How come?”

“I like our lovemaking too much.”

* * *

I saw the Doctor. “Well, your hormone imbalance has shifted a bit. Nothing to be alarmed about, but your estrogen level is higher that when we had our last test. Have you noticed any other changes?”

“It takes me longer to get aroused, and when I am, it doesn’t seem quite as hard.”

“Are you getting attracted to boys?”

“No, not really,” I answered, “Sylvia and I have remained very close.”

“Have you kissed any boys, or had any sex with them?”

“Except for a casual kiss or so, the answer is no,” I replied, “are you suggesting that I do?”

“No, I just wondered, but if you do, I’d like to know about it, next time you come in.”

She had me put on a disposable examination gown and get up on the examination table. She pulled out the stirrups and I put my feet in them, She then began an examination of my penis and testicles. All of her touching caused an understandable reaction, which did not escape her notice. She smiled, and said, “Well, it seems that everything is working down there. You say your reaction time is slower, and you don’t get as hard. Could you manipulate yourself, so I can see?”

Now I was really embarrassed, but I began stroking my penis. The Doctor stopped me and grabbed my penis to see just how hard it had become. “Maybe this is not the right environment to get you hard.”

She then had me sit up and removed the gown to allow her to look at my chest.

She looked at, prodded and poked at my nipples, which caused them to get bigger and harder. “There’s something there,” she said.

“What?” I demanded to know.

“You’ve got the beginnings of breasts,” she said. “It might be a reaction to the higher estrogen level.”

She then looked at the test results for a few second, and said, “I want you to have the same blood tests toward the end of the year, and see me when you are home from school for the holidays.”

* * *

My playing and singing gathered some interest and I picked up some other gigs. The additional money was welcome.

I kept myself busy over the summer, and at last I noticed that Labor Day was quickly approaching. I saw that the words ‘Final Week’ were added to my poster. I had dressed as a girl all summer. It was just easier for me, and frankly, I liked it. I had been hit on more times than I could remember, but because of the watchful eyes of the bartenders, nothing bad happened.

It was with some sadness and regret that I visited the salon after my gig at the Carleton House was over. I had my hair dyed to get rid of the highlights, and to get a style which could be a male style. Gail showed me how to switch my hair from a girl style to a boy style and back again. “I’m going to miss our Wednesday afternoon sessions,” she said. I told her that I also would miss them, but I would be back from time to time for a trim and maybe something more dramatic.

Chapter 46 - The Apartment.

All of the apartments in town were on a one year lease, tied to the school year. This meant that the girls would have to pay the rent for their apartment over the summer even though they were not at school. One Sunday afternoon, the girls and I discussed the apartment. “None of us will be here over the summer,” Sue said to me, “but you will. If you could pay half of the rent, the rest of us will kick in the other half, even though none of us will be here.”

“Ann’s graduating, but the other three of us would like to keep the apartment, so we plan on signing a new lease for next year,” Sylvia said, “We’ll be looking for a fourth girl to live here and share the rent. We’d like you to show the apartment to any new students while you’re here.”

“What about Frank?” Ann asked, “he’s not expecting you to room with him next fall, is he?”

“No, I think that he and his boyfriend will be sharing a room.” The girls all nodded their heads, knowingly.

Since I couldn’t very well stay at the girls’ apartment during the school year, I contacted the building manager for the building which housed the girls’ apartment. There was a studio apartment available. Not only available, but the current tenant wanted to live there until the fall term started, and she would sublease the apartment from me until then.

The apartment consisted of a main room, a small kitchen, and a large open closet which served as a dressing room. The bathroom was connected to the open closet. There was a built in bed which was behind some doors in the main room and which folded down at night.

I met with my sub-tenant at the apartment. All of the furniture was used, and somewhat worse for wear. There were some things that she wanted to either sell or, if she couldn’t, she would take with her. She told me that she definitely was taking her sound system and computer, which did not bother me since I already had my own. We worked out a deal where I bought some of the things and she just threw in the rest.

Setting up housekeeping from scratch meant that I made a lot of shopping trips when I realized that I needed more stuff.

When Sylvia arrived for the start of the term, I naturally had to show off my new digs. She had to see the bed, and commented that it was a double. She also noted that most of the clothes in the closet were my Jean clothes. That evening, she had to try out the bed, and declared it acceptable.

“You really could use a vanity,” she said, after examining the bathroom sink and mirror. “Get dressed, and we’ll go looking for one.” When she said that I was wearing my boy clothes.

“I am dressed,” I declared.

“Not when you are looking to get a vanity,” she countered. She went into my closet and picked out what she thought was appropriate. It consisted of a bra, white capris, a pink top and wedge sandals, all of which she handed to me.

“Take off those clothes and put these on,” she said, and when I did she saw that I was wearing panties under my boy clothes. “Good start,” she said.

It turned out that I convinced Sylvia that I could use my desk as a vanity, and I only had to buy a big mirror with lights around it.

The next day Sylvia returned with garment bags and suitcases, which she unpacked and preempted some of my closet space and dresser drawers. “So I don’t have to go back to my apartment to change,” she explained, “You’re free to borrow any of them, as long as I can borrow some of yours.” This arrangement required that I buy an additional clothes hamper.

Chapter 47 - The Halloqueen Returns.

About a week before the semester was to start, some of the officers of the sororities came to the campus to plan activities for the year. They had heard that I was playing and singing at the restaurant, and on Wednesday they visited the lounge at the restaurant to listen to me. During my break they invited me to sit with them for a few minutes. “Great performance,” one said, “but of course we expected no less from our Halloqueen. We have some things planned for you if you have time. How about a meeting some afternoon?”

I agreed to this and a time and place was set.

It appeared that they wanted me to participate in the new student welcome which would happen the weekend before classes started. “Of course, we have big plans for the Halloween dance,” I was told. “We’re going to miss our darling Halloqueen after that.” They told me that my reign was as good as anyone could remember.

Naturally, my fraternity wanted to get some mileage from me as Halloqueen, so I had activities planned for that, some of which involved me showing some leg. I had no problem with that.

When Halloween rolled around, I did the usual welcome and first dances.

Frank was there, without his lover, and he came up to me. “You’ve remembered to put in a good word for me about joining RLE, didn’t you?” I told him that I did, and I congratulated him on getting off probation. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, and he gave me a brief kiss. I savored that kiss, and stood there to see if he would kiss me again. He didn’t.

Watching the Halloqueen contest was a lot of fun for me, especially since my reign would soon be over. The winner of this year’s contest was actually a girl, and I took great pleasure in putting her sash over her head and crowning her with the tiara.

Chapter 48 - Strange stuff.

I wore boy clothes almost all of the time after classes started, with the exception of my Halloqueen duties, some gigs, and occasional dressing at the request of Sylvia. One weekend her parents visited her. Both her Mom and Dad wore skirts. Her Dad confided that he was wearing a corset I could see that it greatly improved his figure.

They invited Sylvia and me out to dinner, and insisted that I wear a dress. Naturally, that meant that I had to wear a corset. “If I have to wear a corset, you also should have to,” her Dad said. They wanted to go to a nice restaurant, and Sylvia suggested we go to the Carleton House where I had played the past summer. Adele, the usual pianist was there, so we sat in the lounge. When she saw me, she invited me to trade sets with her.

The evening was very enjoyable. I really liked her Parents, and I think that her Dad liked it that I was a cross-dresser.

Chapter 49 - Thanksgiving at Sylvia’s house

I split the Thanksgiving holiday between my family on Thanksgiving day, and Sylvia’s house on Friday and Saturday. After a delightful Thanksgiving meal, my Dad asked me, “Still wearing dresses?”

“Every once and a while,” I replied.

Mother wouldn’t let me say more. “She has to when she performs,” she interjected, “and from the photos I’ve seen, she looks gorgeous.”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t,” my father rejoined. I noted the use of the female pronoun. “I just wanted to know,” he added.

“By the way, tell your Father what the Doctor said,” she said, and I did.

I got up early on Friday morning to get ready for the trip to Sylvia’s house. I took a delightful bubble bath, fixed my hair and put on some makeup. I put on a pleated skirt and a long sleeved blouse with ruffles. Because there was a nip in the air, I wore stockings, along with a corset. While I hauled my suitcase downstairs, I saw my Father in the living room. “You look delightful,” he said with a smile.

I thanked him, and gave him a big hug.

I put on a frocked coat, and took my suitcase to my car, gave my parents hugs and headed off to Sylvia’s house. When I arrived, I noticed that Sylvia’s Dad was wearing a suit. “Mom an I are going to my Aunt’s house today,” he said as an explanation.

“So, no dress?” I asked.

“No dress,” he confirmed.

“We’ll spend the night,” Sylvia’s Mom said, and with a wicked smile she added, “I’m making him wear panties under that suit, and I’ve packed a sexy nightie for him for tonight.”

Sylvia’s Mom had fixed a light lunch, and we ate it at the kitchen table. After clearing it away, we lingered over tea and coffee. Somehow, my appointment with my Doctor came up. The recent developments concerning my nipples was discussed, and I had to strip to the waist so they all could see. I inadvertently let slip that my Doctor had asked if I had kissed any boys. “And you said?” Sylvia asked. I affirmed what I had told my Doctor.

After her parents had left, Sylvia asked, “You must be tired from the drive. I think you could use a nap.” She took my hand and led me to her room. I didn’t get a lot of sleep. That evening we dressed up and went out to dinner, and spent the night together.

I was filling in for Adele at the Carleton House on Sunday so she could spend some time with her family. Halfway in my second hour, I saw Frank, my former roommate sitting in the lounge, alone. I sat with him during my break. “Where’s your main squeeze?” I asked.

“Some of the guys at the frat fixed me up with a date with a girl. It was nothing, just to round out the numbers. However, he didn’t see it that way and pitched a hissy, accused me of cheating, and said he’ll never talk to me again.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s not your fault. He’ll miss me, so I expect that things will be alright in a few days.” He paused for a moment, and continued, “You look really foxy tonight. If I wasn’t, you know what, I’d want to kiss you.”

“Is that all that’s stopping you?” I blurted out, instantly regretting what I had said. He leaned over and put his lips on mine. I could feel his kiss all the way to my feet.

* * *

My Doctor’s lab orders arrived in the mail that week. In addition to the usual hormone balance test, there was a test for a sperm count. That confused me a bit, so I called her on the phone about the sperm count. “I wanted to see if there were any other effects from your hormone imbalance,” she said.

“How am I supposed to do this?” I asked.

She chuckled. “Go to the lab, and they’ll give you a container, and you put your ejaculate in it the morning before you to the lab, or you can do it at the sperm bank attached to the lab. I heard they have private rooms with dirty magazines and a comfortable chair,” she added with more chuckling.

When I told Sylvia about this, with a wicked grin she offered to help. I declined her offer.

* * *

I had appointments with Mom’s Doctor and my Counselor for the next Monday, so I drove home for a long weekend. Mother was concerned about my nipples and nothing would do unless she could see them herself. Then she began to touch them. “Mom,” I complained.

“What is it Honey?” she asked, without removing her hand.

”They’re sensitive,” I responded. Her touching had made my nipples enlarged and hard.

“Oh,” she said, finally understanding, and she took her hands away. “Make sure you mention this to the Doctor.”

With a wicked grin, I said, “That they’re sensitive, or that you like playing with them?”

“Hummph!” she grunted.

On Monday morning I decided to wear a skirt and blouse for my visits to the Doctor and the Counselor, but waited until Dad had left for work before getting dressed. Given the situation, I wore a silky camisole under my blouse.

Once in the Doctor’s office, she got right to the point. “Your hormone imbalance is just about the same as last time, even if the physical manifestations are slightly increased.” She had me put on a disposable examination gowns and get on the examination table. She then physically examined my chest. Her touching made my nipples larger and hard. I blushed. “Does the camisole help?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “I like to wear it if I’m not wearing a bra.”

“So you’re still dressing?”

“Yeah,” I responded, “I’ve been doing piano gigs, and for that I only wear women’s clothes.”

She then lifted the bottom of the examination gown, and pushed, pulled and prodded. I began to react to the examination. “Well, things still seem to be working down there,” she said, “The fact that you could get a sample for a sperm count also proves that.”

She then sat down on a stool. “Well, your sperm count is in an acceptable range, if a bit on the low side.”

“Does that mean that I could get a girl pregnant?”

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to have children.”

Shortly after the Doctor’s examination, I had a session with my Counselor. We discussed what I had been doing since our last session, and my piano playing came up. “So, you dressed as a woman the whole summer. How did that make you feel?”

“Great,” I said, “since I was playing the piano at the restaurant five nights a week, I had my hair styled and highlights added. I also plucked my eyebrows a bit. I didn’t think that wearing boy’s clothes fit in, so it was just as easy to be a girl for the whole summer.”

“What did your girlfriend think about that?”

“She seemed to like it a lot,” I answered, “it might just be genetic.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“It turns out that her Dad is a crossdresser. Sylvia, her parents, and I went out several times as four females. He Dad and I shared being uncomfortable having to wear corsets under our dresses. My dresses wouldn’t fit without a corset, and Sylvia’s Mom made her Dad wear one when he wore a dress.”

“Very, very interesting,” my Counselor said as she frantically scribbled note on her pad. She then looked at me, and said, “I see you’re wearing a skirt and blouse today. Do you continue to wear skirts and dresses all the time?”

“Hardly, I’m registered as a male at school, so I can’t,” I answered. “But a lot of times I wear panties under my boy clothes,” I added.

“Why?” she asked.

“I like the way they feel, and Sylvia likes it when I do,” I answered.

“She checks it out?”

“Yeah,” I said, omitting to mention how Sylvia checked it out.

She changed the topic, and said, “How do you see yourself after you graduate?”

“I’d like to get married, have children and get a job. To do these things I’ll have to be Eugene, not Jean. After all my diploma will have my male name on it.”

“Are you telling me that you will stop cross-dressing?”

“Heavens no!” I responded, “I’ll continue to dress when I can.”

She consulted her notes and said, “You previously told me that you weren’t dating boys. Has that changed?”

“No,” I responded, “I only date Sylvia.”

“Then do you feel that you might be a lesbian?”

“Not really.”

“Have you kissed any boys?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

“Anything further than that?”

“No.”

“I only ask that to see if you have any homosexual tendencies, but with your limited experience, we can’t come to any conclusions.

* * *

I related my counselor’s statements to Sylvia. She surprised me when she said, “Maybe you should go on a date with a boy.”

“Wouldn’t that bother you?”

“Of course it would,” she said, “but I think we should know your reaction. It might be possible that you are bisexual.”

“But I don’t know any boys, at least not well enough to do that.”

“How about Frank?”

“I don’t think his boyfriend would stand for that,” I said. I paused in thought for a minute. “Maybe Bob?” I said.

“Who is Bob,” she challenged.

“Back in high school, Sandy, my then girlfriend, had some friends who knew this guy, Bob. Bob’s gay, and was getting a lot of grief from his parents. It was set up that I would dress and go on a pretend date with him, so his parents would see him going out with what they though was a girl.”

“And. . . ?” Sylvia said, looking for more details.

“It worked, and after our pretend date, Bob’ Parents invited me to a family gathering to show me off. Bob’s Dad is a professor and teaches French. I ended up playing the piano and singing in French. Well, it turns out that Bob’s Parents are attending a symposium on French literature over the holidays, and heard me sing at the Carlton House. So I am hired to play and sing at a reception for the symposium attendees, and it turns out that his Parents are dragging Bob along to the symposium.”

“So you could spend some time with him. I suppose?”

“Yeah.”

“And maybe some kissing? Maybe something more?” Sylvia asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, “it might be a total disaster.”

“But it might not,” Sylvia said. “He does know that you’re a boy, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” I answered.

“But that probably wouldn’t bother him since he’s gay,” she said.

“But what about me?” I asked, “what if I like it?”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean that you’re gay, you might just be bisexual, after all, you seem to like our time together.”

“I do,” I affirmed.

“Then go ahead, and give him a good kiss, with a lot of tongue,” she said, “and by the way, put some condoms is your purse, just in case,” she added with a leer.

I gave her a dirty look.

* * *

Chapter 50 - Christmas break

I had some gigs playing for Christmas parties. It turned out that I couldn’t head for home until Christmas Eve, and could only stay for Christmas Day, since I was heading off to Sylvia’s house the next day. Even that time was cut short since I was preforming at the symposium.

Christmas at my home was nothing out of the ordinary. My sisters seemed to treat me like a girl. I woke up early in the morning and headed off to Sylvia’s house.

Since I had to head back to campus the next day, I spent the night at Sylvia’s house. I had expected to sleep on the couch, but Sylvia’s Parents surprised me with their Christmas gifts. They gave me and Sylvia matching night gowns. When bedtime rolled around, no one made any move to fix the couch for the night. Both of Sylvia’s Parents smiled when Sylvia led me to her room, and as we climbed the stairs, Sylvia’s Mom said, “Before you hop in bed, we would like to see how the nightgowns look on both of you,” It appeared that her Parents had no problem with Sylvia and I sleeping together.

* * *

I had scheduled a visit to the salon for the early afternoon, so I had to leave Sylvia’s house shortly after breakfast. I wore hose and a corset under a skirt and blouse. Gail met me at the door of the salon. “Another gig?” she asked/

“Yeah, I’m playing for a reception for a symposium of college profs,” I answered, “The topic is French literature from the nineteenth century, so I think a french twist would be an appropriate hair style.” I also had the salon do my makeup.

Suitably glamorous, I then went to my apartment to get dressed for my gig. I chose a deep red dress with a hem that was well above my knees and with a slit on the left side. I also wore a black corset, black stockings and a pair of black control panties, along with black court shoes with a two inch heel. For jewelry I wore only two rings, but no bracelets, because they interfered with my playing. I did, however put on a necklace and earings which sparkled.

The symposium was being held at a local hotel, and I arrived about an hour before my gig started, because I wanted to check out the piano and where it was located in the room. I also wanted to see if there was a microphone, because I suspected that the committee might want me to sing. After I finished this, I went in search of a place to relax until my gig started. However, I wasn’t able to do much relaxing because shortly after I sat down, Bob and his Parents came into the hotel lobby, and headed straight to me. After the usual greetings, Bob said that I looked particularly gorgeous, and I smiled in return. Bob noted my coat on the chair next to me. “I’ve got a room,” he said, “maybe you’d like to put your coat in it to keep it safe?”

“As long as I know where to find you when I’m ready to leave,” I answered.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be near you all evening,” he responded. So we went up to his room to deposit my coat. When we were in his room, I asked where his parents were staying. “On another floor in a different wing,” he said with a leer. With that he put his hands on my shoulders and drew me closer to him. I appeared that he was getting ready to kiss me.

“Hold on,” I said, pushing him away. “I don’t want to mess up my makeup.”

“Then maybe later?” he said with an inviting smile.

“Maybe, and then again, maybe not,” I said coyly.

There were quite a few people in the reception room when Bob and I entered. I quickly went to the piano, or at least as quickly as my dress would permit. While doing so, the slit in the skirt opened up a bit, drawing some appreciative looks from some of the men present. I smoothed out my skirt under me and sat on the piano bench, and immediately began playing.

Bob’s Dad came up to the piano. “Are you going to sing, too?” he asked in French.

“If that’s what you and the committee want me to do,” I replied in French. “Any requests?”

“Anything from your CD,” he answered, also in French.

“Okay,” I replied, naturally in French, “I have also practiced some french music from the nineteenth century.”

“How appropriate,” he said.

So I played and softly sang, since I was only providing background music. Whatever my intention was, I noted that I had attracted a group of admirers, mainly men. The didn’t talk, they just listened.

I was surprised when I saw my high school French teacher, Mlle. Vert was present. She came over to the piano and smiled at me. “It looks like your class project may have started something,” she said, with a chuckle.

“I guess so,” I replied, “I’ll explain it when I have a break.”

Bob, true to his word, stayed close. He stood to my left, which gave him a good view of the slit in my dress and what it revealed.

I was really enjoying myself, and the time seemed to fly. Finally, a member of the committee came up and took the microphone and announced that dinner was ready to be served. He then announced, “The committee and I want to thank Mlle. Jean for her music. I hope you note that she specially gave us quite a bit of French music from the nineteenth century.”

As the crowd was filing out for dinner, Bob’s Mother came up to Bob and me. “I don’t know what your plans are, but if you’d like, you and Bob can be our guests at the dinner.”

“That is very kind of you, but I was thinking of taking Bob to the Carleton House for dinner. I played cocktail piano there most of the summer, and I was thinking that Adele, the regular pianist and I would trade off sets.” With this, Bob had a big smile on his face.

“Well, I can understand,” Bob’s Mother said, “That sounds a lot more interesting than the dinner and speeches.” Her smile at us spoke volumes. She wanted to encourage a romance between Bob and me.

We then went up to Bob’s room to retrieve our coats, but once inside with the door closed, Bob again put his hands on my shoulders, and drew me close to him. “If only she knew . . .” he said with a smirk. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to mine. I returned his kiss, and we played tongue tag with each other. When he held me close to him, I could feel that he was getting aroused. Luckily, I had tucked and was wearing control panties, so he couldn’t feel me getting aroused.

We broke the kiss for a few moments, and I said, “I thought you only went for boys.”

“That may be true, but I have on good authority that underneath your feminine beauty lurks a boy,” he said softly. We kissed again.

“You kiss like you are turned on, but the rest of you says otherwise,” he whispered.

“Tucking and control panties,” I laughed in his ear.

He reached behind me, and began to unzip my dress, slowly, as if waiting to see if I objected. I didn’t.

We separated and he helped me pull my dress over my head, and followed it with my slip. He looked at my crotch, but there was no sign of male organs aroused or otherwise.

“Control panties?” he questioned.

“If you spent more time with girls, you would know,” I said. With that, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my control panties and began to slowly slide them down, again waiting to see if I objected. There was no objection, and when my panties were partway down, a part of my anatomy revealed itself. He pushed me down on the bed and kneeled down between my legs. I grabbed my purse, opened it, and handed him a condom.

When he and I were finished, he stood up and began to remove his pants. “No,” I said, “I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Anyway, I want to take you to dinner.”

I got dressed, and went into the bathroom to repair my makeup. “You need to clean the lipstick from your face,” I suggested to him.

When we were again respectable looking, we took our coats and headed out to the Carleton House.

* * *

The lounge at the Carleton House had a good crowd, but I was able to arrange to eat in the lounge, near the piano. Adele saw me and invited me to trade sets with her. I introduced Bob. During a break, Adele and I went to the washroom together. “He’s a nice looking boy,” Adele commented.

“I met him when we were in high school. He’s here with his Parents; They are attending a symposium. I played at the reception, and I’m rescuing him from some after dinner speakers.” Adele then looked at the slit in my dress.

“It looks like he might need someone to rescue him from you,” she said with a smile.

“I don’t think he wants to be rescued,” I replied.

Bob and I sat next to each other on a banquette at our table. When I returned from the restroom, I sat to his right. Shortly after sitting, I felt his hand move up the slit in my dress and rub my thigh. I left it there for a while, enjoying the experience. I then dropped my left hand under the table to move his hand away. However, when I grabbed his hand he moved both of our hands to his lap. “You turn me on,” he whispered.

“Obviously,” I whispered, confirming what I had felt. “Behave yourself,” I added, and we both moved our hands to the table top.

We stayed until Adele was finished with her gig. “Want me to drop you off at the hotel?” I suggested.

“Only if you go in with me,” he responded.

“No,” I said, “I don’t want to be seen leaving your room by myself.”

“Okay, then where?”

I didn’t want the evening to end. I really wanted another kiss. “How about my place?” I suggested, immediately realizing what I had said.

“Sounds good to me,” he said with a leering smile.

* * *

When we arrived at my apartment, Bob looked around. “Cozy,” he commented.

“I don’t need a lot of room, just for myself,” I said.

“No roommate, then?”

“No,” I answered.

“I need to use the washroom,” he said, “where is it?”

“This apartment isn’t very large,” I replied snidely, “it shouldn’t be that hard to find. Go through the dressing area,” and I pointed the way.

He couldn’t help but notice all the skirts and dresses in the dressing area. “You’re really into this girl thing,” he commented.

“They’re not all mine,” I said, “some belong to my girlfriend Sylvia.”

“Interesting,” he said, leaving volumes unsaid.

“I have some soft drinks, or maybe you’d like tea or coffee?”

“Coffee sounds great,” he responded, and with that I went into the kitchen area and started some water for the french press. When I came back, he was sitting on the couch.

“Sit down next to me,” he said patting the cushion to his right. When I sat down, he put his hand on my leg and began to rub, moving his hand up the slit in my dress. He took his other hand, put it on my shoulder and pulled me to him. Our lips met.

We then embraced each other, our tongues dancing in each other’s mouths. It was wonderful. The thought crossed my mind that I’m a boy and I’m kissing another boy, and I really like it. What does that mean? What am I?

Bob’s hands move to his belt, and he unfastened it and then opened the zipper in his pants. I just watched. He lifted himself up a bit, and pulled his pants and underpants down. He was totally aroused. He took my hand in his and put it on his manhood. This was a new experience for me.

“I know that you want to kiss it and lick it,” he said softly, and I did. I liked it.

When that was over, we kissed again and again. “I never did that before,” I confessed.

“It wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, and without waiting for an answer, he continued, “and I bet you enjoyed it.”

“Yes,” I said softly.

“Then let me reciprocate,” he said, and unzipped my dress.

We did it again, and after cuddling for some time, we both got dressed and I drove him back to the hotel. As I was letting him out of the car, he said, “I’d love it if you became my boyfriend. There are other things we can do to each other, which are a lot of fun.”

“I don’t think I can,” I replied, “I have a girlfriend, and I’m in love with her,” I added.

Chapter 51 - Revelations.

I really didn’t know what I would tell Sylvia about what happened. I felt that I had cheated on her, and to make matters worse, it was with a boy.

I didn’t have anything planned for the time until classes resumed after the Christmas break, so I drove to Sylvia’s house to spend a few days with her and her parents.

The KGB had nothing on Sylvia when it came to interrogation. After dinner one evening we were sitting on the couch. “You didn’t tell me about your playing the piano for the reception for the symposium,” she started out.

“I was okay,” I answered, “they all seemed to like it, and best of all not only did I get paid, but I got a very generous tip.”

“You mentioned that Bob might be there,” she continued, “so was he?”

“Yes.”

“And how did that go?”

“I took him to the Carleton House, and I traded sets with Adele. He seemed to enjoy it.”

“Did you kiss him?” I started to blush with embarrassment.

“Well, kind of,” I answered.

“There in no ‘kind of’ when it comes to kissing,” she asserted, “either you did or you didn’t. So which was it?”

“I kissed him,” I confessed. “After what my Doctor said, I wanted to see what it was like.”

“Okay, what was it like?”

“It was okay,” I muttered.

“You’re holding out on me,” she said, “either you tell all, or it’s going to be a frigid night tonight, and for the foreseeable future,” she threatened.

“Okay, okay,” I responded, “it was nice; I actually enjoyed it. It was better than I thought it would be.”

“Better than kissing me?” she asked menacingly.

I could see that there could be only one answer. “No, it’s a lot better kissing you.”

“I don’t know if I believe you, but we’ll let it slide,” she said, “anything more than kissing?”

I was on dangerous ground here, and didn’t make an immediate answer. Sylvia took my delay as an admission that there was more.

“Oral sex?”

“Yeah,” I finally admitted.

“By you or by him?”

“Both, it kind of just happened.”

“And did you enjoy both?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Would you do it again?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “after all, I’ll probably never see him again.”

“It doesn’t have to be with Bob,” she said, “after all, you could connect up with Frank.”

“I don’t think so. When Bob and I did it, I felt like I was cheating on you, and I didn’t like that feeling.”

Sylvia smiled. “That answers some questions. I think that you are a crossdressing bisexual,” she concluded.

“How do you come to that conclusion. After all you don’t know any crossdressing bisexuals to compare me with.”

“On the contrary,” she asserted, “I do. My Dad is one.”

“Okay, so he crossdresses,” I commented, “but bisexual? How do you know?”

“My parents told me,” she answered.

“Is your Mom okay with that?”

“She is, as long as she knows with whom he has sex. She doesn’t want him trolling around gay bars and having one night stands.”

“I’m still astonished,” I remarked, “But I think I can see her point.”

“Do you want to know who she thinks is a suitable partner for him?”

“Who?”

“You.”

“That’s just too weird,” I said.

“But you would?” she asked.

“You can’t be okay with it, can you?” I asked, avoiding answering her question.

“As strange as it seems, I am,” she said, “so, answer my question, would you?”

“I guess so,” I reluctantly admitted.

“Great,” she exclaimed. She stood up and pulled me up with her. We went upstairs to her room. “Put on that nightgown you got for Christmas,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

When she came back I was wearing the nightgown. She didn’t come back alone; her parents were with her. Her Dad was wearing a nightgown and had a big smile on his face.

Sylvia and her Mom were also smiling. They turned around and headed for the door, leaving me alone with her Dad. “Have a good time, you two,” her Mother said as she closed the door.

Chapter 52 - Marriage

Later that week, I proposed to Sylvia, and she accepted. I knew that she, like I, wanted children, which ruled out any thought of me transitioning. As she said, I was getting into a weird family, but it was one which accepted my crossdressing and bisexuality. When I told my family I conveniently left out the part about Sylvia’s Dad and me.

Sylvia, her parents, and I celebrated the engagement as four ladies going out to dinner. During dinner, I saw Sylvia and her Mom playing scissors, rock and paper. Naturally, I was curious. It turned out it was to determine with whom I would be spending the night.

Calling Sylvia’s family ‘weird’ would be an understatement, but I fit right in, a crossdressing bisexual.

The end.