Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 1.
By Pentatonic

Tuesday, September 2, 2014:

The day after Labor Day; the end of summer and the beginning of another school year,.

When I turned 16 the prior spring I was only 5' 9" tall and weighed about 135 pounds, with way too much of me in my behind, so much that I had grown weary of my friends commenting that my butt would look good on a girl. Although my behind was large, my waist was small compared with it. Otherwise I was just a normal teenager.

I’m not “cool,” to put it bluntly. Although far from the top of the social strata in school, I do have friends. Friends who are nerdy. Some are overweight, and some with complection problems. None of us are athletes. We are just invisible to the cool kids. We are never invited to any of their parties, and we only heard, third hand, of what goes on at such doings.

But even being a nerd, I had a respectable grade point average. I am interested in cars, and have become a relatively competent mechanic. My group of friends and I share an interest in computer games. All in all, we have become used to our social status, and it is not an unhappy situation. Was it the same for girls, I had wondered from time to time.

Over the years I had developed an acquaintance with Becky Jones, who is about 5' 7" and like me could to stand to lose a few pounds. She would make a great valkyrie in a Wagnerian opera. We share many of the same classes in school and sometimes we study together.

Saturday, September 13, 2014:

My story starts on a Saturday afternoon in the middle of September of my junior year in high school. My friends, Joe, Harry, Bob and I were sprawled on the furniture in Bob’s den, half watching something idiotic on the television.

“Hey guys,” announced Joe, “the Homecoming Dance is four weeks away. Are any of you guys going?”

“If it means getting a date, the answer is ‘no.’ It seems like every time I ask a girl out, I get shot down,” answered Harry.

Bob just belched in response and shook his head.

“How about you, Roy?” asked Joe. “You seem to get along with Becky, and she might go with you if you ask her.”

“I donno,” I replied.

At that point Bob’s mother came into the room. “Why don’t you guys see if you can get dates. It may do you good,” she said. “I’ll bet that there are a lot of girls in your school would love to be asked out to the dance.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t the popular girls,”complained Bob.

“Like you four are the most popular guys,” she replied sarcastically.

Monday, September 15, 2014:

What had been said stuck in my mind for the rest of the weekend, and I practiced all sorts of suave ways to ask Becky for a date. At lunch on Monday I came over to the table where Becky was sitting with some of her friends. I approached he table.

“Uh, Becky, do you have a minute? There’s something I want to ask you.” So much for being suave.

“Ask away,” she responded.

“In private.” I said.

“These are my friends,” she said, “I don’t have any secrets from them.” All of her friends were staring at me like a bunch of lionesses looking at a fresh kill.

“Uh,” I continued, “there’s this homecoming dance coming up. I wonder if you’d like to go with me?”

“Like on a date?” she said. The other girls just snickered. I was about ready to run away as fast as I could.

“Uh,” I stammered, “yeah, I guess so. Let me know.” With that I made my exit as quickly as possible. I could hear Becky and the other girls giggling. I could feel my face burning.

The guys had heard the exchange and clustered around me. “So you asked her,” said Joe, “What’d she say?”

“I donno, I didn’t wait for an answer.”

I didn’t have to. After my last class, I was getting ready to go home when one of the guys on the football team came up to me. I don’t think that I ever exchanged more that five words with him in my whole time at school. “I heard that you have a date for the homecoming dance,” he said, “it’s about time that you nerds participated in some school activities and supported the football team. I look forward to seeing you there.” It almost sounded like a threat.

As I was heading to my car in the parking lot, I saw Becky standing next to it. She looked concerned. My first thought was that she was going to reject my invitation to the dance.

“Were you serious about asking me to the dance?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” I replied.

“Good, because you didn’t wait for my answer at lunch. You took off like a scared rabbit. I was afraid that your friends had put you up to it for a dare.”

“So what is your answer?”

“Yes, I’d love to,” she said with a huge smile.

“You want a ride home?” I asked, gesturing at the junkyard reject which doubled as my car.

“Ok,” she said. At that time I remembered that gentlemen open car doors for ladies, and I opened the door with a flourish.

I have a sister, Amy, who is a year older than I am and is a senior. Once everyone was seated at the supper table she announced, “Guess who has a date for the homecoming dance.”

“That’s wonderful, honey, who is he?” asked my mother.

“Not me,” she said, “him,” and she pointed her thumb at me.

“Roy, you have a date?” my father asked. “Who?”

“Becky.”

“That’s great.” my mother said. My sister just snickered.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014:

The next day I sat down for lunch with my friends. “So, you really asked Becky out?” Bob asked, “You going to go through with it?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “it ought to be fun. You guys should ask some girl out.”

“Maybe Becky has some friends who would go out with me?” Harry asked. “Could you find out?”

Wednesday, September 17, 2014:

Becky and I are in the same advanced trig course, and there was a test coming up on Friday. “You want to study together?” I asked her.

“Sure,” she said, “I’ll ask my mom, and maybe you can come over after school and stay for supper.” That was the first time a study session had included supper. Something had changed between Becky and me.

At supper that night I told my parents that I would be studying for the test with Becky, and I had been invited to stay for dinner. “Ohh! A study date,” my sister chimed in. I just frowned back at her.

Thursday, September 18, 2014:

On Thursday, Becky and I studied all afternoon. Around six, Becky’s mother announced that dinner was ready.

It seemed as if something had changed. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but Becky’s parents treated me differently, almost as if they were eying me up as possible son-in-law material.

After dinner, Becky walked me to the door. Before I walked out, I asked her if she wanted to go out for a movie and pizza on Friday night.

Becky turned slightly and called out to her parents, “Is it okay if Roy and I go out for a movie and pizza tomorrow night?” Becky’s parents apparently thought it was a great idea.

Friday, September 19, 2014:

At lunch on Friday, Harry asked me if I wanted to go to the game arcade that evening. “No, I have other plans,” I said.

“Like what?” Joe asked.

“Becky and I are going to a movie and pizza,” I admitted. This caused some mirth among my friends and Harry began to hum a few bars of the Wedding March from Lohengrin. I just scowled at them.

Most of the times when I leave the house, my parents are indifferent as to what I look like, as long as it does not violate any decency laws. This time it was different; my mother had me stand inspection. “You can’t go out on a date looking like a bum,” she said, “it’s disrespectful to the girl.”

“You have enough money?” asked my father, “Remember, on a date the guy pays for everything.” I held out my hand and my father put some bills into it. A teenager learns that you never refuse an offer of money from a parent.

I arrived at Becky’s house and her mother answered the door. “Come in,” she said, smiling broadly, “Becky will be ready in a minute.”

True to her mother’s word, Becky came down the stairs a minute later. I had never seen her look so nice. She was wearing a maroon full skirt with a white blouse which was not tucked into her waistband. She wore sandals with a low heel. The most striking part was her face; she just glowed. Her makeup was subdued and her hair framed her face.

“Try to be home at a reasonable time,” her father said with a smile.

Becky and I were about ready to turn to the door when her mother said, “Wait, before you go, I want a picture,” and she began snapping away with the camera on her cell phone.

As we walked to my car, Becky took my hand in hers. It was like electricity. Once we were in the car, she repeated the gesture.

I shouldn’t have told my pals which movie we were going to see, because there they were, with big foolish grins on their faces. I tried to take my hand from Becky’s but she just held on tighter and smiled at them.

Once in the theater, Becky steered me up to the last row, so there was no one behind us, all the time holding my hand in hers.

I could feel Becky leaning against me, and I put my arm around her shoulders. In response, she snuggled closer to me and leaned her head on my shoulder. I could smell her perfume.

Later, at the pizza parlor, we found that we had an audience. Not only my friends, but also Becky’s friends. “Maybe we should introduce them to each other, and they might leave us alone,” I commented.

“They all know each other already,” Becky replied.

When we arrived at Becky’s house after leaving the pizza place, I walked her to her door and we stood there, face to face. I knew that you weren’t supposed to kiss on a first date, but we already had a study date, so I brushed my lips against hers. “You can do better than that,” she whispered, and pulled my head to hers and placed her lips firmly on mine. It was my first kiss. It was wonderful. We kissed again, and Becky said, “I had a wonderful time. Thank you for the movie and pizza.” She kissed me again and then opened her door. I went back to my car like I was walking on air. This dating stuff is great, I thought.

The feeling of euphoria lasted until I got back home. My sister and parents were waiting up for me. My sister examined my face. “Well, we don’t have to ask you how your date was, it’s evident from the traces of lipstick on your face,” she said with a wicked smile.

“Did you have a good time?” my mother asked.

Without waiting for my answer, my sister piped out, “Just look at him, that’s your answer.”

Saturday, September 20, 2014:

The next day I was working in the yard when my three pals ‘just happened’ to come by. Obviously they were looking for an ‘after action report.’

“Well, how was it?” Joe asked.

“It was okay,” I responded, “you ought to try it yourself.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Harry stammered.

“I know, you have to ask a girl to go out with you. They aren’t going to ask you,” I said. “You could have asked Cathy, Sue or Judy last night at the pizza place.”

“I probably would have been shot down,” Joe said dejectedly.

“I don’t think so,” I responded. “Becky told me that Sue thinks you’re kinda cute, in a nerdly way.” I added with a snicker. “Look, I have an idea. At lunch on Monday, all four of us can ask Becky, Cathy, Sue and Judy if they want to play miniature golf on Saturday evening. It’s like a group date,” I said.

“Hey, that might work,” said Harry, “I’m up for it.” Joe and Bob nodded their heads in agreement.

“Just keep your cotton picking hands off of Becky,” I added menacingly.

“Ooh, so that’s the way the wind is blowing,” Joe exclaimed, with a big grin.

Monday, September 22, 2014:

At lunch on Monday, the guys and I approached the table where Becky, Cathy, Sue and Judy were sitting. “The guys and I would like to challenge you girls to a game of miniature golf on Saturday,” I announced. All of the girls smiled.

The girls cut right to the chase. “What time?” Cathy asked, as if the invitation had been accepted, which, as it turned out, it was. The other girls nodded in agreement.

So the eight of us showed up at the miniature golf place at 7:30 that Saturday evening. Was it officially a date? I can’t say one way or the other, but all of us guys were wearing slacks, not jeans, shirts with collars and leather shoes. The girls, not to be outdone, were wearing skirts or shorts with cute tops. All of the girls were wearing subdued make up. I, for one, was impressed.

I had clued the guys that the girls probably expected us to pay, which was true. We then split into two groups, Joe, Sue, Bob and Cathy in one group, and the rest of us in the other. All the time Becky kept a tight grip on my hand, as if to say that I belonged to her. The other girls seemed to accept this. While we kept score, it soon became apparent that social interaction was much more important, because at the end of the game everyone had a date to the Homecoming dance.

Cathy and Becky then suggested that we play another round and even offered to pay. The catch was that the girls had made plans for a Halloween party, and the winners could chose the Halloween costumes for the losers. I figured that guys are just naturally better at this than girls, so I started with a confident attitude, which soon turned to worry. It appears that Becky had an eye that a professional golfer would envy. I lost by one stroke, but that was enough.

“Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with this,” crowed Becky, “be at my house on Sunday afternoon, for our study session and we can think about your costume.”

My parents were still up when I got home. “So, how was it?” my mother asked. I told her how as a result of the evening all of us had dates to the Homecoming Dance. “Well, it’s about time that you guys got off of your rears and did something mature,” she added.

I then let the other shoe drop, and told my parents about the bet we had for the second game. “So, how much did you beat Becky by?” my father asked.

“I lost,” I admitted.

“Oh, this should turn out to be interesting,” my mother said with a wicked smile, “I want pictures.”

My sister just giggled.

Sunday, September 28, 2014:

On Sunday afternoon, I showed up at Becky’s house to study for a test on Monday. The subject of the Homecoming Dance and the Halloween party were discussed. Becky must have told her parents about the wager, to judge from the gleeful smiles on their faces. “I guess that Becky forgot to tell you that she took third place at the girls under 16 golf tournament a year ago,” her father said with a chuckle.

“Yeah, it must have slipped her mind,” I said ruefully. Becky was just gave me a sly smile.

We studied hard for several hours, and when we felt that we had a good grasp of the materials we relaxed. “What do you think about the essay that was assigned in the sociology class?” Becky asked.

“It’s going to be difficult,” I responded and fished the assignment from my backpack. It was due in two weeks. “Sexual stereotypes; what it would be like to be the other sex,” I read off the sheet of paper. “I have to write what it would be like to be a girl, and you have to write what it would be like to be a boy,” I read on, “We have to incorporate some of the sexual stereotypes which we discussed in class. One good thing is that we can discuss this with each other,” I concluded.

“It’ll be a lot of fun working on our papers with each other,” Becky added. “I feel sorry for the kids who don’t have a boy or girl friend.”

“They’ll have to find one soon, or have a fertile imagination,” I added. I didn’t have a clue what it was like to be a girl. Becky, on the other hand, had formed a plan to educate me on that point, and it had to do with a skirt. Naturally, she kept this to herself.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 2.
By Pentatonic

Friday, October 3, 2014:

Becky and I had decided to invite our friends for a joint session to work on the essay on Friday after school. Before our meeting, Becky and I discussed the essay, especially the stereotypes which had been brought up in class. Thank goodness both Becky and I had good notes. My friends and Becky’s friends were not so fortunate so the joint study session benefitted them. By now Joe and Sue seemed to have paired up, like Harry with Cathy and Bob and Judy working with each other.

While we all together, I asked the guys if they had looked at the information for the dance. I told them that the boys should wear a suit, or at least a coat and tie. “I looked at my clothes, and came up with nothing. My Mom is taking me shopping tomorrow.”

“Ooh, can I come along?” Becky asked.

“I plan on getting in and out of the store in less than thirty minutes. From what I’ve seen and what we’ve discussed, taking you might turn it into a two hour session.” I immediately regretted my comments when I saw the hurt expression on Becky’s face. In the next second I withdrew what I had said, and told her that I would be delighted to have her along.

Saturday, October 4, 2014:

On the way to the mall, Becky and I explained our essay requirements to my Mom. “Maybe I can help you with it.” she said.

My mother and Becky dropped me off at the men's wear department, and took off on an adventure of their own. As mom explained it, “I’m going to borrow Becky as my daughter for the day to shop with.” For some reason both Mom and Becky began giggling madly.

Shopping for men’s clothes is easy. First you find a clerk, or more likely the clerk finds you, especially if he is a commission salesman. “And what can I help you with, young man?” he asked. I explained that I needed a suit or a coat and slacks, a white shirt and a tie to wear to the Homecoming dance. “Excellent,” he said, “By the way, do you know what size you are?”

“Not exactly,” I answered, and he whipped off a tape measure which he had around his neck. He measured my neck and sleeves, “for the shirt,” he commented. He then measured my chest, waist and inseam. “Hmm,” was his initial comment, followed by, “Why don’t you come over here, I think that the clothes in this rack are your size.”

“You might want to consider buying separates, that is a coat and slacks. We can find slacks that match the coat, for a suit, and you can buy another pair of slacks which contrast with the coat, for a different look. Essentially two outfits with the same coat. We should look at a tie that goes well with the contrasting slacks. Another point is that you would be buying slacks off the rack, and they will not need the cuffs sewn.”

At my mother’s suggestion I had worn a cotton button down shirt, since I was going to buy a coat. The salesman noticed this and said, “Good choice of shirt, since you will be buying a coat.” I secretly thanked Mom.

“I would suggest a black coat, or maybe a dark charcoal or maybe a dark navy blue. We have slacks made by the same manufacturer, and the color and material are practically identical. I would suggest a gray pair of slacks for the second pants, since they will go well with any of the coats.” With that, he pulled three coats off the separates rack, and I tried each one on. He buttoned up each coat and pulled on it to make sure there was enough room. He then adjusted the rest of the coat, and each time I walked to the mirror to see how it looked. All three worked.

“You could get the coat in a size larger, which would give you some room to grow into,” he suggested. “The sleeves will be a bit longer, but not so much that anyone will really notice. You’ll just have to make sure that you don’t drip them into the soup,” he added with a chuckle. “Now lets find some slacks.” He went through the rack looking for the correct waist and inseam. “We can go up a size on the waist, because they are a bit tight in the rear and maybe also on the inseam. Here, try these on.” He handed me four pairs of slacks and directed me to the fitting room. “While you’re doing that, I’ll look for some ties that I think will go with the gray slacks.”

“I have my Mother with me, at least somewhere in the store, and I’m sure that she will have final say, since this is all going on her credit card,” I added.

With a conspiratorial wink, he said, “As long as you have a woman in your life, she will have the final say. Just look around you. almost all of the men are accompanied by a woman who is making all the final choices. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take care of some other customer while you’re waiting for your mother. Just wave to me when she comes in.” I knew that it would be inconsiderate making him wait with me for who knows how long, when he could be earning another commission.

At long last, Mother and Becky came back into the men’s wear department, laden with bags and carrying on non-stop conversations, except for when they broke into laughter. What was most disturbing was that most of the laughter came when they were looking at me.

“Now let’s see what you picked out,” she said. I waved to the salesman, and he nodded his head and made his way over to me.

He explained the concept of separates, and I modeled each of the slacks with each of the coats. “They’re all rather somber,” my mother commented.

“That’s true, but they are suitable for all occasions,” the sales clerk commented.

“Just like the LBD,” Becky chirped in.

“You’re quite right,” my Mother said.

The coat and slacks matter having been resolved with the second slacks being a gray one, we all turned to the buying of a tie. Needless to say, the clerk’s choices and my choices were disregarded the moment when Mom and Becky pawed through the tie collection. Finally, I had enough and said, “Look, I’m the one who has to wear it, so I should make the choice.” Mom and Becky relented, and the sales clerk looked at me with more respect.

We made our way out of the mall laden with clothes. When we were home, I went to my room to remove the tags from the coat, slacks, shirt and tie, and hung them up in the closet. Shoes were not an issue, since I still fit, rather tightly, in a pair of black oxfords from a year ago.

When I came into the kitchen, Mom and Becky were waiting for me. “We thought we would have a light lunch,” Mom said.

“Sounds good to me,” I answered, thinking of a bacon sandwich.

“You know, to write a good essay, you’re going to have to get in touch with your feminine side,” my mother said, as she handed me a frilly apron. “One part of that is you will set the table and fix lunch. I set out the ingredients for a nice salad, so get to it.”

“A salad?” I questioned. “I was thinking more of a bacon sandwich.”

“Hardly,” my mother answered. “You have to think of your figure!” This last comment brought out gales of laughter from the two females. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny at that time. So I followed directions while Mom and Becky engaged in a non-stop conversation which included not only giggling, but even some outright laugher.

When the salads were on the table, we all sat down, or rather they sat and I slouched. “Sit up straight, knees together,” Mom commanded. “In fact, sit on the front of the chair with your back straight,” she added. To reinforce the point, both Mom and Becky demonstrated how it was to be done. “This will help you get in touch with your feminine side,” she explained, “It will help you with your essay.”

An evil thought ran through my mind. “If I have to do this to get in touch with my feminine side, shouldn’t Becky slouch and occasionally give out a loud belch to get in touch with her masculine side?” I expounded.

My mother gave me a disgusted look, and said, “She doesn’t need to practice being a slob, after all she’s observed you and your friends for many years. You might not realize it, but girls do pay attention to that.”

When lunch was finished I got to clean up the table and wash the dishes, while Mom and Becky relaxed in the living room. Finally, I was able to hang up that dang apron and join them. I plopped into an easy chair and sprawled with one of my legs over the arm of the chair. This was met with immediate and stern disapproval. “That won’t do at all!” exclaimed my Mother. “Stand up and sit correctly in that chair.” She pointed out to a straight backed chair with no arms. I sat in that chair, remembering my instructions from lunch. “Much better,” she said, “but don’t get too comfortable, because you need to take a shower.”

“Why?” I questioned, “I took one this morning.”

“Because you need to use a hair remover. I left it on the sink. Just follow the directions on the label.” I didn’t like the way things had been progressing ever since we returned from shopping. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I felt that Mom and Becky have been plotting against me all morning, and the laughter was at my expense, Naw, I answered my own question, but in this case I was wrong, they had been plotting.

“While you are in the shower, Becky and I will put some clothes on your bed for you, and you WILL wear them,” Mom said with emphasis on the word ‘will.’

“If you need any help, just call,” Becky said with a helpful tone in her voice.

When I walked into my room I saw a pair of pink panties, a pink bra, a white garment which I found out later was a camisole, a half slip, a pleated plaid skirt, a white blouse with short sleeves, a pair of panty hose and a pair of sandals with one inch heels. “Put on all the clothes except the pantyhose,” my Mother directed. “I’ll help you with that. I don’t want any runs. I’ll do your hair when you’re dressed.” My hair is just above my shoulders, and I wore it in a low ponytail. With that she and Becky left my room and closed the door, all the time giggling to each other.

“Why?” I shouted through the closed door.

“To help you with your essay,” Mom answered. “You should be thankful, I’ll bet that none of the other moms are doing this for their sons.”

While standing there wearing only the panties and the half slip, I requested help with the bra. Both came into the room, and Becky showed me how to put on the bra. “It’s only a padded training bra,” she said, “It’ll give you a little shape. I picked this one out all by myself, just for you,” she added with an innocent looking smile.

“While you’re doing that, I might as well do the pantyhose. Sit on the bed and lift up your slip” When I did as I was told, she noted the bulge in my panties. “That won’t do,” she said. “Go back in the bathroom and tuck yourself back. If you can’t figure out how, I’ll come in and do it for you.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I said, and I did.

She then showed me how to put on the pantyhose. As the smooth nylon slid up my smooth and hairless legs, I could feel a tingle through my whole body. Finally I put on the camisole, blouse and skirt. I put the sandals. My mother fussed with my hair, giving it a somewhat feminine look. We then went downstairs where I was given lessons in feminine deportment and how to walk in heels.

After two grueling hours, Mom said, “You kids need a break. Why don’t you go for a nice walk around the block?”

“Like this?” I exclaimed.

My question was answered with a withering look. “Exactly like you are!”

Hoping against hope that no one would see me, I stepped out on the porch. I immediately felt the breeze under my skirt. Not a bad feeling. My hopes of being unobserved were dashed when I saw Joe riding up the street on his bicycle. He called out to Becky, “Have you seen Roy around? I need help getting my car started.”

“Roy’s around, and even closer than you think,” she responded and pointed her thumb at me. With that he came closer.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he took a good look at me, “is that really you, Roy?”

“Of course it is,” Becky answered, “Who else do you think I’d be hanging out with?”

“What’s the deal, Roy?” Joe asked.

“My mom, Becky, and who else I don’t know, thought it would help me get in touch with my feminine side and help me with my essay,” I responded.

“When you can, I’d like you to help me with my car,” Joe said.

“Did you replace the battery cables, as I told you to do a week ago?” I enquired.

“Uh, I kinda forgot,” he said sheepishly.

“Then take your bicycle to the parts store, get the cables and put them on,” I commanded.

“I don’t know about getting auto repair instructions from a guy wearing a skirt,” he said, insultingly. He then smiled and said, “When Mrs. Benson picks an essay to read to the whole class, I hope it’s yours. It’d be a real hoot,” he added with a smirk. “Say, did you go whole hog, like panties? If so, can I see?”

“No, you pervert,” Becky answered for me.

“I’m a pervert?” he said, “I’m not the boy wearing a skirt and who knows what else. Call me when you can.” He then added, “By the way, Becky, when are you going to get in touch with your masculine side?”

“I already know how to be an inconsiderate slob from watching you guys, and I know how to scratch my crotch and belch loudly. What else is there to learn,” she said. With that, Joe rode off on his bicycle, laughing.

I thought that I now had one example of a stereotype. We circumnavigated the rest of the block without incident, but on entering the house I complained loudly to my Mother, relating the gist of the incident with Joe. “That was a valuable lesson for your essay, you should be happy that it occurred.”

I wasn’t. At least Dad hadn’t seen any of this, since he was golfing all afternoon with his pals.

I was reminded that the next session would be on Sunday, starting at Becky’s house and then the mall, all the time with me dressed as a girl. It appears that Becky’s mom was in on the plot.

“Wear your panties and pantyhose under your jeans when you come over,” said Becky as she left.

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, my Mom came into my room and handed me a long nylon nightgown with spaghetti straps. “It’ll remind you of your time as a girl today,” she said.

I didn’t see any sense in complaining, so I put it on. It gave me a wonderful feeling. As I contemplated my day, I thought how it wasn’t so bad wearing girl’s clothes, in fact, I rather enjoyed it, and part of me was looking forward to tomorrow, dressed as a girl and being a girl.

Sunday, October 5, 2014:

On Sunday afternoon I drove over to Becky’s house. Her mother greeted me at the door. “Hi, Roy,” she said, and then stopped, “what with all that is going on, we can’t very well call you Roy, can we?”

“I guess not,” I responded.

“Then what?” she asked.

“I thought about it last night. How about Renee?”

“Then Renee it is. Becky, did you hear that?”

“I did,” Becky responded, “I think it’s a wonderful name.”

Becky’s Dad was sitting in the living room and heard the exchange. It was obvious that he knew what was going on, since he said, “I really applaud the depth of your research for the essay.” Becky’s Dad was a researcher for a firm known for the extent they involved themselves in experimentation.

“Thanks,” I replied, “It has been a really different experiment, and I think I’ve already learned a lot.”

This seemed to satisfy him, because he came up to me and shook my hand. “Keep up the good work. I might say that you might want to keep a journal of these events. It might be useful if you ever go into the social sciences.”

Wow, I thought to myself. He actually approves.

As Becky and I went up to her room, she called over her shoulder, “Mom, can we borrow your wig?”

“Certainly, Honey, let me get if for you.”

I quickly got dressed in the clothes Becky had laid out for me. “You know, Renee, it might get colder this afternoon. Why don’t you let me find a sweater that goes with that skirt?”

“Okay, sure, thanks,” I responded.

Becky’s Mom arrived with the wig which she fitted on my head, first putting on a wig cap. During this, she kept up a running explanation of what she was doing, “for future reference,” she said, “While I am working on Renee’s hair, you might want to work on her makeup. Did you buy any for her yesterday?” I guess the use of feminine pronouns was acceptable given how I was dressed.

“Yeah, Mom, I got the basics.” responded Becky, “I got some lipstick, mascara and a little blush. I had to guess at her colors, since Renee was not present at the makeup counters.”

“I have colors?”

“Of course, all girls pick makeup to complement their natural colors.” I didn’t know that and quickly admitted it. “Just another step in getting in touch with your feminine side,” she added.

When everything was done, I studied my reflection in the mirror. I did not recognize myself. I saw a girl with a nice looking behind, nice legs, but not much on top. All in all not bad looking. I decided to give a swirl, much to the delight of all present.

“Ready for the mall?” Becky’s Mom asked.

“Uh, yes, but could you give us a ride. If anyone saw me get out of my car, they’d know it was my car and that I was getting out of it. It would be better if you drove.”

“Okay, I understand. Becky, do you have a purse for Renee to use?

“I do,” Becky said, and produced a purse with a shoulder strap. “Put your stuff in it, and put it over your shoulder. By the way, I put a pad in it first, in case some other girl is not prepared for her period. Most girls carry one just in case, or to give to an unfortunate.”

“Oh, by the way, you’ll have to use the women’s washroom. It’s an experience you can’t afford to miss for your essay. Just remember to sit when you pee.”

What followed was a novel experience for me. First thing I noticed was the boys. Neither Becky nor I were drop dead gorgeous, but that didn’t stop the boys. The leered, they stared, they mentally undressed us. In general, they were boors. It hurt to remember that I had acted exactly like that on many occasions. I vowed to clean up my act in the future. Becky confirmed that the boys’ behavior was how they usually conducted themselves.

The next part was shopping for clothes for hours, but not buying anything. After a while I began enjoying shopping. It was so unlike my shopping experience when I bought my clothes for the Homecoming Dance.

Then came a visit to the food court. Here the boys circled around like vultures over a fresh kill. I recognized it for what it was, since I had done the same on numerous occasions. They were attracted to the girls but it was obvious that they were really scared of them. Then Becky taught me long distance flirting, “Catch a boy’s eyes and smile at him, until he finally comes over and asks if he could join us. Then the short range flirting begins. Batting eyelashes, smiles, and making a boy feel if not comfortable, at least less uncomfortable.” Becky then taught me another two lessons. First, do not make eye contact with the most brazen of the alpha males, you don’t want to have anything to do with them. The second lesson was just as important; never do this alone. Always have at least one other girl with you, for your own protection.

The last experience was the women’s washroom. I went into a stall, which could have been cleaner, and remembered to sit. Then came the conversations at the wash basins with fresh lipstick appearing to be the first priority. What was most strange to me was how the girls described the boys they had seen in the food court. I could hardly keep from blushing, the girls’ comments were so frank. I hated the thought that on some occasions my friends and I might have been so discussed. There were comments about what some of the girls wanted to do with some of the boys. Not being that good looking I hoped that I had never been the topic of these washroom discussions.

When Becky and I left the washroom I commented on what had been said. I said to her that I imagined that I had never been the subject of those kinds of discussions. She quickly disabused me of my misconceptions, and she related what had been said about me, and the questions of what she was going to do with me. I was embarrassed. Then she said, “Some of the girls commented that you have a cute butt, and it really fills out your skirt.” I had never thought that my butt was cute; I only knew that it was larger than average.

Finally, we called Becky’s Mom and she picked us up. Once at Becky’s house, her Dad wanted to know the results of the experiment, and encouraged me to write them down as soon as possible. He told me to be sure that I noted what happened when Joe showed up the previous day, “Don’t only state the facts, write down how you felt, and what was happening around you at the time,” he said. “However, at the same time, don’t omit any of the facts. They are the basis of your experiment. How you felt are also facts, but they also are part of your conclusions.”

His comments were really helpful. I had never approached a topic using this method. “What I just told you was what you would put in a scientific monograph. An essay can consist of feelings and conclusions without as much reference to the facts. When you write up your essay, I’d like to see it.”

When I arrived back home, my Mother wanted to hear all about it, but I told her I wanted to put what happened in writing before I forgot any of it. Just then my Dad came into the room. I hadn’t changed out of my girl clothes. “I’m Roy’s Dad,” he said, “and who are you?”

“I’m Renee,” I answered

“Is Becky around,” he asked, clearly confused with the situation. I gained some satisfaction that he did not recognize me.

“No, she’s at her own house,” I answered.

“Okay, then where’s Roy?” he asked.

“Right here,” my Mother answered, and immediately dissolved into gales of laughter.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he said. Then remembering the answer to his question, he stared at me.

“You,” I answered. “You don’t even recognize your own son.”

“Roy, is that really you?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

I explained the essay and Mom and Becky’s plan. When I got to the part of Becky’s Dad’s comments, he softened his face. “He’s a good man, and if he thought it was an experiment of merit, I have to agree with him.”

After supper, I reminded my parents that I had to write up my journal while what happened was fresh in my mind, and I went to my room and turned on my computer. It was well past my usual bedtime before I finished. My Mother came into my room to wish me good night. “Don’t forget the nightgown, it will help you with your thoughts.”

I didn’t forget the nightgown. I realized that I loved wearing it, as well as my girl clothes.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 3.
By Pentatonic

Monday, October 6, 2014:

Immediately after I came home from school on Monday afternoon I changed into my girl clothes, to connect with my experiences. That had been Becky’s suggestion. I then re-read my journal and started on the essay. I noted the stereotypes which were relevant to my experience, and decided to limit my essay to just those points. According to the instructions, Mrs. Benson wanted the essay to be at least one thousand words. My first draft was twice that. I set it aside to polish it over the next few days. I changed out of my girl clothes for supper, to avoid any snide comments from my sister although something in me was saddened when I did.

At that point I realized that having let my feminine side out, she wasn’t going to go away without a struggle. I decided to keep the name Renee for my feminine side.

Friday, October 10, 2014:

Friday was the due date for turning in the essays. As suggested, I included my journal with the essay, since I made a lot of references to it. It made a thicker than usual essay, and Mrs. Benson smiled with approval.

Friday was also the day before the Homecoming dance, but the buzz of excitement at my lunch table covered the fact that my essay was a whole lot longer than everyone else’s.

Saturday, October 11, 2014:

The Homecoming dance was held in the school cafeteria, rather than in the gym. I thought that the gym would have been more appropriate, given the sporting event theme, but the basketball coach had refused to let the school use the gym, because, as he said, “I don’t want a bunch of stupid girls ruining the floor with their idiotic high heels.” I, for one, couldn’t care, but I wished that I could have included his comments in my journal and essay.

The lunch tables had paper table cloths in the school colors, and streamers had been hung from the ceiling. Some of the tables and chairs had been moved out to make room for a dance floor. It actually looked pretty nice.

Becky and her friends had really dressed to look very pretty, and us guys were all decked out in coats and ties or suits. We moved two tables together so all of us could be together. Our presence was noted. The captain of the football team came up to our table. “I didn’t expect all of you to come. I guess that you aren’t as nerdly as I thought,” he commented. From him that had to be high praise. We traded dances with each other, and genuinely had a good time.

When I took Becky home, she said that my getting all of us together for the dance had been a great idea, for which she rewarded me with long and lingering kisses before she went inside. I didn’t go in with her, since I knew from experience that I had traces of her lipstick on my face, and didn’t want her parents to see it.

I was not so fortunate at my house. My sister had been at the dance and she and my parents were in the living room, waiting up for me. The comments about the traces of lipstick were accompanied with giggles and outright laughter from my sister. “It looks like you had a better time than I did,” she commented.

Tuesday, October 14, 2014:

On the next Tuesday, Mrs. Benson commented that she had read the essays over the weekend, and while she usually picked three essays to be read in class on Friday, there was one essay which really stood out, so she was going to dedicate a whole class session to reading and discussing it on Thursday, and have three other essays read on Friday. Her comments caused Becky to look at me and smile. She was sure that my essay was the ‘special’ one.

Thursday, October 16, 2014:

She was right. On Thursday, Mrs. Benson announced. “Roy’s essay is based on his personal experiences, his ‘research,’ as it well may be described, he recorded in a journal. He refers to his journal in his essay, to support his conclusions, so I am asking him to read the journal first, so you can see what he did. As you will hear, he cross-dressed as a girl, to experience what a girl would be expected to do and feel in certain situations. I know that you all want to snicker about Roy wearing a skirt, but let me tell you that some serious research has been carried out in like circumstances, so you have to understand that Roy’s motives were purely scientific. Remember that Becky was an integral part of the research and nothing more should be inferred as to his cross-dressing.”

Boy, I thought, if only she knew how much I liked dressing as a girl.

After class, Mrs. Benson called me aside. “Your essay was way beyond what I expected, and I am dutifully impressed. I have a friend who is a university professor, and I’d like to share your journal and essay with him. Your observations and conclusions come from a 16 year old boy and not an adult. For that reason, it has great value, since very little has been written from your viewpoint. May I send him a copy?”

“Sure, I guess so,” I responded. I then told her about the basketball coach’s comments, and how I wish I could have included that in my journal and essay.

“Write them us as appendices to your journal and essay, and I will include them with what I send to the Professor,” she said.

My method of research caused some commentary among some of the students, but Becky helped explain why it was done. The fact that she participated in the research helped quell any adverse reaction.

That evening, I related the events of the day to my parents and sister. My sister couldn’t help not making some snide comments, for which she earned a rebuke from Dad, “You should respect what Roy did. I’m willing to bet that you wouldn’t even think of putting so much effort in class work, and I have your grade reports to prove it.” This silenced my sister.

Friday, October 17, 2014:

The next day Becky read her essay in class. Her essay was connected with mine, although a lot shorter. She wrote about her feelings and conclusions from the events in my journal, some which differed from mine. Mrs. Benson was actually excited about our joint effort and said “You heard Roy’s essay yesterday. Becky’s essay relates to the same events, but with a different viewpoint and some different conclusions.”

Becky was excited about our essays. On our way home from school she said, “Mrs. Benson told me that they are almost one work with two authors. She said that my participation has earned both of us an ‘A.’ Now that all of your friends know that you have cross-dressed makes selecting your costume for the Halloween party a lot easier.”

“Let me guess,” I responded, “it has to me dressing in a skirt or dress, doesn’t it?”

“Now that you mention it, it does,” she responded with a big grin. “I was thinking of an opera theme for us. I could go as Brunnhilda from ‘Die Walkyrie’ and you could be the Queen of the Night from ‘Die Zauberflote,’ How does that sound?”

“Okay, I guess,” I said, “but putting together the costumes may be difficult and expensive. Don’t expect me to sing any of her arias,” I added.

“You don’t mind wearing a dress, do you?” she asked.

“Naw, it’s okay,” I told her. I didn’t say that I would really love to wear a dress. My feminine side was reasserting herself.

“Let’s see what we can find at the thrift store, for starters. Since we will be in the women’s section and you will be trying on dresses, you might want to wear a skirt and top. Maybe you can bring your clothes from your house, get dressed at my house and then we can hit the thrift store tomorrow.”

Saturday, October 18, 2014:

On Saturday morning I used the hair remover again, since I was going to be changing into a skirt at Becky’s house. For the drive over I decided to wear panties and pantyhose under my jeans for two reasons. First, I would be wearing a skirt when shopping, and Second, just because I wanted to. My feminine side was active. I wore regular socks over my pantyhose, packed up my girl clothes along with what makeup I had and drove over to Becky’s house.

Becky’s Mom answered the door when I rang, and when inside I could hear strains of Wagner coming from the CD player.`”I’m excited about your Halloween costumes. I love the opera, especially Wagner. Becky told me to send you upstairs to get ready for some shopping.” She paused for a second, and then asked, “You don’t mind it that my daughter has you wearing skirts and dresses on occasion, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “It’s almost like you are her full sized Barbie Doll.”

“It’s okay,” I responded. Then my feminine side asserted herself and I added, “I wish I had Barbie’s figure.” Becky’s Mom had a peculiar smile on her face when I said that, and she pointed to the stairs.

Becky was laying clothes out on her bed when I entered her room. “I think that this plaid skirt and a button up sweater are appropriate for today.” Rather than going into the bathroom to change, I took off my jeans in front of her. What started as a concerned look on her face dissolved into a broad smile when she saw that I was wearing panties and pantyhose under my jeans.

“You told me that girls don’t mind getting undressed in front of each other,” I said, to justify what I had just done.

“Do you consider yourself to be a girl?” she asked with a surprised look on her face.

“When I’m wearing panties and a skirt, the answer is yes.”

“Oh,” was her only response.

“Let me explain,” I said, “when I had to get in touch with my feminine side, it wasn’t a mere touch. My feminine side grabbed on tight and won’t totally let go any more. I call her Renee and she is always in the background.”

“Well, then, let’s get Renee ready,” she said with a bright smile.

When fully dressed we went out to my car. “Aren’t you afraid of someone recognizing your car and seeing you get out in a skirt?” she asked, referencing my prior concern.

“Not anymore,” I said, “Renee won’t let me be concerned,” referring to my feminine side.

“Will Renee allow you to kiss me?” she asked with some concern in her voice.

“Renee has nothing to do with kissing you,” I said, “that’s exclusively Roy’s province.”

“Good!” she said, “now prove it!” I did, and it seemed to please Becky. But, I wondered, does my Renee side want me kissing boys? That was more than I wanted to think about at that time, so I pushed that thought into the back of my brain.

We were lucky at the thrift store. After a lot of searching, we found a long black formal dress which actually fit me. The skirt part was slightly gathered at the waist, and the whole skirt would spread out if I twirled. It also had a slit up he left side of the skirt which came up to mid thigh. The bodice was not tight, and the neck line was square cut. It was sleeveless but had wide shoulder straps. A further search produced a long sleeved, high neck chiffon blouse with a small ruff around the neck. “You can wear this under the dress,” she told me, “maybe we can make a high collar in back and attach it to the blouse.” The dress and blouse were purchased. “I hope you know that everything you wear underneath will also have to be black, so we’ll get it at the mall. I think that you will also need ample breasts, so you want to think about breast forms.”

For Becky, we found a long formal gold skirt and a silver sleeveless top. The housewear section of the thrift store had some metal bowls which we could make into an armored chest-piece. We also found a blond wig which would be long enough to make into braids. The helmet with horns was a problem, however.

We found a solution in a man’s hat with a rounded top. We could cut off the brim, and spray paint it silver. We did some research on the internet, and found that some Brunnhilda costumes had wings, and not horns, on the helmet. We decided to use wings, which we could cut out of cardboard and painted.

After our thrift store adventure, Becky and I returned to her house to drop off our purchases and have a bite to eat. We then left for the mall, and more shopping.

On the way to the mall, Becky went over what we needed to buy. “We need black panties, black bra, black slip, black pantyhose, unless you want to wear a garter belt and stockings.” The last comment brought a wicked smile to her face. “We need some costume jewelry, and I think that we need some sequins to decorate you costume, since you are the Queen of the Night. So where do we start? The department store or Victoria’s Secret? Oh, you need some black shoes with heels. We’ll play the rest by ear when we get to the mall.”

Upon entering the mall, the first place we saw was an earring kiosk. Becky immediately saw a set of crescent moon earrings. “Ohhh!” she exclaimed, “You definitely need those.”

“But they’re for pierced ears,” I complained.

“That’s an easy problem to solve,” Becky said in rejoinder. “Piercing is free if you buy earrings.”

“We’ll buy the crescent moon earrings and a set of small gold studs for her to wear until the holes heal,” Becky told the sales clerk. The clerk called over an older woman, who brought over what had to be a medieval torture device, used to pierce ears and who knows what else.

After some pain to my ear lobes, and some minor pain to my cash supply, Becky and I proceeded down the main aisle.

As we approached a ‘fashion jewelry’ store, Renee said, “The Queen of the Night needs jewelry!” and we went into the store. In keeping with the Queen of the Night motif, Becky found a pewter necklace with a man in the moon face. “You absolutely need this,” she said. She saw a plastic tiara and some cheap, but gaudy, rings, all of which were purchased.

“You need some makeup. What you have just won’t do it,” Becky said. “Black nail polish, blood red lipstick, heavy eye shadow, false lashes, and some dark blush, definitely. We can get this at a cosmetic counter in the department store.”

As luck would have it, Victoria’s Secret was on the way to the department store at the far end of the mall. “Let’s see what they have,” Becky said as she pulled me in the store. She then reached into her purse and pulled out a list of measurements which she had previously made.

“What size panties are you wearing?” she asked. “Panties are always a good place to start.”

I didn’t understand the logic of her last statement but let it pass. It wasn’t hard to find the right sized panties; it was the style which concerned me.

“I think that Renee will want the sexiest pair possible,” Becky said.

“Remember, I have to tuck something back, so we have to consider that.” I said.

“Well, okay,” she responded, and found an appropriate pair.

“We can buy cheap pantyhose at the local drug store, so we don’t have to get them here,” she said, “of course, unless you want to wear a garter belt and stockings. Then this is the place for them.” Becky picked up several black garter belts in different styles and sizes, and we went to the changing rooms. She entered the changing booth with me. Facing me, she reached around and unfastened my skirt which fell to the floor. She then fastened a garter belt on me. After trying several, she made my choice for me. “Ohh, that is so sexy,” she said. “It makes me want to kiss you,” which she did. She then looked at my face. “You need to fix your lipstick,” she said.

“And so do you,” I responded, and we did. Becky then selected a pair of black nylons for me.

After the garter belt and stockings, Becky said, “Now you need a slip, because your gown is not lined. I think a full slip would be best, but we only want a peek of lace to show in the slit in your gown. Maybe a slip with a lace edged slit on the left side, same as the dress. That way when you twirl, you might give a glimpse of garter and hose.”

After buying the slip, Becky and I went to the bra counter. “How can I help you ladies?” the clerk asked.

“A black bra with lace. C cup,” Becky said, and she gave the clerk the appropriate measurement.

“For you?” the clerk asked Becky while looking at her chest.

“No,” Becky replied, “for her.”

The clerk shifted her attention to my chest. I had the start of ‘man boobs’ but nowhere in the C cup range.

Seeing the clerk’s expression, Becky added, “She’ll need some inserts too.” In response, the clerk gave me an odd look and shrugged her shoulders, which I ignored. After looking for a bra, sexy and lacy enough to satisfy Becky, and full enough for the breast forms, the clerk, Becky and I repaired to a cubicle for me to be fitted. At last, we had what was needed. I was slightly embarrassed with my encounter with the clerk and I was relieved when we left the store.

At last we made it to the department store, for cosmetics. Becky steered me to one of the counters. “This is my favorite brand,” she explained. The clerk smiled when she saw us, and I remember hearing that the cosmetics clerks were on commission. Since we needed to buy a lot of cosmetics, she had reason to smile.

“Renee here is going to a Halloween party as the Queen of the Night, from the Magic Flute.” The clerk looked puzzled. “From the opera,” Becky added, but it still didn’t seem to register with the clerk. A catty remark from my Renee side came to my mind. She probably only likes acid rock, I thought.

Becky came to the rescue. “Think evil witch. Black nails, blood red lipstick, dark eye shadow, false lashes, and anything else you can think of.” This brought a smile of recognition to the clerk’s face.

“How are you set for your regular cosmetics?” the clerk asked me. “We have a special on complete kits in different colors, and I know we have what is exactly right for you/ Do you want to see it?”

Becky pulled me aside and whispered, “It may be a good idea if Renee plans on hanging around, otherwise not.”

“Yes, I’d like to see it,” I said.

“Very interesting,” Becky commented, as if I had answered a question, which, in fact, I had. This pleased my Renee side.

After trying some of the cosmetics, I said that I would buy the set. We then concentrated on the Queen of the Night makeup. When done, I looked in the mirror and saw what looked like an evil prostitute. “Excellent,” Becky announced. “We’ll buy them.”

We left the Queen of the Night makeup on as we went in search of shoes. When I saw people staring at me I wondered if they thought the makeup too dramatic or that I really was a prostitute. The Renee inside of me didn’t care, but she did like the makeup.

The clerk at the shoe store tried to steer me into buying strappy shoes with dangerously high heels, I was finally able to prevail on the heel height,

When we got to the car, Becky suggested that I put on my heels, to practice driving in them.

At Becky’s house, her Mother loved the Queen of the Night makeup. “Can I see what else you bought?” she asked. She liked what we had bought, and had a lot of suggestions for my costume. She even approved of the garter belt and stockings. “They’ll really get you into the part,” she said.

We started work on the costumes immediately. Sequins were found and attached to the chiffon blouse. The helmet was started, and cardboard wings were made. Of course both Becky and I had to model what we had bought. When I stripped down to put on the dress, Becky’s Mom noticed that I was wearing panties and pantyhose. “Good idea, it puts you in the right spirit,” she said.

When I sat down to put on my heels, Becky’s mom noticed the slit in the skirt. “You’ll have to be careful with that, or you’re going to give everyone a peep show,” she said with a chuckle. “If you want, I can sew that closed.”

“No,” I said, “I like it the way it is.” That was Renee talking.

“I figured that you would,” she responded. I wondered if Renee was sending out signals.

Becky’s Dad liked both operas, and as his contribution had made a spear for Brunnhilda and a magic wand for the Queen of the Night, “I thought that I should contribute something,” he said.

Sunday, October 19, 2014:

Becky’s mom had suggested some alterations to make the dress fit better, and had suggested that I come by on Sunday afternoon to try the dress on to make sure that everything was right. That morning I had run out to buy some extra black hose to wear to the fitting. I decided to wear the black panties, slip and bra along with the breast forms under a skirt and sweater which I borrowed from my mother. “Just remember, this does not mean that you can raid my closet whenever you want,” she warned.

“But mom, this is only for the halloween party,” I responded.

“Yeah, right,” she replied sarcastically.

Becky and her mother had laid the entire costume on Becky’s bed. Neither made any signs of leaving the room while I changed. When I took off the skirt and sweater, both commented on the black undergarments. “I’m glad to see that you made the effort to make sure everything is correct,” Becky’s mother said. She checked the slit in the slip. “Good, you can see the top of her stocking and the garter strap.” Renee liked this, even if Roy was a little embarrassed.

I put on the chiffon blouse to which the sequins had been added and Becky and her mom helped slip the gown over my head, and zip it up. When I sat down to put on my shoes I found out that no matter how I sat, the slit in the skirt fell open, displaying the top of my hose. This caused Becky’s mom to laugh. “You’re going to have to work on that, unless you like giving everyone a bit of a show. “Of course, I could sew it closed if you wish.”

“No, don’t,” Becky said, “I think that she likes giving a glimpse of stocking.” Renee agreed with her.

“Why don’t you keep it on for the rest of the afternoon, and practice sitting and walking in the heels,” Becky’s mom suggested. “While you’re doing that, Becky and I can work on her costume.”

It was then that Becky’s dad came up from the basement with the metal bowls, having fastened them together with leather lacing, which was Brunnhilda’s armored chestpiece. Becky and her mother made adjustments with the various parts of the costume, while her dad and I just watched and admired. When they were done, a very credible Brunnhilda emerged. Becky’s dad had worked on the helmet, and it was fitted to Becky’s blond wig.

Becky’s mom then said, “Let me get the black wig for the Queen, and let’s have pictures.” There were a lot of pictures, which Becky’s mom emailed to my mother. Due to the wonders of the internet, they arrived at my house before I did, much to the delight of my sister.

“Oooh” she commented, “are you really sure you’re a boy? You look so adorable,” she said, and dissolved into gales of laughter.

Monday, October 20, 2014:

While I no longer tottered when wearing three inch heels, I decided I needed more practice, so when I came home after school I asked my sister if I could borrow a pair of knee high stockingsfrom her. “Okay, if you promise to wash them when you’re done, and don’t run them,” she said.

So I spent the afternoon in heels, while wearing my jeans and a sweatshirt. I caught my sister looking at me. “That just doesn’t look right. Those shoes don’t go witht the baggy jeans and sweatshirt,” she said.

“It doesn’t have to look right,” I retorted, “I’m just practicing walking in these shoes.”

“How about dancing?” she asked.

“I donno,”

“Maybe you better practice dancing. I’ll help you but not if you look like that. Come up to my room, and let’s see what can be done to make you look better.”

Once in her room she commanded me to strip, which I did, down to my underpants. “Get rid of those too,” she ordered, and handed me a pair of her panties. “These should work,” she said, “If you’re embarrassed, change in the bathroom and come back in here.”

I changed into the panties, and when I went back into her room, she handed me a bra. “Do you have your breastforms or are they at Becky’s?” she asked.

“At Becky’s,” I replied.

“No problem, we’ll find something to stuff them with,” she said. “Put on the bra.”

After I had put on the bra, hooking it behind, she commented, “you’re getting pretty good at that.” She handed me what I recognized as her skating skirt, maroon with contrasting panels, and very short. “It’s not going to bite you, put it on,” she commanded.

This was followed by a top with a very low scoop neckline and adorned with spangles, which I dutifully put on. “Come here, and let me do something with your hair,” she added.

After she had put my hair in a french twist, she grabbed a lipstick, and applied a coating to my lips. I turned around and looked in the mirror, Renee liked it.

“Okay, let’s go into the basement and dance,” she finally said. She grabbed her CD player and some CDs and headed to the basement.

For about an hour we practiced various dances, after which she said, “You’ve got those pretty well down, but now you have to learn some slow dances.”

We had only started on the slow dances when my mother called down the stairs, “Are you down there, Roy? Joe’s here. I’ll send him down,” after which I heard him coming down the stairs. When he saw my sister and me, one could see the surprise on his face.

“Whatcha guys doing?” he asked.

“I’m learning how to dance,” I said.

“As a girl?”

“Yeah, for the halloween party.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to learn,” ignoring part of the question.

“Nice outfit,” Joe said.

“Give Joe a twirl,” my sister commanded with a wicked smile.

I did as I was told, which caused the short skirt to flare out, exposing my panties. Joe gave a whistle.

“As long as you are here, you can help by dancing the boy part,” my sister commented. Joe did not need any further encouragement, and took me into his arms.

“Just remember, I’m a boy,” I warned him.

“Doesn’t look that way right now,” he responded.

The more we danced, the closer he held me. I could feel that he was getting aroused. “Back off, buster,” I whispered, “I don’t go for boys.”

“You could fool me,” he whispered back.

After about a half hour, I asked Joe, “So what brought you over in the first place?”

“I need you to look at something about my car,” he answered.

“Let me change, and I’ll be with you,” I said.

“Naw, it won’t take long, and I like the way you look.”

I put on a short jacket and we went outside. “What seems to be the problem that can’t wait until tomorrow?” I asked.

I suddenly felt Joe’s hand under my skirt and rubbing my behind. “Stop that immediately!” I commanded.

“Why? Don’t you like that?”

“No, not at all.” Well, maybe Roy didn’t like it, but Renee did. “I’m getting cold, let’s go back inside,” I said.

Friday, October 31, 2014:

On the night of the party, Becky and I got dressed at her house. Becky’s Mom had taken pictures of my Queen of the night makeup which the cosmetics clerk had done, and did a credible job of reproducing it.

The party was held in the rec room of Cathy’s house. There were black and orange streamers everywhere, and black chiffon covered the few lights which were left on.

We were nearly the last to arrive, which was good, since we could make a grand entrance. Most of the people in our crowd were not opera lovers, so we had to explain our costumes. I think that nearly all were impressed with the effort we had put into them.

A little later Joe sidled up to my left side. “A dress,” he said. “You must like wearing dresses and skirts. What gives?”

“Remember the game of miniature golf?” I said. “Remember the wager, remember that I lost to Becky?”

“Oh, yeah, That.”

“Yes, that,” I responded, and moved a step away, revealing the mid thigh slit.

“Oh, wow!” Joe exclaimed when he saw a glimpse of the lace at the bottom of my slip and my black nylons. “What else do you have under there?” he asked with a crooked smile on his lips.

“You asked the same question the first time you saw me in a skirt. The answer is the same. I’m not telling or showing,” I said.

“Be that way,” he said, but I could feel his hand on my behind before he went to graze at the buffet table.

I really had to be careful how I moved, and especially how I sat and how I crossed my legs. It was difficult not to show a lot of leg and a lot of the lace on my slip. Later on, Becky and I sat down on a love seat, with Becky to my left. I could feel her hand move into the slit of my dress and rub my nylon covered leg. “Feels good?” she whispered. I nodded my head.

The girls had picked out some party games, most of which caused me to reveal more that I wanted, including the fact that I was wearing nylons and a garter belt. Some commentary and whistles followed. Joe, on the other hand, just announced, “I knew it!” I gave him a dirty look.

A while later, I pulled Becky aside. “Did you have any part in choosing the games?” I accused her.

“Of course I did. You should feel honored, since a lot of the games were picked just for you and your nice under things,” she answered. “I thought that your Renee side would like them.”

I had to admit to myself that my Renee side was a bit of a tart, and to further admit to myself that I enjoyed it.

On the way back to Becky’s house, she suggested that we stop for a few minutes where the trees shaded the streetlights. She leaned toward me and gave me a lingering kiss. “I really had a great time, and thank you for being such a good sport. I’ll bet that none of your pals would have shown up in a dress.”

She paused for a moment, and then said, “Answer me truthfully, you don’t mind wearing girls’ clothes, do you?”

“I don’t mind,” I answered.

“In fact, you like the way they feel on your body, don’t you?”

“My Renee side does,” I answered evasively.

“But both your Renee side and your Roy side actually like to cross-dress don’t they?” she demanded to know.

“Yes,” I said softly.

“And sometimes you wish you were a girl, don’t you?” she asked.

I nodded my head and asked. “Why do you suspect that I do?”

“Your essay,” she responded. “Some parts of it were not a boy imagining being a girl, they were all girl. I don’t think that anyone else noticed, but I did because we shared the same experiences.”

With that we exchanged another long and lingering kiss. She looked into my eyes and commented, “I think you were right when you said that Renee wasn’t going to go away without a fight.”

In the end it was a moot point, since Renee never went away.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 4.
By Pentatonic

Saturday, November 1, 2014:

The Queen of the Night was a mess. The sun was shining brightly when I awoke the morning after the Halloween party. I squinted at the clock; it was nearly 10:00 a.m. I looked about. My dress from last night was loosely draped over a chair, not hung up as it should have been. I came to realize that I still had my bra on but minus one insert, along with panties, garter belt and nylons. I had no idea where my slip was. My shoes had been abandoned in the middle of the room. Thankfully, I had put on a nightgown, or at least I was wearing one.

I got out of bed, somehow found a robe and made my way to the bathroom. My face was a mess; I hadn’t removed my makeup, but I, or someone, had removed my wig. I absently wondered where it could be.

Surveying the wreck in the mirror, I decided to remove the makeup as a first step to normalcy. Normalcy? How could I consider myself as anywhere near normal. After I cleaned off my makeup I stripped off the remainder of my clothes and stepped into the shower. First thing to do was to clear the cobwebs from my brain. A good shower was just the thing to do that.

After my shower, I put my robe on and picked up my discarded clothing from the floor of the bathroom. I stepped into the hall, and surprize of surprizes, came face to face with my mother. “Well, it looks like someone had a good time last night,” she said as a greeting. I just grunted as a reply.

“What time did I get home?” I wanted to know.

“Late,” she answered, “but you then flopped onto the couch and feel fast asleep. Your sister and I finally got you to your room and into a nightgown. I hope that you appreciate that we didn’t undress you any further than we did, although your sister wanted to, but I talked her out of it.”

“Thanks.” I mumbled.

“Get dressed and come down for some breakfast. It’ll make you feel better.”

It appeared that my Renee side didn’t object, so I had no problem getting dressed as Roy, with the exception of a pair of lace trimmed panties to please my Renee side. Although there may have been something incongruous about being dressed as I was I went down to the kitchen and started removing my black nail polish. My mother told me that Becky had called while I was still asleep, and that I should return the call.

“Guten Morgen, Konigin, wie gehst,” Becky said. Both Becky and I had studied german, and she liked calling me “Königin der Nacht,” which is german for Queen of the Night. My response was a brief grunt. “That good?” she replied. I told her that I had promised to help Joe with some repairs to his car, and she was welcome to come over to keep Joe and me company. Otherwise we could meet later.

After completing the call, I noticed a bowl of Halloween candy left over from last night. As I reached over for some, my Mother announced, “No you don’t! You’ve got to watch your figure.”

“Why?” I said.

“You may think that you are finished with your Renee side, but my female intuition tells me otherwise,” she said. With that I went back to my room to hand wash that which had to be so washed, hang up other clothes and put the balance in the laundry hamper. I finally located the wig, put it on its form and brushed it out some. Satisfied, I went back downstairs to be greeted by Joe who was polishing off some bacon. Bacon, that my Mother had prohibited me from eating, because of ‘my figure.’ Between my mother’s dietary restrictions and some hard exercise on my part, I was able to lose some weight, mainly around my waist, but none on my butt. I hungrily watched the last piece of bacon disappear into Joe’s mouth.

“Ready to start?” Joe said, with his mouth full of bacon. Last summer the heater core in his car had sprung a leak. Rather than replacing the core in 95 degree heat, I had bypassed it between the thermostat and water pump so cooland could still circulate in the engine. With November weather in the air, it was high time to get the heater working.

“Did you get the parts?” I asked.

“Naw,” he said, “I was waiting for you. When I buy the parts by myself, you always complain that I got the wrong ones, so if wrong parts are bought, it’ll be your fault.”

“Okay,” I said, “pull your car over to the side of the driveway, and open the hood. We’ll let it cool off while we take my car to the parts store.” I looked over Joe’s car, and made a shopping list and we headed off to get the parts.

When we were in the car, Joe turned to me and said, “That was some party last night, wasn’t it?” I just grunted. “You were the foxiest girl there. If I didn’t know, I would have hit on you,” he added. “Of course, Becky was keeping an eye on you.”

Not enough, I thought. I remembered his patting and squeezing my behind, along with his hand reaching in the slit of my skirt and pulling on my garter straps. He had hit on me, but now was not the time to mention it.

By the time we returned from the parts store, the weather had warmed up, so I took off my sweat shirt so I wouldn’t get any grease on it. Because working on a car can be dirty work, I had put on an old and rather tight t-shirt which had already had grease and grime stains on it from previous forays into auto repair. Likewise for my jeans.

I started by draining the antifreeze into a clean drain pan. To do this I had to get on the ground and open the drain cock on the radiator, after which I started removing the old heater core and hoses. Some of this involves climbing under the dash board. Thankfully Joe’s car did not have air conditioning. All this activity caused my jeans to slide down a bit, but I ignored it and didn’t pull them back up, reluctant to add more grease to my jeans or dirt on the panties I was wearing, because by this time my hands were grimy.

I then turned to removing the by-pass I had put on last summer. This involved bending over the fender and stretching my arms out. It isn’t hard to figure out what happened next. The waistband of my panties were very visible. I felt Joe pull on the waistband and let it snap back. “Nice panties,” he said with a chuckle.

“If you don’t like the way I’m dressed, you can fix your own car,” I said in a huff.

“No, No, I do like the way you’re dressed,” he said. Just then Becky walked up the drive and heard Joe’s last comment.

“You like what?” she said, joining in the exchange.

“How Roy’s, or maybe I should say Renee’s, panties look,” he said to Becky.

“Let me see!” she said with a gleeful smile, and she walked up to me and pulled up my t-shirt. “Very nice,” she said. “So a little bit of your Renee side decided to get up on a Saturday morning.”

Renee never slept, I thought to myself.

It took the best part of an hour to do the whole job and at last I was squatting down to close the drain on the radiator before replacing the antifreeze. Squatting down is a sure way to display underwear, and this was no exception.

“Hey Joe, I talked to Sue, and she should be here any minute,” Becky said, “Maybe we can do something today.” As she said this Sue walked up the drive. My back was to her and I didn’t notice her arrival until I heard her say, “Nice panties.” Oh great, I thought sarcastically, why don’t we invite the whole block to come over and see my panties?

“He, or maybe I should say ‘she’ likes to wear panties,” Joe said with a laugh.

“No, I wear them because Joe likes cheap thrills,” I said.

“How come Joe’s all clean and you’re all dirty?” Sue asked.

“Because I’m doing all the work. Joe’s only here to pay for the parts and to admire my panties. I think he’d like to wear a pair,” I said. “How about it Joe? I can find a nice pair for you, and you can pick the color.” Joe began to blush. Maybe there’s something there, I thought.

“Joe, start your car and let it get hot so we can check for leaks,” I told him. Like I said, I’m a fairly good mechanic and there were no leaks. When the engine was hot enough to open the thermostat, the welcome flow of hot air came out of the vents on the dashboard. Another good job, I thought.

Just about this time my mother stepped out of the kitchen. “Hey, it’s way past lunch time,” she announced, “If you want, I can fix you lunch, at least for three of you. The grimy one will have to wait until he’s cleaned up.” Becky, Sue and Joe went into the kitchen, while I went to the wash tubs in the basement, where I had a goodly supply of industrial strength hand cleaner. The best way for me to do this is to first strip down to my underwear, or in this case, my panties, otherwise you can clean you hands, only to get them dirty again when you remove grimy and greasy clothes. I threw my jeans and t-shirt in the washer, poured in a good quantity of soap, and started it. I finally got all of the grime and grease off of my body, and was ready to go up stairs for a well needed shower, to get the rid of the hand cleaner residue. Oops, I thought, I have to go through the kitchen to go upstairs, and all I have on are my pink lace trimmed panties. I looked for anything to use to cover up, but finding nothing I decided to brave it. There were a lot of giggles and laughter when I stepped into the kitchen.

“You smell like industrial cleaner,” my mother said, “and your face, hands and arms are all red with that cleaner. After you take your shower, use some of my skin lotion.”

“Okay,” I said. When I passed Joe, I wiggled my panty clad behind at Joe. I don’t know why I did, it must have come from my Renee side. After a good hot shower, I dried myself by patting, not rubbing, and used the lotion. It’s awfully girly smelling, I thought, but I used it anyway. I wrapped my damp hair in a towel, turban style and got dressed.

When I got back to the kitchen, my mother handed me a salad. I needed something more than a salad, and I frowned at her. “Your figure, dear,” she said. Everyone, except for me, giggled and laughed at my discomfort.

Becky moved closer and sniffed. “Wow,” she commented, “You smell great, all flowery.”

What could I do? I just smiled and said, “Thanks.”

Becky, Sue, Joe and I spent the rest of the afternoon riding around in Joe’s car, giving it a long test drive, with stops here and there. We hit some fast food joints and I was finally able to get some substantial food. We started the test drive with Joe driving and my riding in the front passenger seat. We ended up with Joe and Sue in front, with Becky and me cuddling in the back.

About 5:30 Becky reminded us that she had a babysitting job that evening, and we all went to our respective homes.

Sunday, November 2, 2014:

Becky called and annouced that some of the stores in the mall were taking applications for extra holiday help. “I’m going over there,” she said, “We’re both 16 so we are legal for a job. Want to come along with?”

“I heard that it’s a bad idea for two teenagers to be with each other on a job search. Maybe you should go alone,” I suggested.

“But I want Renee with me,” she said, “that way you can browse the merchandise without calling attention to you while I talk with the hiring people.”

“Okay,” I said, “give me 45 minutes to an hour, and I’ll come over and pick you up,” I said.

“Great,” she said, “and dress nicely. Pantyhose, bra, nice blouse, and maybe the plaid skirt. Bring your makeup, and maybe I can do something with your hair.”

About an hour and a half, two well dressed young ladies headed off to the mall, one seeking a holiday job, the other just along for support.

It seemed that a lot of other people had the same idea, and about two hours and two stops at the washrooms, we found ourselves at a quieter part of the mall, but with no job. We noticed two unique stores. One was a corset shop and the other a women’s store for tall women.

“I didn’t know that anyone still wore corsets,” commented Becky. The other store actually had a ‘holiday help wanted’ sign in the window. We went in the store for tall women.

A tall woman approached us. “May I help you, girls?” she asked.

“I want to apply for the job,” Becky said, pointing to the sign in the window.

“We only stock clothes for women over five-eight. How tall are you?”

“Five-seven,” Becky replied, “but I can wear heels.”

“That may be true, but the clothes are cut for taller women, and you’d be on your feet all day. Not a good idea.”

The woman then looked long and hard at me. “How tall are you, Honey?”

“Going on five-nine,” I answered.

She took my hand and studied my nails. The repairs on Joe’s car had talken their toll.

“What in heavens happened to your hands?” she exclaimed.

“I was repairing a friend’s car yesterday,” I replied. “I just didn’t want to put on a set of acrylics, since I’m not the one looking for a job.”

“But if I hire you, your auto repair days are over,” the tall woman said. “Are you interested in a job? It seems that the current crop of females are all short.”

During this exchange Becky was smiling excitedly.

“Come into my office,” the tall woman said. Once in the office she introduced herself as Marge Shay, the owner of the store. Becky and I introduced ourselves. She invited us to sit.

“Before we go any further, I have to tell you that in addition to our women customers, we have our ‘special’ customers.”

I got the drift of what she said. “You mean cross-dressers?” I said.

“Yes, and if that bothers you in the least, I’m sorry, I can’t use you.” Both Becky and I laughed at this statement.

“What’s so funny about that?” she demanded.

“Well, I have a secret, and once you know it you might not want to hire me,” I said.

“Show her your IDs,” Becky suggested, and I did.

Ms. Shay took them and when she had noticed that my name was Roy, and that I was genetically a male, a broad smile crossed her face. “Excellent! All the more reason to hire you she declared, When can you start?”

“You mean I have the job?” I asked, not quite believing what I had heard, “But I was not looking for a job.”

“Maybe not, but a job just found you. You are exactly what I am looking for. When the men hear about you, and how good you look, they’ll be crowding through the doors. How do you manage to look so feminine?”

Becky and I explained the research and essays we had written. “Once I started getting in touch with my feminine side, that side no longer just touched; it grabbed on wholeheartedly.”

“I can’t pay a lot hourly, but I can give you a 60% discount on anything in the store, and you get commissions on your sales. Still interested?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but I am concerned about Becky getting a job.”

“Becky helped you in your transformation, right?”

“Yes, I couldn’t have done it without her.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Ms. Shay said, “let’s all three of us walk over to the corset shop.
A lot of my customers also shop there, if you get my meaning.” We did.

Ms. Shay introduced us to Mrs. Sands, who owned the corset shop, and explained our situation. Mrs. Sands smiled approvingly. “What do you know about foundation garments?” she asked Becky.

“Unfortunately, very little,” Becky admitted.

“Then lets corset up your friend, and you’ll learn a lot. How does that sound? What I like is that you’ve already dressed a boy, so our male customers won’t offend you.”

“Okay, I guess,” Becky said uncertainly.

“Go into the fitting room, and strip down to your panties.” Mrs. Sands commanded me to do, “You are wearing panties, I presume?”

“Of course, pink with lace trim,” Becky answered for me.

“Very fetching, I’m sure,” Mrs. Sands said.

For the next hour, I was fitted into a series of foundation garments, each one more painful than the previous one.

“Pick out one that you like,” Ms. Shay said. “I’d like you to wear it when you are at work. I’ll advance the cost and put it on your clothing account at my store.”

“60% off, Mrs. Sands, as usual” Ms. Shay asked.

“Naturally,” Mrs. Sands replied with a smile.

“Both stores get busy at Thanksgiving, and stay busy through the new year. Can you work evenings and weekends through the first of the year?” We both assured that we could, as long as it didn’t interfere with our school work.

I was still wearing my foundation garment when Becky and I rode home. “It really makes you look good,” Becky said.

After dropping Becky off I drove home. The first person I saw was my mother, who stared at me with surprise. “You look different,” she commented, “what’s going on?”

“Becky and I have jobs for the holiday season,” I answered, and explained out jobs.

After I finished, with a lot of questions from my mother, she finally said, “What will your father think?”

Thursday, November 6, 2014:

After Mrs. Benson said that she was sending Becky’s and my essays to a college professor, I more or less put the matter out of my mind. Imagine my surprise when she called Becky and Me into her office. With her was a distinguished man who was the professor to whom the essays had been sent. He started out praising our work, calling it original. Then he got to the point.

“I don’t know about your college plans, but I want you to at least consider choosing a college or university that has either a women’s studies major or a gender studies major. You both seem to have an aptitude for this area.”

When we talked some more, I disclosed that I was dressing as a female and working at a store that specialized in catering to the transgender community.

“Excellent!” he said, “might I suggest that you maintain your journal and note your observations. It may become a valuable tool for you and others to use. Naturally you won’t use names and you’ll keep it anonymous. When you are looking at colleges, could you have Mrs. Benson apprized of your progress? I’d really like to keep in contact with both of you.”

Saturday, November 8, 2014:

It was a gloomy and rainy Saturday afternoon, and I was in my room practicing different makeup looks. I heard a knock on the door and my mother ask to come in. There I was, fully dressed. She looked at me with a critical eye. “Too much dark eyeshadow,” she observed. We looked at each other for a few moments. “Time to talk with your Father,” she added, “less makeup is better in this case.”

“Okay,” I said, and removed my eye makeup and reapplied it under my Mother’s gaze.

“Better,” she commented. “Let me look at you first.” I stood up and turned aroung for her. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s go downstairs,” and with that she gave my hand a squeeze.

Dad was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. When he heard us, he looked up. “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, “I thought you were done with it.”

I paused a moment, and ignored his question. “Remember that I told you last Sunday that I had a seasonal job at the mall?”

“Yeah, I’m really happy for you getting a job.” he responded, “So?”

“I didn’t tell you where I’ll be working or what I’ll be doing.”

“Yeah, you kind of omitted any details.”

“Well when Becky and I went to the mall, only Becky was looking for a job. I was just there for support. Well, there’s this store that specializes in clothes for tall women; taller than 5' 8. Well, Becky is too short, but when the lady who owns the store saw me, she said I was tall enough.”

“So, what does this mean? When you were there, you weren’t, uh, dressed up like a girl, were you?” Dad said.

“Well, to be blunt, I was,” I said. “You see, it just worked out better, Becky wanted me to, so when she was talking to the employment people I could pretend to browse, and not call attention to myself,” I added.

“I’ll bet that’s not how things worked out,” he said with a slight smile.

“There’s something else,” I said, “the store has what the owner calls ‘special customers.”

“Special customers?” he asked.

There was no way to hint around until he knew what I was trying to say, so I went directly to the point. “Men who dress in women’s clothes. As you can suspect a lot of them are taller than most women, so, since the store caters to people who are taller, they like to shop there. As you can see, I’m a prime example.”

“Does the store owner know that your birth name is Roy?”

“That came out, and once she knew it, she told me that I was hired. I’m a sales clerk.”

“So, you’ll help other men look like women?”

“I’ll wait on anyone who comes into the store, but the owner thinks that because I am male, it will help sales.”

“I can see that,” Dad said, “if you wait on the men, they’ll be less embarassed.”

“Precisely,” I rejoined.

“Then what you wear will be more or less like a work uniform,” he observed.

“I’m glad you see it that way,” I said.

He frowned. “I may see it, but I don’t like my son prancing around in women’s clothes.”

“Is it okay if I promise not to prance?”

Dad laughed at this. I was making progress. “I have always encouraged you to make your own decisions, and I’ve always told you that your mother and I will support you. If this is what you’ve decided to do, I don’t have to like it, but I won’t prevent it. Remember, I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” I said, “that means a lot to me.”

Nothing was said for a few moments. Then my father asked, “What about Becky? Does she know? How does she feel about this?”

I decided to answer all three question at once. “Becky was with me when I got the job. She seems very happy about it. By the way there’s a corset shop nearby and she got a job there.”

“A corset shop?” my dad questioned, “I didn’t think there were any of those left.”

“Just remember ‘special customers’ and you’ll understand.”

“I do,” he said and smiled.

A concerned look then crossed his face. “What you’re doing may be dangerous. A lot of people might want to physically harm you. Have you figured out how to protect yourself?”

“Becky and I are aware of the problems and are working on them. If it gets too difficult, I can quit,” I explained. Dad, Mother and I then spent the next hour discussing potential problems and how to avoid them. I felt that I was ready. My Renee side was very happy.

Finally, my father asked me, “Do you feel that you are really a girl? You don’t have to answer that right away, but think about, and we’ll talk about it later.”

Monday, November 10, 2014:

I had Monday off, and Joe came over to study for a test we both had on Tuesday. “I heard about your and Becky’s jobs. Weird!”

“Maybe, but I’m earning money, that’s more than you can say.” I replied.

“You know, you look different. Becky says that’s because you’re always wearing a corset,” he said.

“Yeah, all the time, except when I’m in school. If I don’t it’s uncomfortable when I have to put one on again,” I responded.

Joe was staring at me. “Are you wearing one now?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“Why do you always ask that? What is your fascination with women’s underwear? Sometimes I think that you want to wear some. Do you?”

“Well, umm,” Joe answered.

“Okay, just this once I’ll show you, but if I do, you have to wear panties, not just now, but all day tomorrow.” I figured this would be a deal breaker.

Imagine my surprize when Joe said, “Okay.”

“Go into the bathroom and put these on,” I commanded, and I handed him a frilly sky blue panty. When you come back, suitably attired, I’ll play show and tell.”

I had felt a bit tarty that morning and under my skirt and blouse I was wearing a full length corset with a built in bra, and I had nylons attached to the suspender straps of the corset. Naturally, I was wearing lace trimmed panties. Since my skirt was not lined, I was wearing a half slip. I had taken off my skirt and blouse when Joe walked back in. I couldn’t know if he was wearing the panties because he had put his jeans and shirt back on.

“Okay,” He said, “let me see.”

“Not until I see the panties,” I answered. “Strip!”

He took off his jeans and shirt, and there he was, wearing the panties. Well, I had made a deal, so I took off my slip.

“Wow,” he said. “I want to touch.”

I could see that he was getting excited. “Okay,” my Renee side answered.

When Joe touched me it was a feeling I had never experienced before. My Renee side was loving it.

And then he kissed me.

That surprised me and I quickly stepped back. “Why did you do that?” I demanded to know.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time. Now just seemed like a good time for it,” he said.

We just stared at each other for a few moments, my body tense with surprise. “I didn’t mean to shock you,” he said as he gently touched my cheek with his fingers. I visibly relaxed.

My thoughts were running wild. My Renee side was doing cartwheels.

“You liked it, didn’t you?” he said.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I did, or at least my Renee side did. “My mother’s home,” I said, “maybe we better stop this.”

“Okay, maybe later.”

I changed the subject and said, “You like wearing panties, don’t you?”

“I do,” he answered.

“Would you like to go with the whole look? Completely dressed as a girl?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, we’ll look for a time when no one will disturb us,” I said.

It was just about the time when Joe was getting ready to leave for home. “You know, I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me with school work and my car. I’d like to make it up to you by paying for a movie and pizza on Saturday night,” he said.

“Does that include Becky?” I asked.

“I heard that Becky has a babysitting job on Saturday,” he answered.

“If not Becky, then who else?” I asked.

“No one.”

“You mean just you and me?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, two guys going to a movie with each other, and pizza afterwards might give the wrong impression to some people,” I said.

“It wouldn’t if you went as Renee,” he said.

“Now let me get this straight,” I said, “You want to go out on a date with me, as Renee? Is that about it? I’ll be your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” he answered.

“Why?” I asked.

“I’ve been attracted to you, at least your Renee side, Remember, we already have kissed each other.” he said.

“That was a mistake,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“Well, no matter what, the answer is ‘No’,” I said.

“Don’t be so quick to say No. Think about it.” he replied.

“Okay, I’ll think about it, but don’t get your hopes up,” I said. With that he picked up his backpack with one hand and gently brushed my cheek with the other. Renee desperately wanted to kiss him, but resisted the temptation.

“Enough,” I said, “now go!”

Tuesday, November 11, 2014:

After a restless night, thinking of what had happened between Joe and me, I caught up with Becky at lunch. First order of business was to confirm what Joe had said. “Are you busy on Saturday night?” I asked her.

“Yeah, I agreed to babysit. Why do you ask?” she said.

“Something came up, is all, but since you are busy, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “However, I do need to talk with you about something else. Could I give you a ride home and talk in the car?”

“Sure,” she answered, “It’s not something terrible, is it?”

“Naw, it’s something that’s bothering me, and I need to talk with you,” I answered.

“Okay, I’ll meet you at your car at the end of classes,” she said.

She was waiting at my car when I walked out of school. I opened her door and she got in.

Once I was in the car, she said, “Okay, what is it?”

“Joe,” I answered.

“He’s not in trouble, is he?”

“No, nothing like that,” I answered.

“Okay, then what?”

“I think that he’s attracted to me, as in boy to girl,” I responded.

“Is that all?” she laughed. “For those who know you and Joe, that is no secret. What, did he kiss you?”

“Well, yes,” I said, “but that’s not it. He asked me for a date on Saturday. Me, in this case, meaning Renee.”

Becky began to softly laugh. “It’s not funny,” I said.

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is,” she said. “All of the girls noticed that he couldn’t keep his hands off of you at the Halloween party. They wanted to know if it was also true when you aren’t wearing a skirt. So, has he?”

“Yes, but only when he sees that I’m wearing panties under my clothes,” I confessed, “He also told me that he now wears panties every day, except for days when he has PE.”

Becky snickered and said, “It sounds like he has gender issues, as Mrs. Benson would say.”

“But if I go out with him, people could say the same thing about me,” I complained.

“If that’s all there is to it, just tell him no,” She paused. “But that’s not all there is to it, isn’t it. You’d like to know what it’s like for a girl to go on a date, isn’t it?”

“Well, maybe, I’m just not sure. You’re my best friend, and I like to think of you as my girlfriend,” I said.

“And you think that our friendship would end if you went on a date as a girl? Is that it?” she said.

“Well, that certainly is an important part of it,” I said. Becky paused to collect her thoughts.

“Well, first of all, I am pleased and flattered that you consider our relationship to be so important to you,” she said, and with that she gave me a long kiss, which I returned with delight. “However, we need to remember that you getting in touch with your feminine side started with that essay, and I have to remember that I encouraged you to do so and actually did a lot to help it along. You can’t stop examining that side. I’m sure that you have wondered what it would be like if you were a girl on a date with a guy. So there is only one way to satisfy your curiosity, and that is to go on a date with Joe.”

“So, it’s okay?” I said.

“Yes, as long as you and Joe keep your hands, and other body parts, where they belong.” she said. “By the way, after the date I want details,” she added with a smile. “The date is on Saturday night, right?” she asked. “Come by my house on Saturday afternoon and I’ll help you get ready.”

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

The next day Joe caught up with me as we walked to our cars after school. “Well, what’s your answer, sweetheart?” he asked.

I quickly looked around to see if anyone could have heard what Joe said. “Don’t call me that,” I said.

“Okay, I won’t. But what is your answer?” Joe said.

“Okay, I’ll go on a date with you,” I said, “but only this once, and you have to behave yourself as a gentleman. No untoward touching, and no kissing.”

“The same goes for you. But remember, if you start anything, beware of the consequences,” he said. “I’m so happy, I want to kiss you,” he added.

“Not the best of ideas in the school parking lot,” I said, and with that we both got into our cars.

Saturday, November 15, 2014:

When I awoke on Saturday morning, I began to plan my day. The big problems were what I would tell my parents, and how I could avoid my parents when I got home, since I would most likely be wearing a skirt. My first step towards a solution would be to buy a little suitcase for all of my girl clothes and makeup. This was easily accomplished. While I was out shopping I also bought some makeup cleaning wipes, a hairbrush, some cold cream, and a roll of paper towels. While at the checkout line I noticed that there was a display of condoms nearby, and I impulsively bought some. I had no reason to do so, since I had no plan where they would be used.

A further stop yielded some feminine pads and a nice purse with a shoulder strap. I did indulge myself and bought a scarf.

Back at my house, I set aside some panties, stockings and my garter belt, which I could wear under my boy’s clothes. I carefully packed what other feminine clothes I had in the suitcase, along with my other purchases. My plan was to drive to Becky’s, get dressed with Becky’s help, put all of the clothes which I was not wearing in the suitcase and leave it in my car. Joe would pick me up at Becky’s house. I planned to have Joe drop me off at my car, and I would change into my boy clothes in the car, and remove all of my makeup before I drove home.

That afternoon I drove to Becky’s house to start my date. I had prepared a cover story for her parents which turned out to be totally unnecessary, since Becky had told her parents the complete story of what was going to happen.

“So, another walk on the wild side,” Becky’s father said to me. “I guess that your initial research didn’t include being a girl on a date with a boy. I can see why that would be important. By the way, are you still keeping a journal?” I confirmed that I was doing so.

“You may not know it, but most fathers give their daughters sound advice before her first date. You wouldn’t know it because you are a boy. But in this case, you are a girl, so I’m going to assume the role of a father. First, if there are any problems, you call for help. Second, don’t let things get out of hand. Boys will lie like a rug to get what the want from you. You just have to be firm and make sure they behave themselves. Now, go get ready, have a good time, and I expect a report from you.”

Becky’s mom asked me about how I was going to change out of my girl clothes and into my boy clothes, and I explained my plan.

“Since there is no secret here, bring your clothes in here and change back to Roy here,” she said, “now let’s get you ready for your date.”

I didn’t have that much to bring in, but I laid it out on the bed. “I’m wearing my corset, panties, garter belt and hose that I wore as Queen of the Night,” I said, as I removed my jeans and sweatshirt.

“Then you’ll need a dark skirt and top to cover the black underthings,” Becky said. “I have a dark green box pleated skirt and green blouse which you may borrow.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Oh,” I added, “I have your wig, and would like to wear that.”

“Sure,” Becky’s mom said.

We must have done a good job, because Joe was dutifully impressed. “You look wonderful,” he said when he first saw me. As he came closer to me he could smell my perfume. “You even smell wonderful,” he added.

Joe took my hand as we walked to his car. I could feel the breeze under my skirt. It was such a girly feeling, and Renee approved of it.

When we entered the theater, Joe kept my hand in his and steered us to the back of the theater. Joe sat in an aisle seat with me to his right. He kept my hand in his for a while. He then put his right arm around my shoulder and gently pulled me closer to him. I was enjoying this and rested my head on his shoulder.

Then I felt his left hand on my knee. “Stop that,” I hissed. He moved his hand away, but only for a while. His hand returned to my knee and began to slide up under the hem of my skirt. I had to admit to myself that it felt good, and after a few moments I took my left had and moved his had to the armrest of his seat. “Enough,” I whispered. He, however, kept hold of my hand, and shortly thereafter he had put my hand in his lap.

I jerked my hand away, and in a reproving voice whispered, “Any more of your antics, and I’m marching out of the theater and taking a taxi home.”

Joe was dutifully chastised and refrained from any more untoward touching, but only if I kissed him. I admitted to myself that I actually liked it when he touched me, but I realized that if I hadn’t stopped him things could very quickly get out of control.

As Joe drove to Becky’s house after first stopping off for pizza, he said to me, “I liked our date. How about you?” I just mumbled a response.

Joe pulled the car to the side of the street about a block from Becky’s house. “How about a kiss? Otherwise I’ll plant a big one on your luscious lips when I walk you to Becky’s door.” His threat worked, and we kissed. Frankly, I loved it.

Becky was home from her babysitting job when I walked through the door. We went to her room so I could change back to being Roy, during which time I gave Becky a full report.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 5.
By Pentatonic

Saturday, November 22, 2014:

I woke up at 7:00. Today was my first day at the store. I had used hair remover and taken a shower the night before. I could smell the lotion I had used. It was flowery, and I liked it. A few minutes later my Mother knocked on my door. “Are you up?” she asked. “If you need any help, just call.”

“Okay, Mom,” I replied.

I took off my nightgown and put on my favorite bra with inserts and panties. While the corset was uncomfortable, it was a necessity, and I pulled the straps under my panties. Since I was wearing the corset, I could use nylon stockings, as opposed to pantyhose. I put on a full slip, and started with my makeup. I had found a nice sleeveless blue dress with a flared skirt, which I thought was just right for my first day of work. It was then that I asked my mother for help with my hair.

My Mother looked me over. “It might get cold, so you might want a sweater,” she suggested. She then handed me a brand new purse. “A new job deserves a new purse.” she said.

Today was also Becky’s first day, so we arranged that I would drive.

Although the store didn’t open until 10:00, I arrived at 8:45. Ms. Shay greeted me at the door, and she showed me around the store and the merchandise. “I’ll have you follow me around today, and you can see how things are done.” Some of the other clerks started later and worked until closing.

It was about 5:30 when Ms. Shay said to me, “That’s one of my sepcial customers.”

The special customer related that she was going clubbing that night and needed to wear something to “Knock them dead,” as she put it. Mrs. Shay introduced me as a new seasonal employee.

The customer began to browse the racks and I carried clothes back and forth to the changing room. It was about 6:15 when Mrs. Shay turned to me and said, “It’s after your quitting time, so if you want to leave, you may.”

“No, I’d rather stay for this sale,” I said.

“Good girl, that’s the spirit I want.”

At last the customer picked out an outfirt with a very tight short skirt. Personally, I thought it looked awful, because it emphasized her narrow hips and lack of behind. I must have frowned, because the customer looked at me and asked, “You don’t like it, do you honey?”

I looked over to Ms. Shay who smiled and nodded at me. She must have had the same idea.

“It looks okay, but I think that we could find something that would go better with your figure,” I said cautiously.

“Okay, honey, find something for me that works with my figure,”

“The top is great,” I said as I pulled out a differents skirt. “Why don’t you try this on. This skirt is fuller, and with it you can swirl and the skirt will flare out a bit. It’ll drive them wild.”

She changed into the skirt I had selected and did a swirl in front of the mirror. “You’re right,” she said, “I’ll take it,” Ms. Shay looked happy.

As her parcels were being wrapped, the customer turned to me and said, “Any other ideas?”

“No, not right now.” I answered.

The customer was now examining me very closely. “Are you . . .” she started, and then said, “No,” to herself.

“Am I what?” I asked.

“I don’t want to embarrass you, but I thought that you might be transgendered or a transvestite, but I see that I was wrong. Please let me apologize.”

“No need to apologize,” I said, “I am.”

Ms. Shay, the customer and I were very happy. It appeared that on my first day I had my own client customer.

Thursday, November 27, 2014:

While the Christmas season officially started on Thanksgiving Day, I had spent several days and evenings before then working at the store with Mrs.Shaw, so I would be prepared for the Thanksgiving weekend. Mrs. Shaw scheduled me for 5:00 to closing, but said that if I could get there earlier it would be great.

My family was having Thanksgiving dinner at my Aunt Brenda and Uncle Lou’s house, and to accommodate my job, dinner would be at 1:00. I figured that I could drive back home after dinner and change into my ‘work clothes,’ meaning a pretty dark green dress. I had purchased the dress at the store and couldn’t wait to wear it. It was a classic A-line design, sleeveless and with a scoop neck. The hem was about two inches above my knees. I also bought a cheap imitation pearl necklace which went with the scoop neck,

I decided to wear my panties, corset and hose under my Roy clothes, supposedly to save time, but in truth because I liked wearing them. While so attired, my mother knocked at my door, and came in. “I know that you plan on coming back here to get dressed for work, but maybe you should bring your clothes with you in the event that you can get dressed at your aunt’s house.” she said.

I was putting my work clothes out on the bed, with my mother providing commentary on what would go with what. I then packed all of my clothes in my Renee suitcase, with the exception of my new dress, which I left on a hanger. “Get finished dressing, and we’ll put your clothes in your car, and we can head off,” she said.

We arrived at my Aunt’s house at about ten, and my mother joined the ladies in the kitchen, while my uncles and male cousins were sprawled in front of the television, watching football. I am not a big fan of football, so I followed my mother and sister into the kitchen. “Why don’t you kids go down to the rec room, and leave us some space in the kitchen,” suggested Aunt Brenda. So all of my female cousins, my sister and I went downstairs.

When we had all sat down, my sister said, “Roy, here has a job for the Christmas season. Why don’t you tell all your cousins about it?”

“Well, I’m a sales clerk at a clothing store in the mall,” I said.

“Oh, come on, they want details,” my sister said.

“I don’t think they do; it’s all rather boring,” I responded.

“Okay, then, tell them what clothes you have to wear to work. Girls always find that interesting,” my sister said.

I made some vague noises.

“Do you have trouble remembering? Can I help you? Does the word ‘A-line’ help you?’ my sister said.

The word ‘A-line’ caught everyones’ attention. “You mean A-line as is a dress or skirt?” a cousin asked.

“Precisely!” exclaimed my sister, as I began to turn shades of red from embarrassment. After that nothing would do but to relate the whole story from the time the essay was assigned. “So, after dinner, I’m going back home to put on my dress and go to work,” I concluded.

“Too bad you couldn’t dress here. We’d love to see how you do it.” another cousin said.

“But we can,” my sister said, “she brought all of her clothes with her in case she could do her transformation here. Renee, get your things out of your car.”

When I came back in I hung my dress and slip on a hook on the closet door, and put my suitcase on the bed. My cousins all felt the fabric of the dress and admired its style. I opened the suitcase and removed my battery operated makeup mirror, my makeup kit, my wig, my bra, breast forms, and shoes.

I decided that my parents aunts and uncles might not want to see me dressed, so I kept on my Roy clothes over my corset, panties and hose for dinner.

The food was delicious, and I was looking forward to overeating. As I was about to take an additional piece of turkey, I caught my mother’s eye. She was frowning and shook her head. I withdrew my hand and my mother smiled. My cousin Judy caught this exchange and looked questioningly at my mother.

“He’s got to watch his figure,” my mother volunteered.

Judy, knowing what was going on, just snickered.

Under my mother’s watchful eye I did get a piece of pumpkin pie, but it was tiny. No whipped cream.

After dinner the men retired to the television and their wives repaired to the kitchen. As my mother went with them, she said, “You better get ready for work.” Naturally, my cousins made it plain that they wanted to help me.

Not withstanding my cousins’ ‘help’ I managed to get dressed and put on my wig and makeup. Sneaking out of the house without my aunts and uncles seeing me was a bit of a task but with my cousins’ help, I was successful.

Thursday, December 4, 2014:

When I arrived at the store on Thursday evening, Mrs. Shay was pushing a wheeled rack around the store and filling it with dresses.

“I’m putting these on sale. Forty percent off,” she said, “they’re last year’s stock or older, and I need to make room for new clothes.”

I noticed that one of the dresses was a sleeveless sweet fit-and-flare dress which had illusion mesh detailing at the hem of the skirt with a jewel neckline and an A-line silhouette. It appeared to hit at knee. Most interesting was that it was my size.

Ms. Shay noted my interest. “That’s a good dress for dancing,” she said, “do you want to try it on?”

I nodded my head. “Go ahead.” she said.

I took it back to the changing rooms, and found it fit me perfectly. I came out of the changing room and gave it a twirl.

“It looks darling on you,” exclaimed Ms. Shay. I smiled in return.

“If you wear it to work a few times over the next weeks, you can have it free.”

“Thank you,” I responded, “I will.”

“Keep it on today,” she suggested.

It caught the attention of quite a few customers which resulted in the sale of more dance dresses.

“Now all you have to do is get invited to a fancy dance, to wear it to,” Mrs. Shay commented.

Not likely, I thought.

Sunday, December 7, 2014:

The next Sunday afternoon Becky, Joe and Sue were meeting at my house for a study session. Becky mentioned that the youth group at her church was having a Christmas party on Saturday, and we were all invited.

“What time” I asked.

“7:00," she said.

“I scheduled to work until 7:00, so I don’t think I can make it. By the time I close out my shift, go home and change, I’ll be late.”

“Why don’t you just come directly from work?” Sue asked.

I gave Sue a funny look, and said, “You know where I work and the clothes I wear to work, that’s why.”

“It’s not like we haven’t seen you in a dress before,” Sue rejoined, “Remember Halloween?”

“That’s different. It was a costume, and I wore a wig for disguise,” I answered.

“But you have to admit it was a dress,” Joe blurted out. I gave him a dirty look in return.

“Are you going to give us that old excuse that you have nothing to wear?” asked Becky.

“No,” I answered, “Ms. Shay gave me this darling dance dress.” I instantly regretted what I had said.

“Can we see it?” Sue asked.

“Put it on,” added Becky.

“Yeah,” added Joe, “we all want to see it.”

I should have just refused, but my Renee side wouldn’t let me. I really liked wearing that dress.

“Okay, you win,” I said and went upstairs to put on the dress. It wasn’t all that difficult. I was already wearing nylons, panties and my corset under my boy clothes, so I just had to put on a bra and breast forms, a slip and the dress. I also put on some low heels.

My Renee side then took over. I looked in the mirror and gave my hair a brush. At the last moment I applied some likstick and a little mascara and headed back downstairs.

“Gorgeous!” exclaimed Sue.

“Sue’s right,” added Becky, “Give us a twirl,” Which I did.

“Definitely kissable,” was Joe’s comment. I just gave him a dirty look.

“You have to wear it to the party,” said Becky.

“I agree,” said Sue.

“Me too,” Joe added. “I can’t wait to dance with you.”

“I’m not sure,” I said, “Maybe I just won’t go to the party. Some of the kids there may not be as enthusiastic as you all are about me wearing a dress.”

“Come over to my house before work on Saturday, and I’ll get you all dolled up, and maybe add the wig,” Becky said.

Saturday, December 13, 2014:

After Becky’s careful ministrations, I arrived at work.

“Wow,” said Mrs. Shay, “You look great. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m going to a Christmas party at Becky’s Church, and I won’t have time to go home and change after I’m finished with my shift here.”

“Now there’s dedication to the job, if I ever saw it,” she said with a big smile.

The party was going at full swing when I arrived. “I was afraid you’d chicken out,” Becky said.

“I feel badly that I can’t dance with you,” I said to Becky, “you know, they might frown on two girls dancing,”

“Hardly,” Becky said. “Most boys are too shy to ask a girl to dance, so a lot of the time girls have to dance with other girls. Just look around.” I did and there were a lot of girls dancing with other girls.

“But you won’t have that problem,” Joe said, “because I’m going to dance with you.”

Joe then took my hand and we started dancing. The first dance was a fast one, and Joe took the opprtunity to twirl me so fast that my skirt flared out giving everyone a good view of my hose tops and garter straps. This caught a lot of peoples’ attention.

Most of the boys were congregated around the refreshments. Finally one separated from the pack, walked over to me and asked me to dance. I hesitated.

“Go on,” urged Becky, and he and I went to dance.

“I don’t want to seem forward,” he said to me while we were dancing, “but you are the prettiest girl here, and the best dressed. Howcome the other girls aren’t dressed as well?”

“Well, I have a part time job at a women’s dress store, so I have to dress like this for work, and I came here directly from work. Oh, and I get a discount for all the clothes I buy there.”

The next song the DJ played was a slow dance. Joe grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor. It was a waltz, but it was clear that Joe was not experienced with waltzes, and his lead was non-existent. Finally, in frustration, I said, “Let me lead.”

“Okay,” he challenged, “but what makes you the super dancer?”

“When I was younger, my sister wanted to take dance classes. Most of the students were girls, so they were strongly encouraged to bring a boy,” I said, “and therefore, I learned to dance. However, I only learned to boy steps.”

By the end of the evening I was tired and my feet hurt. Therefore I took the girls home and headed home myself.

Thursday, December 25, 2014:

After opening gifts at home in the morning, the whole family headed over to one of my cousin’s house for Christmas dinner. After a month of wearing the blasted corset, I was dressed all male. Not one stitch of female attire anywhere.

“You still working at that women’s clothes store?” one of my cousins asked.

“Yeah, until the first of the year,” I answered.

“Then how come you’re not wearing a skirt or dress?”

“I’m taking a break from it. Anyway, I don’t think my aunts or uncles would approve.”

“Well, maybe,” another cousin added, “but they all know.”

“Knowing is one thing,” I answered, “having it displayed is another.”

“We were hoping to play dress up” a third one said.

“Go ahead, don’t let stop you, just count me out.”

“But dressing you up is most of the fun.”

“Sorry to spoil your day,” I said.

“But are you wearing panties?”

“No,” I repoled with emphasis. My cousins and even my sister looked crestfallen.

“Look, its bad enough that I have to dress up for work,” I said in explaination,

“But you let us dress you up on Thanksgiving,” Cousin Natalie said.

“That was different,” I said, “Remember, I went directly to work after the dinner and I really didn’t need your help getting dressed.”

“But you wore dresses and skirts other than for work,” my Sister chimed in, “remember Halloween?”

“But that was a costume,” I rejoined.

“Some costume,” she said, “Wait, I have pictures on my phone,” and with that she pulled them up for all of my cousins to see.

“Nice dress.” my Cousin Sandy commented, “you’re showing a lot of leg.” She looked more. “You’re wearing stockings and garters. In my opinion that’s more than a mere costume.”

“That was Becky’s idea,” I said.

“So you let your girlfrient dress you up, but not us?” Cousin Rachael added.

“It was all part of a bet,” I said, and with that I went downstairs to be with my Uncles and male cousins.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014:

Joe stopped by the house to tell me that the park district was holding ballroom dancing classes on Mondays, starting on January 5th. “I thought about what you said about learning how to dance. I’d like to sign up for the classes, and maybe you would like to also?”

“Sounds like fun,” I replied, “Why not?”

“Well, they only want couples. The slots for singles have already been filled.”

“We can ask Becky and Sue, they might be interested.”

“That’s not what I had in mind,” he responded, “I was thinking about just you and me.”

“I don’t think that the park district wants two boys dancing with each other,” I replied.

“I think that you’re right,” he answered, “I was thinking of Renee.”

“No way!” I asserted, “when my job at the store is over, it’s back to good old Roy, 24/7.”

“What about all the clothes you have for Renee?”

“I haven’t thought about that,” I said, “maybe I’ll give them to you and you can be Josephine.”

“Look,” Joe said, “at the Christmas Party you said that you didn’t know the girl’s steps. This is a chance for you to learn.”

“It’s a skill that I’ll never need,” I responded, “so the answer is no.”

Wednesday, December 31, 2014:

I was working in the back room of the store helping a ‘special customer’ find an evening gown when I heard Ms. Shay call me. “There are some girls to see you.”

I walked out of the back room to see my cousins standing there with foolish looking grins on their faces. It being New Year’s Eve, the store had a special on evening clothes and Ms. Shay had asked me to model an evening gown. I had put my hair up in a french twist, and was wearing nighttime makeup. The gown itself had a scoop neck, three-quarter flutter sleeves, high/low scalloped cuffs, Sheer yokes and sleeves, straight illusion neckline, darted bust, a left side slit, column silhouette, and allover floral guipure lace. It also had a concealed back zip with hook-and-eye closure, and was partially lined. The night before, Ms. Shay had asked me to wear white or ivory underclothes and shoes or sandals. Ms. Shay also provided me with a half slip. I knew that I looked good.

I knew why they were there, to see me wearing a dress.

“Aren’t you a little short for what we sell in the store?” I asked them, a little unkindly.

“We’re here to see you and maybe share a snack during your break,” Rachael said.

“We’re really busy today, and I’m hardly dressed for a visit to the food court. I look like I never made it home last night, dressed as I am,” I retorted

“But you do look gorgeous,” Cousin Natalie said.

Ms. Shay was watching this exchange with a bemused expression on her face. “She’s right, you do look gorgeous, and you’ve been working hard. Why don’t you go with your cousins. Oh, by the way, I have some signs advertising our evening gown sale, so you could sit by one of the signs and attract business?”

“I’m helping a customer find a gown, so you girls will have to wait until I’m done.”

“That’s okay,” Natalie said.

My customer bought two gowns, and Ms. Shay smiled broadly when I rang up the sale. “I only wish there were more clerks like you,” the customer said with a smile, “I wish I could look as good as you.”

I smiled back.

After the customer left, my Cousins and I headed for the food court. Quite a few shoppers stared at me.

“Was that customer really a man wearing women’s clothes?” Sandy asked.

“A ‘special customer’ is what we call them,” I said.

“Do they know about you?” Natalie enquired,

“Yes, we don’t deny it. That’s one of the reasons they like the store.”

“Do they ever hit on you?”

“Yeah, but I tell them that I’m only sixteen and that puts an end to it.”

We found a table next to one of the signs advertising the evening gown sale. Quite a few women noticed and asked me to stand and turn around to get a better look. It obviously impressed them, because when we returned to the store it was crowded with a lot of those same women looking at the gowns.

“You caused a sensation,” Ms. Shay said, “Maybe I should send you back to the food court to drum up some more business.” which she did. She even gave me money for food for my cousins and me.

It was a very busy day, and Ms. Shay was obviously delighted with the money taken in. After we closed the doors, I headed to the back room to change out of the gown. Ms. Shay came in the back room and said, “I want you to keep the gown and slip. You earned them.”

“But it’s an expensive gown,” I said.

“Well, maybe, but a customer ripped open a seam while trying it on. I had it repaired, but I didn’t put it back on the racks. I thought of you and decided to ask you to wear it today. The interest and sales you brought in by wearing it paid for the gown many times over.”

I decided to not change out of the gown for the drive home, but before I left the store I called Becky to wish her a happy new year.

“Why don’t you stop over on your way home. My folks are hosting a New Year Eve party, and I’d like to have you with me.”

“Well, I’m still Renee, if that’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay with me.”

“And I’m wearing an evening gown.”

“Even the better. You’ll fit right in. The party is supposed to be formal.”

“Let me call my Parents and tell them where I will be and not to expect me home until after midnight.”

Shortly thereafter I arrived at Becky’s house. Mr. Jones answered the door when I rang. The look on his face was priceless. “Renee?” he stammered. “Come on in.”

“Good evening, Mr. Jones,” I said with a smile.

He helped me with my coat, and then called out, “Betty, you’ve got to come downstairs and see this.”

When Becky’s Mother saw me, she said, “You are absolutely stunning. How did you do it? You only called a short time ago.”

“Mrs. Shay had me model this gown today at the store, and when we closed, she gave me this as a present. I decided to wear it home, and then Becky invited me over.”

“Well, you’ll fit right in, and you are a very welcome addition to the party. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish getting beautiful. I don’t want my daughter’s boyfriend outdoing me,” she said with a smile.

I turned to Becky. She was wearing a lime green party dress, with chiffon over the top and skirt. Her hair and makeup were beautiful, and she seemed to glow, “Becky,” I said, “you are gorgeous.”

She smiled and said, “Thank you, and so are you.”

Mr. Jones turned to me, and said, “I hope you’re still keeping up your journal.”

“I am.”

“Good”

Mr. Jones looked at his watch. “The other guests should be arriving in about fourty-five minutes. Maybe you two can help with getting the food ready.”

Becky and I went into the kitchen. No one else was there. Becky turned to me and put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I responded by putting my arms around her and kissed here. We stood there a few moments looking into each other’s eyes, and kissed again. I could feel her breast against my arm, and moved my hand to cup it. She didn’t move away or move my hand, but rather made a soft moaning sound as I gently massaged her breast.

We reluctantly broke off the embrace and looked at each other with fondness. She smiled and said, “You need to fix your lipstick.”

“Look who’s talking,” I responded, “so do you.” We both began to giggle and she took my hand and led me to the powder room. She closed and locked the door, and we kissed again. Finally we repaired our lipsticks, and proceeded to the front door where our assignment was to greet the guests and take their coats.

Most of the men were wearing tuxedos and the women were wearing party dresses or formal gowns.

I opened the door when the bell rang. Outside were two men, both wearing tuxedos. To my surprise, they were holding hands as they walked in. To my further surprise, I recognized one of them as a ‘special customer’ from the store.

One of the men, a Mr. Thompson, was a co-worker of Mr. Jones, and he introduced his friend, a Mr. Stevens. Becky’s Father introduced us as “My Daughter Becky and her friend Renee.”

It was then that I noted a flicker of recognition in Mr. Stevens’ eyes, which went as quickly as it had came.

It was later that Mr. Stevens came over to me. “When I first saw you, you looked familar, but I couldn’t place you. Just now it came to me. By any chance do you work in a tall girls shop in the mall?”

“Yes,” I answered, “I am a seasonal employee, until this Friday.”

“Ms. Shay told me that she had a cross-dressing employee for the holidays. Might that be you?”

“Yes,” I softly confessed.

“And Becky’s Parents know?”

“Yes, they do,” I answered,

“And are you Becky’s boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“And they don’t mind?”

“No.”

He smiled and said, “If I knew there would be another cross dresser here, I might have been tempted to wear a gown like yours, except that I could never look anywhere as good as you do,”

“Thank you,” I responded.

“If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear your story how you came to be here tonight.”

“It’s a long story, and it all started with Becky and I working together on an essay on gender issues.”

“Before we go further, I think that both of us should agree to keep our conversation confidential, for both of our sakes,” he said.

“I wholeheartedly agree,” I said, and I related the story, after which he rejoined Mr. Thompson.

Shortly after midnight, I excused myself and headed home. My parents were waiting up for me, and as can be exptected, they wanted all of the details of why I was wearing an evening gown. After relating tbe events of the day and evening, my sister arrived home. She was dumbstruck when she saw me. I realized that I should have changed into my pajamas when I first arrived home, but I hadn’t.

My sister finally regained her compouser and voice. “My brother in an evening gown! I’ve got to hear all about this. Were you at a formal New Years Eve party, or is this how you like to lounge around the house?”

“How about tomorrow? I’m tired and want to go to bed.”

“On one condition,” she said, “If you let me borrow that gown. It had to cost at least $250.”

“Okay,” I answered, “but it didn’t cost me anything.” With that I went upstairs to bed.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 6.
By Pentatonic

Thursday, January 1, 2015:

A weak January sun was shining through my bedroom window when I awoke at about 9:00. From my position in my bed I could see that I had hung up the evening gown, but the rest of my clothes from yesterday were just dumped on a chair. I patted my hair. It was still in what remained of the french twist from yesterday. I got out of bed and put a robe on over my pajamas and headed to the bathroom. A quick glimpse into the mirror revealed that I had done a poor job removing my makeup when I went to bed. I took down what was left of the french twist and with some cold cream and tissues I attacked my face, only to find that yesterday’s makeup was resisting removal. During this procedure my stomach began growling.

Ignoring my stomach I got in the shower and let the hot water play over my hair, face and body. I stepped out of the shower, dried myself and put my robe back on. I replayed the events of yesterday in my mind and it was then that I realized that I needed to put on something under my robe.

I went back into my bedroom and realized that all of my boy underwear was ready to be washed. I scolded myself for ignoring my laundry. In desperation I grabbed a pair of sky blue panties from the drawer. So clad, I went to the kitchen to get some food.

Shortly after I started eating, my sister Amy entered the kitchen. She examined my face. “Still some traces of makeup, I see,” she said. She then noticed my hands. I had totally forgotten to remove my nail polish. She pointed at my hands and began to snicker. I got up and retrieved some nail polish remover. When I stood up, my robe opened enough to reveal my sky blue panties. “Nice panties,” she said with a snicker.

I ignored her and began removing the nail polish, after which I started a load of laundry so I wouldn’t have to wear the panties all day.

I returned to the kitchen and my sister was still there, nursing a cup of tea. She turned to me and said, “I’m still waiting,”

“For what?”

“You telling me what happened yesterday. You promised to tell me today.”

“It was nothing,” I started to say.

“That eveining gown could hardly be considered ‘nothing.’”

“Well, you see, Ms. Shay was having a special on evening wear, and she asked me to wear the gown while at the store.” I omitted mentioning anything about the forays to the food court. “It had to be repaired after a customer blew out a seam trying to get into it. At the end of the day, Ms. Shay gave it to me. Then I called Becky, and she invited me to her house. Her parents were having a New Year Eve party, and it was formal, so I didn’t change out of it.”

“Your story is lacking details, but don’t worry, I’ll get them out of you sooner or later.”

At this point our mother entered the kitchen. “I hope you two remembered that we’re hosting the New Year dinner for my family, so I need you to help get ready for the dinner.” With that she handed each of us a list of things to be done. “Remember, our guests will be arriving at about 4:00,” she added, and with that she breezed out of the kitchen.

I went back upstairs and diligently removed all of the remaining traces of makeup and put the contents of my chair in a laundry bag and tossed it into the back of my closet, to be dealt with later.

I then attacked my list and also completed my laundry, I carefully put my clean clothes in the drawers, covering my Renee clothes as well as I could. I had worked up a bit of a sweat while doing all of this, so I decided another shower was in order.

I put the blue panties in the bag with all of my clothes from yesterday, and got dressed, completely in Roy clothes. It was shortly thereafter that my aunts, uncles and cousins arrived.

My female cousins and my sister repaired to her room, supposedly to watch a ‘chic flic,’ but it was only a few minutes later that my sister asked me to join them “just for a few minutes.”

I had a bad feeling about this, but I complied with her request. When I arrived in her room, there was no chic flic on the screen.

It was a picture of me, in my evening gown in the food court. All of the girls were giggling with abandon.

“You didn’t tell me about this part,” my sister said accusingly.

“I didn’t think it was important,” I mumbled.

“Important? It’s vitally important,” my sister exclaimed, “sit yourpretty little butt down and give us all of the details.”

I felt like I was a defendant on trial, with my sister as prosecutor and my cousins as the jury, and not an unbiased jury.

“Before we start, are you still wearing those darling blue panties you had on at breakfast?”

“No,” I answered. I decided monosyllable answers would be best.

“Why not?”

“I donno.”

“Wrong answer, and as a penalty we should make you put them back on.”

I decided to change the topic. “Where did that picture come from?”

“I took it,” cousin Sandy said, and she held up her cell phone, “You were just too gorgeous not to.”

“Show the one with the slit,” Natalie requested, and immediately a picture appeared with my left leg coming out of the slit. My stocking top was visible.

“Stockings and garters,” Cousin Rachael interjected, “very sexy.”

I was totally humiliated. I stood up and said, “I’ve had enough, I’m leaving,” and I started toward the door.

“Stop,” my sister commanded, “we’re not finished until we see the actual dress. Where have you secreted it?”

I remained silent.

“Probably in her closet,” Natalie suggested, and they all headed for my room. Once there, my sister opened my closet door, and there, in full display, was the gown. They all examined it, until their attention was drawn to my other girl clothes. Before anything more could happen, my mother announced that dinner was being served.

While we were eating my Uncle Ralph pointed his fork at me, while chewing a piece of ham with his mouth open. “You still sashaying around in a dress like some fairy?” I never liked my Uncle Ralph. I didn’t answer his question.

“Ralph, leave it alone,” my mother, who is his sister, commanded.

“Pervert.” he said as a closing comment.

“Excuse me,” I said as I left the table and went to my room, crying all the way.

In a while my sister quietly entered my room, sat next to me on the bed and gave me a hug. “I’m sorry for what happened,” she said.

“It’s not your fault,” I said between sobs.

“Maybe not, but I am sorry if we humiliated you about your cross dressing.”

“Okay,” I said, but it was not okay.

“Oh, your cousins and I are very proud that you can show your feminine side, We all love you dearly, and hate to see you hurt.”

“Thank you,” I sobbed, “and I love all of you.”

“There is something else you should know,” she said.

“What?” I said cautiously.

“You are absolutely one hot babe in that gown.”

This brought a smile to my face between tears, “Thank you,” I managed to say. My sister having come to comfort me awakened a feeling of sisterhood with Amy.

It was one of the least successful holiday dinners for my family. My Mother was angry with her brother. My dad supported my Mother . My Uncle’s wife was embarrassed by her husband’s inconsiderate outburst, and my other aunts and uncles were uncomfortable with what had happened.

Friday, January 2, 2015:

The next day was my last day at the store. I wore a high waisted box pleated skirt made from printed fabric and a beige long sleeved nylon blouse with ruffles down the front. Ms. Shay smiled when she first saw me. “What a great outfit,” she said, “of course it has to be because it came from this store.”

Ms. Shay then took me aside. “Your holiday employment ends today. I want you to know I am really impressed how well you did. I think that you’ll be really pleased with your commission check,” which she then handed to me. I was very, very pleased.

“If you can, I’d like you to work just before Valentine’s day. I’ll give you a call in a month.”

When I came home that evening, my parents were waiting for me. We talked about my employment, and they were quite impressed with the amount of money I had earned. Then they got down to what they really wanted to talk about my Uncle Ralph and my crossdressing.

“I’m really sorry that my brother acted like he did,” my Mother said.

“It’s not your fault,” I replied.

“I know, but It still bothers me.”

“It’s uncle Ralph who should be sorry, but I bet he’s not,” I said, “but there is one positive note from the unpleasant scene.”

“What’s that?” my dad asked.

“When Amy came upstairs to comfot me. I felt closer to her than I ever did before. Like two sisters.”

The conversation then turned to my cross dressing. “Now that your job is over, are we going to get Roy back full time?” my Dad asked.

“Well. . .” I said, “there’s the dance lessons that Joe signed up for at the park district. They start on Monday evening. Sue can’t make the first lesson, so I’m kind of filling in as his dance partner for that lesson. After that, Sue will do the rest. And then Ms. Shay might want me to work a few evenings before Vaentine’s day.”

“Oh.” he said.

“And then there’s Amy. She kind of hinted that she might want me to go with her to the mall, because I’m prettier than her, to attract boys.”

“According to . . ?”

“Amy,” I interjected, “You can just ask her. It was her idea.”

“You like dressing up as a girl, don’t you?” my father asked.

“Sort of.”

“Your mother and I would like you to see a counselor about any possible gender issues you might have. Is that okay with you?”

“I guess,” I responded. Refusing to do so would cause family problems which I did not want to address.

“I’ll see about making an appointment for us,” my mother said. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, find out how the counselor wants me to dress for this session.”

Saturday, January 3. 2015:

It was snowing hard when I woke up on Saturday morning, and one glance out of the window revealed that it had been snowing hard most of the previous night. I put on my robe over my pajamas and headed for the kitchen for some breakfast. It wasn’t too much later that Amy joined me at the table, after first giving me a hug.

She sat down and said, “Mom told me what you said,”

“And what was that?”

“How when I was comforting you that you felt closer to me than any time before.”

“Oh, that,” I responded, “it’s true.”

“And it’s so sweet.” and with that she took hold of my hand. “It’s almost like I gained a sister,” she added.

“You have, and her name is Renee,” I confessed. “Renee is now part of me all the time, and comes out from time to time, especially when I’m wearing a skirt or dress.”

“So it was Renee who was working at the store?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but on New Years Day, Renee was in control when you came to my room, even if I wasn’t dressed.”

I decided to change the topic. “Did Mom tell you that she and Dad want me to go to counseling?”

“No, why?”

“Something about me liking to wear dresses and skirts, I suppose.”

“What’s wrong with that? You look really cute when you wear them.”

“I don’t really know, but it seems to be bothering them.”

At that point, our mother entered the kitchen. “Are you going to lounge around like that all day?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Amy said.

“Well, your Father and I are going to visit his Mother today, and one or both of you should clear the snow off the walks and driveway.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to drive?” I asked.

“If we didn’t go, Grandma would be so disappointed, and your dad said it should be okay. The plows are out.”

“Okay, let me get dressed and I’ll shovel the drive before you go,” and with that I headed upstairs to ge dressed.

Right after my parents left, Joe pulled into the now clear driveway. “I thought that we could go around and clear driveways and sidewalks in the neighborhood for some cash,” he said, “What were you two thinking about doing?”

“Maybe practicing some dancing,” Amy said.

“Maybe so, but those aren’t exactly dancing shoes,” I said, pointing to Joe’s feet.

“Neither are what you have on your feet,” he observed.

“But I have proper footwear here, and you don’t,” I answered.

“We might be able to find a pair of shoes for Joe,” Amy said.

“But he’d have to wear pantyhose or nylons for them to fit,” I said to Amy.

We actually got some dancing, after which Joe and I went around the neighborhood and shoveled. When we were done I realized that it was a lot harder than working at the store.

We were all in the kitchen when my parents called and said that it was too dangerous to drive home until the roads were cleared, and that they would stay at Grandma’s and would see us on Sunday.

We decided that Joe should spend the night at our house and we spent the evening playing dress up, which included getting Joe entirely en femme and wearing the Queen of the Night dress.

Finally it was time to go to bed. “I don’t have a spare set of clean pajamas for you,” I told Joe, “but I have a clean nightgown if you don’t mind it.”

“I’ll wear a nightgown if you will,” he said.

It ended up with all of us wearing nightgowns. My Renee side liked it, a lot.

Sunday, January 4, 2015:

We could hear snowplows working all night, and in the morning the snow had stopped and Joe and I cleared the drive and walks. After that we went to Joe’s house and did the same.

With Joe safely at home, Amy asked, “Did you and Joe do you-know-what?”

I could only guess at what ‘you-know-what’ was, but since neither Joe nor I had done anything except give each other a good night kiss and sleep, I could truthfully say we hadn’t.

It was now safe to drive and Amy’s boyfriend came over to the house. After a few hints from Amy, I decided to go to Becky’s house so I put on my corset, bra, panties, and stockings, over which I put on a pair of jeans. I also put on a uni-sex bulky sweater, my own snow boots and took a long skirt, a feminine parka and my cosmetics and went to visit Becky.

“I need a pair of feminine boots for snow,” I told Becky when I arrived. “Maybe we could run over to the mall and I could buy a pair.”

“Won’t it look odd for a boy buying girl’s boots?” she asked.

“It won’t take but a minute for me to do my hair and makeup and change into this skirt. Underneath, I’m all girl.” While we hugged and kissed I felt her hand slide under the rear of my jeans to make sure I was wearing panties. “I approve,” she said.

It took longer than a minute, but about a half an hour later two girls headed or the mall, My Renee side was very happy.

In the privacy of the car I related my experiences starting with the disastrous New Year’s dinner, and told her that my parents wanted me to go to counseling.

“What kind of counseling?” she asked.

“I really don’t know, maybe gender counseling,” I answered.

“Or, heaven forbid, counseling to ‘make my son stop wearing girl’s clothes’,” she said.

“There is one other new thing that happened as a result of the dinner,” I said, “my relationship with my sister has changed.”

“In what way?” Becky asked.

“We are more like sisters now. Even my mother noticed this,” I said.

“Then maybe you really are a girl underneath it all.”

“Does that bother you?”

“I have to think that out,” she said, “if you are really a girl, then we would be lesbians.”

“But we haven’t done anything, lesbian or heterosexual. We’re both too young.”

“Until this spring,” she said. I could only wonder what she meant by that.

Monday, January 5, 2015:

As befitting the first day back at school after the Christmas break, the weather was gloomy. There was a lot of snow on the ground, so I called Becky and offered her a ride to school, which she gladly accepted. On the ride to school, I asked her what she meant about spring.

“We both turn seventeen,” she answered.

“So? What’s the big deal about that?”

“Age of consent,” she replied.

Now I knew about the age of consent from sex education classes. Was this an invitation?

Most of the classes were tedious. Some of the teachers had assigned reading to be done during the Christmas break. It was obvious that most of the students hadn’t even started the required reading. A collective sigh of relief could be heard when the final bell rang.

Becky, Joe and I walked out of school together. “You haven’t forgotten about tonight, have you?” he asked me.

“No, I remembered.”

“Remembered what?” Becky asked.

“Joe signed up for dance lessons and I’m going with him,” I answered.

“Aren’t dance lessons usually boy girl kind of things?” she asked.

“Well, Yeah....” Joe started to say.

“And let me guess, you’re going as Renee,” Becky said to me.

No answer was needed

“Isn’t that going to cause some problems at your house,?” she continued.

“Yeah, but I’ll figure something out.”

“Why don’t you bring your stuff to my house, get dressed there and then pick up Joe? You could do the reverse after the class,” Becky suggested.

“That’s a great idea,” I said, “Thanks,”

I put on my underthings at home and took the sleeveless sweet fit-and-flare dress which I had bought at the store last December. Becky liked the dress.

I put my hair in a french twist, and applied some makeup. I had my heels in a bag and wore my snow boots. I then went to pick up Joe.

The instructors had a dance studio downtown and were husband and wife by the names of George and Phyllis. Aside from Phyllis, I was the only one wearing a dress. Most of the other students were wearing jeans. A lot of them were wearing rubber soled shoes, which I knew were not good for ballroom dancing. I caught George looking at my snow boots with a frown. I held up the bag which contained my heels and his frown turned into a smile of approval.

The class started with a waltz, and George and Phyllis demonstrated the box step. I had my left hand on Joe’s shoulder with his right hand on my back. Our other hands were clasped together and out to the side. The box step was no problem, since we had practised it before.

“I’m going to d a twirl, so be ready for it,” I said to Joe. A few measures later I raised my right arm and Joe’s left arm. I pushed away and sideways with my left hand and Joe pushed me to my right, all on the first beat of the measure, I went under our raised arms and twirled on the second beat, and returned to our previous position of the third beat. Naturally, when I twirled my skirt flared out. I imagined that those who were looking could see my garter straps. We twirled a few more times, and George and Phyllis indeed did notice. At the end of the song, George said, “It seems that you two have done some waltzing before tonight.” George then paired me up with one of the boys and paired Joe up with one of the girls. George and Phyllis did the same.

During a break, the instructors came over to talk to us. George was holding the class roster in his hand. “Are you Sue?” he asked after consulting the roster.

“No, I’m Renee,” I answered, “Sue is Joe’s girlfriend, but she couldn’t make it tonight, so I’m filling in for this session. You’ll see her next week.”

“We’ll miss you,” George said, “you’re the only one who is properly dressed for dancing. Of course, theses classes are way below your level.”

I thanked him with a smile.

On the way home, I suddenly felt Joe’s left hand under my skirt and on my right thigh. “I’m driving and I don’t want to get in an accident, so stop that,” I commanded. “Anyway, what would Sue think about you doing that?” I added.

“She likes it,” Joe replied a little sheepishly.

“You know darn well that is not what I meant,” I exclaimed,” how would she feel if she knew you were two timing her, and with a boy, to boot?”

“I guess she wouldn’t like it,” he replied.

Wben I dropped Joe off at his house, I called Becky on my cell phone to tell her that I was on the way to her house and keep an eye out for me. I didn’t have to ring the bell before she opened the door and we went up toher room for me to change back.

Becky and I sat next to each other on the edge of her bed, and I related the events of the class. Becky then asked, “Did Joe try anything?”

“Yeah, he put his hand under my skirt and began rubbing my thigh.”

“Like this?” she asked and immediately put her hand under my skirt and rubbed my thigh. We pulled each other closer and started kissing in earnest, with her hand slowly moving up my thigh to my stocking tops.

Finally I said, “We better stop this before it goes too far.”

“Don’t you like it?” she said with a little hurt in her voice.

“I do like it, but one of your parents may come barging into the room.” With that her hurt turned to a smile.

She looked at my face. “Your lipstick is a mess,” she said.

“And so is yours. I’m taking off my makeup, but you better fix yours,” I said.

I made it home without event, took off and put away my feminine attire, and put on my pajamas. I climbed into bed and wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped Joe or Becky, or both.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 7
By Pentatonic

Friday, January 9, 2015:

The prior Wednesday my mother told me that she had made an appointment with a counselor for Friday afternoon, and she handed me a note to give the school excusing me from my afternoon classes.

As I left for school on Friday morning, she said, “The appointment is for 1:30, so try to be home by 1:00.”

My friends were interested in what this was all about, but I had absolutely no clue. “My mother made the appointment but didn’t tell me anything,” I explained.

“Look, if when you get wherever you’re going, and you see men in white coats with a straight jacket, run like hell,” Joe suggested.

“Yeah, if they asked us, we’d have told them that you’re nuts, and save all the time and expense,” added Harry. They all got a good laugh out of this.

Joe pulled me aside, and quietly asked, “You don’t think that they’ll try to make you stop wearing skirts and dresses?”

“My dad might like that, but I just don’t know.”

At 1:00 sharp, my dad, my mother and I piled into my dad’s car. But not before my mother asked, “You’re not wearing panties under your clothes, are you?”

I hadn’t thought about doing that, so I assured her that I was not wearing panties. However, upon reflection, that didn’t seem to be such a bad idea. Too bad I hadn’t thought about doing that.

The counselor appeared to share the office space with other counselors or the like. There was a waiting room with cheap looking uncomfortable chairs. A receptionist or secretary sat behind a sliding glass window which looked over the waiting room. My mother announced that we were the Evans’ and had a 1:30 appointment with Dr. Devlin. The secretary, or what ever she was shoved a clipboard with a form thought the open side of the sliding glass window. “Fill this out and return it to me when you’re done.”

My parents and I sat down and my mother started attacking the form. When I suggested that since I was the subject of the counseling that I should fill it out, my mother scowled at me and kept filling in the form.

When she was finished, she returned it without me seeing what it said. About ten minutes later we were escorted to what I presumed was Dr. Devlin’s office/ There was a desk and executive looking chair on one wall, four other chairs, a coffee table and some end tables with lamps. The lighting was rather subdued. Dr. Devlin stood up as we entered and introduced herself. My mother handled the introductions for my family. Dr. Devlin was a rather tall and middle aged woman, not bad looking. She was wearing black court shoes, dark blue hose, and a dark blue dress with a white lab coat over it.

Her white lab coat made me think of Joe’s comments about the men in the white coats and straight jackets. I smiled at the thought. Dr. Devlin saw my smile and returned it. At her invitation we all sat down, with Mom on one side and Dad on the other.

Dr. Devlin turned to me and asked, “Why don’t we start by you telling us why you are here?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” I responded, “my parents made all of the arrangements and told me to come.” The Doctor look surprised with my response, and referred to the form on the clipboard.

“But it says right here . .”

“I never saw what was written on the clipboard,” I quickly interjected.

“Is that true?” Dr. Devlin asked my parents.

“Sort of,” my mother admitted, “we thought that Roy would know.”

“But he says he doesn’t.”

The Doctor turned to me, and referring to the form on the clipboard, she said, “It says that you like to wear female clothes and pretend to be a girl. Is that so?”

“I have dressed like a girl from time to time, but I don’t pretend to be anything other than what I am,” I asserted.

“When did this all start?”

“Last fall. I can give you an exact date if you wish. I, and all of the class, had to write an essay on sexual stereotypes and to imagine what it would be like if we were the opposite sex. My mother and Becky, my girlfriend, decided that I should have the experience first hand, and bought me some girl’s clothes to take a trip to the mall as a girl.”

“And how did that work out?”

“It was a real eye-opener. I learned a lot, and at Becky’s father’s suggestion I started keeping a journal. Becky and I then wrote our essays. We both got A’s.”

“I’d really like to see your journal and essay, if that’s alright with you.” the Doctor requested.

“Okay, sure,”I responded.

“So after your experiment, did you ever wear female clothes?”

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time you did?”

“Monday.”

“Like four days ago?” With this revelation my parents had strange looks on their faces. “What was the occasion?”

“Well, my friend Joe had signed up for ballroom dancing classes and his girlfriend couldn’t make the first session, so I went as her substitute. I went to my girlfriend’s house and got dressed there.”

“That may explain the surprised looks on you parents’ faces.,” the Doctor said.

“Yeah, I didn’t want them to know. I know that my dad doesn’t like me to dress as a girl.”

“Okay, the dance class. How did that go?”

“It was alright. I’m a pretty good dancer, and my sister helped me learn the girl’s steps.”

“So Becky and your sister know. How about Joe and your other friends?”

“They all know. I had to read my essay in class.” I volunteered.

“And they don’t have a problem with your cross dressing?”

“Since all of them are still my friends, I would say that it’s okay with them,” I said.

“Any times between last fall and this last Monday?”

“Yes,” I answered, and I related the stories of Halloween and my seasonal job as a girl. I had noted that the Doctor was frantically scribbling notes as I talked. “Everything I told you, and more, are in my journal, which I have kept up to date. I can let you see it, so you don’t have to write so much.”

“Thanks, that’s a great idea,” the Doctor said with a smile.

“Do you like wearing girl’s clothes?” the Doctor asked, changing the topic of our discussion.

“I do. It can be fun.” I answered, “at least most of the time.”

“Any problems?”

“One comes to mind,” and I related the events that happened at the New Year’s Day dinner, “The interesting part was that when this happened, I was wearing a coat and a tie. I was all ‘Roy’ at that time.”

“Did what happened bother you?”

“A lot.”

“Do you ever think that you really are a girl?”

“I don’t know. I like to be Roy, but I also like to be a girl some times. Most of the time I feel like a girl when I’m dressed as a girl, but otherwise, not. I feel like I have a Roy side and a Renee side. My Renee side is getting stronger.”

After some more discussions, the Doctor looked at her watch. “Well, our time is about up. How do you feel about coming back a week from today? You can bring your journal.”

She then turned to my parents. “I’d like Roy to have a complete physical and some blood tests. Let me write out what I want, and you can take it to Roy’s physician.”

After a quiet ride home, I went up to my room to be alone. However, I was home for about a half hour when my sister knocked on my door, and I let her in.

“So, sis, how did it go?” she asked.

“I’m not sure, but the Doctor seemed to be interested in my story. I’m going to give her a copy of my journal at the next session.”

“How did Mom and Dad take it?” she asked

“I don’t think they got what they wanted,” I answered.

“And that was what?”

“I think they wanted the counselor to make me stop dressing.”

“So, you’re not going to get rid of all of your skirts, tops and dresses?”

“At least for now,” I answered.

“So you’re not going to give them all to me?”

“We can share.” I said, and we gave each other hugs.

Friday, January 16, 2015:

I brought a copy of my journal to the next counseling session. Dr. Devlin was impressed. “Not only do you say what happened, but you also record your feelings. I’m looking forward to reading it.”

The discussions were a lot like the previous session and I brought up Renee. When the Doctor got into questions about sexual activities, she noted that both my parents and I were uncomfortable.

She then surprised me. “I’d like to have Renee at the next session, and just Renee.” She turned to my parents and addressed them. “Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I think it would be better if you did not attend the next session because otherwise it might make Roy uncomfortable.”

It was obvious that my parents were not happy with this, but at last they agreed.

When I got home, my sister was overjoyed with this news. “You have to pick out an outfit that is just right for the occasion. Are you going to let me help you?”

“Of course,” I said, “isn’t that what sisters are for?”

Friday, January 23, 2015:

I arose earlier than usual, and took a shower after first applying hair remover. I heard the bathroom door open and peeked around the shower curtain. It was Amy. “Isn’t this a little early for you?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I have to help my sister get dressed for the big day,” she answered. “I’ll see you in your room,” she added and left the bathroom.

When I walked into my room she was laying out lingerie and stockings for me. “You won’t have a lot of time to get dressed before the counseling session, so it may be a good idea to wear your Renee underclothes now, and cover them with some jeans and a baggy sweatshirt for school.”

I nodded my approval, and started with my nylons. While doing this the towel fell off. I caught my sister staring at my crotch, and I frowned at her. “Girls don’t mind seeing each other naked or partially dressed,” she said as if this explained everything. “Hasn’t Becky seen you naked?”

“No.”

“Too bad,” she replied.

Since I would need more time today, I decided to cut my last class. I could tell the teacher that my doctor’s appointment had been moved up, which I did.

Before school, Amy and I had decided that I should wear a gray A-line skirt. Because it was unlined, I would need a slip. We had chosen a long sleeved ivory blouse and a gray sweater. I knew that I was cutting it close, because of my hair, which I would put in a french twist and my makeup. I made it to my counselor’s office with a few minutes to spare.

I walked up to the sliding glass window, and told the secretary or receptionist, or whatever she was, that I had a 1:30 appointment with Dr. Devlin. She just looked at me with a vacant stare and consulted her appointment list. “You’re not on the list,” she said.

“Name’s Evans,” I said.

“There’s no girl named Evans on the list,” she challenged.

“I’m Roy Evans,” I explained. “Tell Dr. Devlin that I’m here.”

Still staring, she reluctantly got off of her chair, presumable to report that a girl named Roy was out front. It apparently worked because a minute later she opened the door and escorted me to Dr. Devlin’s office.

“Wow,” Dr. Devlin exclaimed when I entered her office. “You are beautiful. Have a seat.”

I smoothed my skirt under me and gracefully lowered myself to a chair and demurely crossed my ankles, keeping my knees together.

Dr. Devlin silently looked at me, and then asked, “Roy, if that really you?” I smiled. “I don’t see much of Roy here,” she added.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I responded.

“How do you do it?”

“Well, first of all there’s this uncomfortable corset.”

“Do you always wear a corset?”

“Only when I’m Renee.”

“Why do you wear it?”

“For my figure, and if I don’t my clothes won’t fit right. However, I’m also trying to lose some weight.”

“And?” she asked, looking for more.

“A lot of practice and a job at a women’s clothing store with a 60 percent discount. I’ve also had help. At first from my mother and Becky, and later from my sister and Becky.” I commented.

“As I’ve read in your journal. By the way your journal is very detailed and comprehensive, however, there is very little of any sexual activity noted in it. How come?”

“There hasn’t been any,” I said.

“Really?, Many girls your age have already engaged in sexual intercourse,” she commented, “And are you saying you haven’t?”

“I can’t very well have sexual intercourse as a girl, now can I?” I responded.

“Well, now that you mention it, you can’t” she said with a smile, “It’s just seeing you dressed as you are, it’s hard to imagine you as anything other than as an attractive girl.”

“Thank you, I try to look good,” I said.

“And you succeed. But a lot of boys your age have had sexual intercourse.” She noted.

“Or at least they claim to, A lot of them lie.”

“But you haven’t”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m only sixteen. There’s this rumor going around that a sixteen year old guy and his sixteen year old girlfriend were caught doing it in the back seat of his car in a parking lot and that he may end up as a registered sex offender for the rest of his life. Scary, if it’s true, so I am dutifully scared of that and the further problem of the girl getting pregnant.” I explained.

“But how about just ‘fooling around’ a bit?” she suggested.

“It’s hard to stop once you begin to ‘fool around’ as you call it.” I answered.

“Is that from personal knowledge?” she asked.

“Sort of,” I answered, “at least it seems so with Becky. And then there’s Joe.”

“Joe?” she questioned with a bit of astonishment, “tell me about that.”

“Well” I started, “Joe likes it when I’m dressed as Renee. He likes to touch me. He convinced me to go on a date with him, which probably was a mistake, and at the movie he kept putting his hand up my skirt and rubbing my thigh. He even took my hand and put it on his thigh. If I hadn’t stopped him, I don’t know what would have happened if and when he got to my panties.”

“So why did you stop him?”

“Oh, come on!” I blurted out, “both of us are guys.”

“But when this happened, you were Renee, right?”

“Yean, but as I said, it probably was a mistake to do so on my part. He might have wanted me to have oral sex with him, and I wasn’t going to find out.”

“Do you think he’s a homosexual?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, “but I heard that his girl friend, Sue, wasn’t so reluctant.”

“Do you think that you might be homosexual?” she asked.

I thought for a moment, and then said, “I don’t think so, because I am really attracted to girls, especially Becky. However, when on the date with Joe, I wondered what it would be like to give him oral sex. Maybe I’m bi-sexual.”

“Maybe, and maybe you really want to be a girl.” she commented.

“I’m really messed up, aren’t I?” I questioned.

“No more than most teenagers,” she reassured me, “but your lack of sexual experience makes it difficult to come to any conclusions.”

“So you think I should go further in my relationship with Becky, and maybe with Joe?” I asked with some astonishment.

She sat up straighter, and pronounced, “As a mental healthcare professional I can’t recommend it.” She seemed to relax a bit and then said, “But. . .”

I took her meaning. “I understand,” I said.

“Good,” she said.

When the session was over I text massaged Becky and asked if she wanted a ride home from school. I signed it ‘Renee.’ She massaged back and said “Yes ;-)” I timed it so that I pulled into the parking lot just as Becky came out of the door. I wanted as few people to see me dressed as Renee as possible, since a lot of people also knew Roy’s car.

When she entered my car and saw me, she said, “Oh, la, la,” and leaned over the center console and kissed me. I pulled out of the parking lot but stopped a block away, and flipped down the visors to expose the vanity mirrors. “Lipstick,” was all I needed to say.

Naturally, I had to give a full report on the counseling session. “How did she like Renee?” Becky asked.

“She said I wouldn’t make first cut in an amateur drag queen competition,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face.

“She did not!” exclaimed Becky.

“She was really impressed,” I then answered, “she thought I looked good.”

“As you do.”

My mother had a part time job doing the books and payroll for a dental practice. Her hours were flexible, and some of the work she did could be done at home, but on this day she was working on the 2014 profit and loss statement and payroll tax reporting, so she didn’t expect to be done until at least 5:30. Since she wouldn’t have time to prepare supper, she and my dad were going out to dinner directly from her work. “Maybe you and Becky can do some studying and order a pizza for dinner,” she had told me when I dropped her off at the office that morning. She even gave me some money. As a result, Becky and I had the house to ourselves until at least 7:00, with the exception of my sister.

“Maybe Becky and I’ll catch a movie and stop for pizza afterwards,” I told my mother. That was okay with her.

My sister Amy had ridden home from school with her current boyfriend and had arrived at the house shortly after Becky and I did. “Hey, sis,” she said to me. “Got a minute? I need to talk with you,” Amy’s use of the word ‘sis’ caused momentary confusion to Becky until she remembered what had happened on New Year’s day.

Amy’s current Beau was a guy named Andy. “I don’t think that I want Andy to see Renee. Not only because he may not understand, but furthermore he might like you more than me,” she said with a smile.

“Okay, so how do you want to plan this?” I said, “Mom gave me money for a pizza, and Becky and I are going to study together until then. We’ll be in my room.”

“If you don’t mind. I’d like to invite Andy over for pizza, and after that we’re going out to see a movie,” Amy said. “ I’d like to be out of here before the parents come home.”

“And you’d like some private time together with Andy, too,” I commented,

“Yeah, that too,” she said.

“Okay, sounds like a plan. You leave Becky and me alone for our studying, and we’ll give you time with Andy.”

Amy stood for a minute looking at me. Finally she said, “You really look pretty. That’s a nice skirt you have on. If you weren’t wearing it I’d like to borrow it for my date.”

In response, I reached behind me and unzipped my skirt. I picked it up from where it had fallen in the floor and handed it to Amy. “Be my guest,” I said to her. “Remember, it’s unlined, so you’ll need a slip.” I took off my half slip and handed it to her. With that, Becky and I picked up our books and headed to my room.

Friday, January 30, 2015:

After a hurried session of getting ready, I attended this counseling session as Renee, which might have had something to do with what Dr. Devlin suggested. “I think that we should discuss your cross-dressing,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

“You’ve done a lot of it since the fall. Do you like it?”

“Remember, most of the time I dressed in female clothes I was working in the store and I kind of had to dress as I did,” I observed.

“You make it seem that you found it unpleasant,” she said, “but I get this impression that you actually liked it. So, tell me, do you like wearing female clothes?”

“Yes,” I confessed.

“Do you feel like a girl when you do?”

“Sort of.”

“When you wear female clothes, do you feel an attraction to boys?”

“Well, maybe,” I answered.

“More than when you are dressed as Roy?”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Have you ever felt an attraction to boys when dressed as Roy?”

“Sometimes when I’m feeling girly, otherwise not.”

“If you could, without any adverse consequences, would you wear female clothes all the time?”

“Probably not,” I answered.

“Why not?”

“There are just some times when it’s more fun being a boy.”

The rest of the session followed the same lines. At the end of the session I suggested that I would like to see if my parents would allow me to be Renee whenever I liked. Dr. Devlin suggested that we could do that and that I should invite my parents to the next session.

As I had done the week before, I picked Becky up from school after my counseling session.

My mother would not be home that afternoon for the same reasons as before. It being the end of January, there were a plethora of year end tax returns to be filed, both state and federal, for the dental practice. This in addition to normal payroll, profit and loss statements, partners’ distribution of profits and allocation of operating expenses. This meant that she was working all day and my father was picking her up from work and taking her out to dinner. My parents were not expected to be home until after 7:00. She left some money for Amy and I to order a pizza or other take-out food.

“We both have to pick up our W-2 forms, so why don’t we head off to the mall? We can also look at clothes,” I said to Becky when we were in the car.

“And check out the boys,” Amy replied.

“Maybe for you,” I said, “but remember that you’re my girlfriend, and I’m not in the market for a boyfriend, no matter how I’m dressed.”

“With the way you’re dressed, you’ll have to fight them off,” Becky added, with a chuckle, and she reached over and slid her hand up my skirt. I reminded her that I had to pay attention to my driving, and she reluctantly removed her hand,

When we arrived at the mall, I called Amy and told her that I would not be home until 5:00. “Andy will be with me,” Amy warned, “so make sure that you and Becky don’t arrive any earlier.”

When Becky and I arrived at the tall girls store, Ms. Shay mentioned that she could use my help a few days before Valentine’s Day, and we worked out a schedule.

Becky and I arrived at my house at about 5:30, just in time to see Andy’s car back out of the driveway.

Friday, February 6, 2015:

When my parents and I, dressed as Roy, arrived for the counseling session, Dr. Devlin said, “Roy wants us to explore some issues. Roy, why don’t you start out the discussion.

I took a deep breath. “I know that you don’t like it when I’m dressed as Renee, but I’d like it if I could dress as Renee at home or whenever I want to.” My statement was greeted with silence from my parents.

Dr. Devlin finally broke the silence. “How do you feel about that?” she asked my parents.

“This Renee business has gone on much further than it should have,” my father answered, “I don’t like it and I surely don’t want to condone it.”

“It’s already caused problems with my family,” my mother interjected, and she related the disaster at the New Year’s dinner.

“How does your daughter feel about this?” Dr. Devlin asked my parents.

“You’d have to ask her,” my mother commented.

“I can answer that,” I said, “we’ve become more like sisters. She likes borrowing my clothes.”

“I’ve noticed that Amy has been dressing better,” my mother said, “now I know why.”

There was a pause in the conversation before I said, “I’m going to be working at the tall girl’s store for a few shifts before Valentine’s Day.”

“I guess that’s okay,” my father conceded, “at least he’ll be earning money.”

“Could we set some limits that everyone can agree on?” suggested Dr. Devlin.

I was making progress. I thought, and the rest of the session involved negotiations of when and where I could be Renee.

My father concluded the session by saying, “No dressing like a street walker, His mother or I have to approve of his clothes.”

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 8
By Pentatonic

Caution - this chapter contains explicit sexual material.

Saturday, February 14, 2015:

Sue, Joe, Becky and I attended the Valentine’s day dance. I wore my suit and Joe had on a sport coat. Both of us wore white shirts and dark ties. The girls had really gone all out. Sue had a red dress with the hem a few inches above her knees. Becky had borrowed my dance dress.

“I wish you were wearing that dress, it looked so good on you at the dance class,” Joe commented. I pretended to not hear him. He leaned closer to me and whispered, “Are you wearing panties under your clothes, sweetheart?”

I scowled at him, and said, “ Hardly.”

“Well I am, lover,” he confessed.

“What does Sue think about that?” I asked.

“She doesn’t know,” he answered, and then added, “Yet.”

“What’s it about you and female underwear?”

“I like the way it feels on me, and how it feels when I rub your behind,” he said with a leer. As if to prove his point, I felt his hand on my rear.

“Stop that!” I hissed. He withdrew his hand. Just at that time Sue and Becky rejoined us, after a potty break. I would have loved to hear what they said while they were in the washroom.

Becky and I traded off dances with Sue and Joe. While Joe and Sue were dancing a slow dance, I kept my eyes on Joe’s hands. I noted that he did not rub her behind. Did he reserve that for me? I wondered.

I had driven and Becky and I were in the front, separated by the counsole. Sue and Joe were in the back, enjoying each other’s company. Halfway on the way home, I heard Sue say, “Ooooh, panties.” I didn’t want to know how she made that discovery.

Saturday, March 14, 2015:

It was Joe’s seventeenth birthday. I had turned seventeen nine days before on the fifth. Joe’s parents threw an informal St. Patrick’s Day and birthday party for Joe. When I arrived, Joe said, “I had hoped that Renee would have attended.”

“You just can’t behave when Renee is arround,” I said.

“And what’s wrong with that?” he responded, “we’re both seventeen now.”

The import of what he said escaped me until I remembered ‘age of consent.’ Now I had an idea of the thoughts on his mind. I also recalled Dr. Devlin’s comment on my lack of sexual experience.

It was a nice party. There was pizza and the mandatory birthday cake. Joe had invited the usual crowd. Some of the furniture had been moved to allow dancing.

During the evening, Joe asked me to help him to bring in some more soft drinks. This was hardly a two person job, but Joe had ulterior motives. The soft drinks were outside, since it was cold enough out there to avoid using a refrigerator. Out in the dark, Joe put his hands on my shoulders, pulled me to him and kissed me. He then moved his hand down to my crotch, and with his other hand he grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch. He was aroused.

“Stop that!” I commanded.

“But it feels good, doesn’t it, honey?” It did, but I wasn’t about to admit it. He then moved his hands to my shoulders, again, and kissed me again. We then grabbed some soft drinks and rejoined the party.

I wouldn’t admit it, but Joe’s kisses were as enjoyable as Bercky’s. I wondered about my sexual orientation.

Sunday, March 15, 2015:

This being the Sunday before St. Patrick’s Day, there was a parade in the area, followed by various parties in the neighborhood. My parents had been invited to one such party. They weren’t expected to be home until after 9:00.

Becky and my sister Amy had been hired as babysitters for couples enjoying the festivities. Joe and I were not invited, and with a test scheduled for the next day, we needed to study. My mind wandered back to Joe’s birthday party and Dr. Devlin’s comment about my sexual inexperience.

In addition to the test, we were assigned to read a play for English class. Joe arrived at my house about 1:00. I could see the disappointment on Joe’s face when I met him at the door. “No Renee?” he questioned.

“You have trouble behaving yourself when I’m Renee,” I answered, “Anyway, we’re here to work on homework.” I did have a secret plan, however.

Joe then asked, “Hey, did you read that stupid play?” he said referring to the assignment for English class.

“Yes. Why?”

“I’m having some problems with it,” he answered.

“Let me guess,” I said, “you haven’t started reading it, have you?”

“Well, sort of,” he answered.

One thing I’ve noted is that plays are meant to be heard, not silently read. The play we were working on had a run time of about two and a half hours. When Joe arrived, I suggested that we read the play out loud, each of us taking different parts. I figured that we could be finished by about 4:00 and then start on our other studying.

We worked on the play for the first act when I suggested a break for some pop and snacks. When I returned from the kitchen, I asked, “Are you gay?”

Joe gave me a strange look, and blurted out, “What made you ask that?”

“Well, on more than one occasion, you kissed me, and you’ve tried to feel me up,” I responded.

“That wasn’t with you, that was with Renee,”

“ and with me as Roy,” I interjected. “Remember, I am Roy. No matter what I am wearing.” With that I went to the powder room and gave myself a spritz of my favorite perfume.

“I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I say you can open them,” I called out.

His eyes were closed when I walked back into the room. I walked over to him and said, “Stand up.” When he was standing I stood in front of him and put my hands on his shoulders. He sniffed the air and I knew he could smell my perfume. I leaned in to him and pulled him into contact with me and I kissed him. He hesitated for a moment and then kissed me back.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.” I said. He opened his eyes and looked into mine. “Now, kiss me again,” I commanded. He did, and our tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouth.

I was still holding him tightly when I said, “Not bad.”

“No, I guess it wasn’t,” he said, “but you tricked me with your perfume.”

“But I didn’t trick you when we kissed with our eyes open,” I countered. With that I kissed him again, and I felt his hands on my butt, pulling me close to him. I could feel that he was getting aroused. “Part of your body likes it,” I said, as I rubbed myself against him. I began to also get aroused. “You too,” he said, and he kissed me again. By now both of us were aroused.

I moved my hands down to his belt and loosened it. He reached down, unbuttoned his jeans, and unzipped his fly. His pants fell to the floor. He then pulled his underpants down.

Now was the moment of truth. Although I had planned it in advance, I wondered whether I could actually do it. I told myself that there is only one way to find out. I put my hand around his penis and began rubbing. He started to moan with pleasure.

“Sit down,” I commanded.

When he sat, I went down on my knees in front of him. And yes, I swallowed all of it. It was kind of pleasant.

I stood up and took off my jeans, revealing that I was wearing brief, lacy, black panties. “A little bit of Renee,” I commented. Joe smiled.

Joe slid my panties down and I stepped out of my jeans and panties. I took his hand and put it on my hard penis. “Turnabout time,” I announced, and he took me in his mouth. He also swallowed. We fondled and kissed some more and finally put all of our clothes back on. “I really liked that,” I said.

“Me too,” he answered.

“Well,” I said, “it appears that you might be gay.”

“If I am, then you are too,” he countered.

“It’ll be our little secret,” I said, and I kissed him again.

“Yeah, I don’t think Sue or Becky would like to find out about what we just did,” he said.

“Or that we both liked it,” I added.

Saturday, April 4, 2015:

Becky’s 17th birthday was on Thursday, the 2nd, and our friends were meeting at her house to celebrate on the next Saturday. Given my situation at home, where at least one parent had to approve, I went as Roy. Well, in truth, mostly Roy, with the exception of a brief, black, pair of panties. When I passed by Joe, I whispered, “Black panties.” In response he gave me a pat on my behind. Thankfully, no one saw it.

It being Becky’s party, I paid special attention to her, which included a long birthday kiss, much to the amusement to all present.

During the party, Sue pulled me aside. “You’re Joe’s best friend. There’s something I want to ask you,” she said.

“And what might that be?” I asked.

“Does Joe have another girlfriend?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Well, in the last few weeks, he seems cooler, less amorous,” she answered.

“I don’t know of any girlfriend, new or otherwise,” I responded, full well aware of Joe’s new love interest, me. I certainly didn’t want to disclose this to Sue.

Later on I motioned to Joe to go outside for a minute. “Sue’s worried,” I told him, “She’s afraid that you have a new girlfriend. She said you’re less amorous.”

“And you know why, sweetheart,” he said, “You’re better than she is.”

“Well, pretend that she’s the best. Show her some love. I don’t want anyone to suspect the truth.”

“Okay, lover,” he responded, “but you’ll owe me.”

“Owe you what?” I challenged.

“You know what.” he said.

Wednesday, April 8, 2015:

Becky and I were sitting at her kitchen table when her mother walked in. “I’m going out to check out the post Easter sales, so I’ll see you in about two hours,” and with that she picked up her purse and walked out the door.

A few minutes after her mother had left, she looked at me with a wicked grin and grabbed my hand. “When the cat’s away, the mice will play,” she said and we went up to her bedroom. “We have at least an hour and a half,” she declared.

We kissed. A long passionate kiss. She held her body close to mine and I could feel myself getting aroused. It appeared that she could feel it also. She stepped away, and pulled her top over her head, exposing her bra. She took one of my hands and put it on her bra covered breast. I began to fondle it, and it was not too much longer that her bra was on the floor. I bent over and began to kiss her naked breasts. She responded by loosening my belt and pulling down my zipper. She then removed my jeans and shorts. She pushed me until I was sitting on her bed and then she knelt on the floor in front of me. When she was done, she swallowed.

She then removed her jeans and panties, and we traded places. I had never done this before, but with hints from Becky, I figured out what to do.

We stopped short of intercourse, because I was afraid that Becky might get pregnant. What we did was wonderful. I can’t be gay, I thought, if I enjoyed it so much.

Friday, May 8, 2015:

I went to this counseling session alone, because I didn’t want my parents to hear what I was going to tell Dr. Devlin. I also dressed.

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” Dr. Devlin asked.

“Sex.”

“Sex?” she questioned, “What about sex?”

“Well, some time ago you noted my sexual inexperience,” I said, and Dr. Devlin nodded her head.

“Well, since then I’ve remedied that situation.”

“How?”

“Orally.”

“Oh?” she questioned, “With whom?”

“Becky and Joe.”

“Both?”

“Yes, but not at the same time.”

“Obviously. And which did you like best?” she asked.

“I liked all of it equally,” I answered.

“When you did this with Joe, did you feel that you were a girl?”

“Sort of, but I was dressed like Roy, except for panties.”

“So you took Joe in your mouth? “ she asked.

“Yes, and then he reciprocated.”

“So you might be gay?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I answered, “But I liked doing it with Becky, and when we did it, I felt all boy.”

“Did you go any further?”

“No,” I answered, “I didn’t to get Becky pregnant.”

“How about Joe?”

“I’m not ready for that,” I answered.

The rest of the session followed along those lines. By the end there were no conclusions.

Saturday, June 6, 2015:

Becky’s parents had enrolled her in an advanced placement program at a university about two hours away. The program was open to incoming highschool seniors, and offered a variety of courses. I would have loved to go, but it was rather expensive, and my father had arranged for me to work at a local muffler and brake shop in town. “It might not pay much,” he said, “but at least it’ll keep you out of that darn dress shop.”

I saw Becky off on that Saturday, Becky looking all the part of a college coed and me looking like a mechanic.

Sunday, June 21, 2015:

It was my day off from the muffler and brake shop, and I was lounging around at home. I was really missing Becky. It was hot, and I was wearing a pair of tan shorts which I had purchased at the tall girl’s shop. They looked unisex so I thought I could ge away with it. I wore a t-shirt which came down to mid-butt. That was not all, however. In addition to missing Becky, I was missing Renee, so I wore a pair of lacy black panties.

It was about noon that Joe called. “Hi, Honey Bunch, how’s my lover, Sweetheart?” he said.

“Stop that!” I demanded, “so what’s on your so-called mind?” I added.

“Aside from you-know-what, I have a problem with my car.” he said.

“What kind of problem?’

“I get a funny noise when I step on the brakes.”

“ Is that funny ‘Ha, Ha,’ or funny ‘Ugh?’” I responded.

Joe just gave me a paind look in response to my attepted humor.

“When’s the last time you checked the brake pads?” I asked.

“That’s not my job,” he said, “You’re the expert on brakes, so it’s your job. My job os to fill your sweet mouth with my love juices.”

I chose to ignore his last comment, and said, “It’s your car, so checking the meat left on the brake pads is your job.”

“Speaking of meat, my meat misses your mouth,” he said with a chuckle.

“Knock it off,” I said, “or I’ll make you take your car to the shop where I work and pay their prices to fix the problem. I’ll come over, but in the mean time, jack up the front end of your car and take off the wheels.”

“Okay, love lips,” he said. He must be really horny, I thought. If the truth be told, I was kind of horny too.

“What’s got into you? Sue cut you off?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Kind of,” he said,

When I arrived at his house, I saw that he had jacked up the front end and removed the tires. The problem was obvious, The driver’s side rotor was scored. He needed a brake job and new rotors on the front end.

“I hope you’ve got some money to buy two rotors and and two sets of pads,” I told him.

“Well, there goes taking Sue to a movie and maybe getting lucky,” he complained.

“Not my problem,” I said, smugly. “Maybe you can hit your parents up for some money?”

“They’re gone for the day,” he said.

I went back to my car and retrieved my coveralls and a box of nitrile examination gloves. Joe gave a questioning look at the box of gloves. “What are those for?” asked.

“We’ve got to pack the wheel bearings with grease before we put on the new rotors,” I answered. “Without the gloves my hands will smell like axle grease for a week. Hardly my favorite perfume.”

“I thought it might be for something more personal,” he said with a crooked smile.

His comment brought another thought to my mind, maybe they could be.

Friday, August 14, 2015:

Becky was finally returning home. After Becky left, my summer was pretty miserable. Although we called each other quite often, my work schedule and her class schedule made it impossible for me to actually visit her in person. As it turned out that was a good thing for me.

After she had been gone for a month and a half, and I noticed a change when I called her. She was not the same old Becky. Something was bothering her, but she wouldn’t confide what it was.

I managed to get the day off for her return, and I was at her house when she and her parents arrived. It was obvious that something was wrong. Her parents also appeared to be very unhappy.

It took some time for me to get her to tell me what was wrong.

“I’m pregnant.” she finally admitted, “I met this guy, Chad, at the school and . . .”

“We only did it once, but that seems to have been enough.”

I was crushed. Not only had she gone out with another guy, but she had sex with him.

All the time, Becky’s parents were giving me accusing looks. I mentioned it to Becky, because it appeared that they believed that I was the father. I knew that I wasn’t.

“I told them it wasn’t you, but right now every teenaged boy is to blame,” she said.

“Did you tell this Chad character?” I asked her.

“Yes, but he said that it was my problem, not his, and he refused to talk with me after I told him.”

“So no marriage, I guess,” I observed.

“No marriage,” she confirmed, “but he did suggest that I have an abortion.

“That’s terrible,” I said.

Thursday, August 20, 2015:

Becky and her parents received a letter from Chad’s parents’ attorney, saying that Chad contested paternity, and would not pay any expenses. He also said that Chad would not admit paternity until it was conclusively proven. He suggested that Becky had been promiscuous with other students that summer, Finally, he demanded that neither Becky not her parents contact Chad or his parents.

This letter seemed to convince Becky’s parents that I was not the father. Becky called me and asked that I come over.

Becky’s mother greeted me at the door. “I’m sorry that we suspected that you are the father, although if Becky had to get pregnant, we would have vastly favored you to be the father. We both know that you and Becky love each other, and you will make a wonderful father one day.”

“I’ll be here for Becky and the baby,” I said.

“You know, a lot of people will believe that you are the father,” Becky’s father observed, “if you are in the picture when the baby is born, are you ready for that? Think about it.”

I thought about it. Maybe ‘Aunt Renee’ would come into the picture.

Monday, September 7, 2015:

By Labor day, it seemed that the entire school knew that Becky was pregnant, and it seemed that most of them believed that I was the father, no matter what Becky or I said.

“Couldn’t keep it in your pants, huh?” one girl commented.

“You gonna do the honorable thing and marry her?” another asked.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015:

About a week later, Becky’s mother called me. “I need a favor, but I hate having to ask you,” she started to say, Becky has an appointment with her Gynecologist today after school, and neither her father nor I can take her there. I wouldn’t ask you, but it is an emergency.”

“Mrs. Jones,” I told her, “I’ll do anything for Becky.” After I said this I wondered if that included marrying Becky and being the father to her baby?

So, on the day I met Becky at my car. “I’m really sorry that my mother asked you to do this. You know, this will convince everyone that you are the father.”

“They can believe what they want,” I said, “It’s you, and not my reputation that concerns me.”

The reception at the gynecologist’s office was decidedly cool. The receptionist and even the Doctor were convinced that I was the father. Only after they worked back the chronology of Becky’s pregnancy that they realized that I was miles away when Becky got pregnant.

When Becky was finished with her appointment, I suggested that she make the next appointment an hour later than usual. “That way the baby’s ‘Auntie Renee’ can drive you to the appointment,” I suggested.

This brought a smile to Becky’s face. “Auntie Renee?” she said, “I like the idea.”

Not only did Becky like the idea, but so did her mother.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 9
By Pentatonic

Wednesday, September 30, 2015:

The school had a course in Civics during the first semester of the year with U.S. History during the second semester. For reasons which were rather unclear, all seniors had to take the Civics course and pass periodic exams in Civics to be allowed to graduate. Those unfortunates who failed the course were required to re-take it during the second semester.

None of my crowd wanted to have to repeat the course, so we really applied ourselves to getting a good grade. With the baby due in the spring, Becky really wanted to pass the course the first time.

Becky, Sue, Joe and I were doing a joint study session at Joe’s house that Wednesday. The topic was the functions of the federal, state and local governments, and how they interrelated. Joe, the cynic, expounded, “All these layers of government do is pass silly laws, tax us to death, and then spend the money foolishly.”

“Yeah,” opined Sue, “let’s say that Roy was all dressed up as Renee, which washroom would he or she be allowed to use?” She turned to me and said, “What do you do?”

“Learn to hold your water and not drink too many soft drinks.” I responded, not wanting to go into the issue too deeply.

“Speaking of Renee, I haven’t seen much of her recently,” Joe said, “How come?”

“I’m trying to keep peace at home,” I responded, “I’m selective of the times I dress.”

“Yeah, but I miss Renee.” he said. Sue was now giving Joe and me strange looks.

“Well, I’m going to work the Holiday Season at the tall girls store, so if you want to see Renee, stop on by the store.”

After finishing the study session, the conversation turned to whether we wanted to attend the Homecoming dance again this fall.

Saturday, October 17, 2015:

All of us decided to attend the Homecoming dance. Joe, being silly, asked me if I was going to run for homecoming queen. “Joe,” I responded, “That’s not even funny. The girls who want to be homecoming queen take it very seriously, and they wouldn’t like it at all. You have to consider their feelings.” Shades of the essay a year ago.

The voting took place the week before the dance. If you bought a ticket to the dance, your ballot counted twice, to favor attendance at the dance. Girls who were running for the position had their names printed on the ballot. Naturally there was a space for a write-in candidate. “Don’t even think about it, Joe,” I warned him.

Despite the warning, I actually received some write-in votes, along with some other boys. I suspected that Joe had a hand in this. Thankfully, only the winner was announced, along with her court which consisted of the other girls who were on the ballot.

Saturday, October 31, 2015:

As the previous year, the girls threw a Halloween party. Becky, being pregnant, wasn’t as enthused this year, and rented a witch’s costume. I decided to go as a mechanic, and wore my coveralls. Although hardly original Becky and I had a good time.

Thursday, November 26, 2015:

Ms. Shay seemed very pleased when I signed up for seasonal work at the tall girls shop. “Do you think that you can work at all on Thanksgiving Day?” she asked.

“All day,” I answered.

“But you’ll miss Thanksgiving dinner with your family,” she said.

“After what happened with my family on New Year’s Day, that will hardly be a loss. In fact, I plan on using work as an excuse. There are some of my relatives who are real asses,” I answered, and I told her what had happened at that family dinner.

“I’m sad that you had such a horrible experience, but I’m glad, actually overjoyed, that you can be at the shop.” she said.

My mother was not happy to hear that I ‘had’ to work that day. “You’ll miss the dinner,” she said.

“But I won’t miss the money I’ll make,” I replied.

I arrived at the store a little after 8:00 on Thanksgiving Day. Ms. Shay had wheeled a rack of dresses outside the front door. There was a big sign on top of the rack which said: “70% DISCOUNT - ALL DRESSES ON THIS RACK.”

“You’re not going to make much money with such a deep discount,” I commented.

“They’re all old stock, and I just want to get rid of them to make room for new dresses,” she explained. She paused for a moment, and then said, “Why don’t you pick one you like, and wear it today? That way we can honestly say that your dress came from this rack. Look, you can have the dress you model.”

That was just too much for me to pass up. There was a satiny red dress with a peplum at the waist, all the better to make my hips look larger. It was exactly my size and when I tried it on, it fit perfectly.

“You look smashing!” Ms. Shay exclaimed when I walked out of the fitting room.

I looked at myself in the mirror. She was right. What was wrong were the colors of my makeup, lipstick and nails. I had worn black shoes to work, and I thought that red or pink shoes would look better with this dress. Ms. Shay saw my concern, and I explained the problem.

“I have a friend who works at a makeup counter. Let me phone her and see if she can give you a quick make over before we get busy. Then pop on down to a shoe store.” With that she reached into the cash drawer and handed me some money. “My treat,” she said, but be a sweety and remember to return what’s left with the receipts.” Her friend said that she could take care of me immediately.

Ms. Shay’s friend, Adele, was waiting for me. She looked me over from head to toe. “I like the french twist,” she said, “but your makeup and nails. . .”

“Ms. Shay wants me to model this dress today,” I responded. “The clothes I wore to work went with my makeup, but this dress doesn’t.”

Adele immediately went to work and cleaned off the makeup I had put on that morning. Out of the blue, she commented. “Your boss has sent some of her ‘special customers’ from time to time. Did you know that?”

“No,” I replied. I wondered if she suspected that I was a lot like the ‘special customers,’ but nothing was said.

When she was done, the results were spectacular. I paid her and gave her a generous tip. She gave me her business card and said, “Come see me again.” I told her that I would.

When I stood up she looked at my feet. “Those shoes. . .” she commented.

“I know,” I said in response. “ My next stop is a shoe store,” I added.

When I returned to the store, Ms. Shay was pleased with the result. “It’s lots of fun, dressing you up, sort of like having my own doll.”

When it finally came time to close, most of the 70% sale dresses had been sold, due, in part, to it being announced that I was wearing one of the sale dresses. Several times during the day customers asked me to model a dress or two, which I gladly did. Ms. Shay was pleased with the results of the day, and when we were closing up, she said. “I liked the way you were willing to model clothes for the customers. That produced a lot of sales. I’m planning some ads for the season, and I’d like to hire you as one of the models, at the going rate for models. How does that sound to you?”

“I’d love to.”

She told me that the photo shoot was scheduled for the next afternoon, and instructed me on what I should wear for the shoot.

When I arrived at home, my mother had brought home some food from the Thanksgiving dinner, which I hungrily attacked. My mother noticed the dress. “I’ve never seen that dress before.” she said, and I explained the circumstances.

It was then that I mentioned that Ms. Shay had hired me as a model for her ads. My sister must have heard the conversation, since she appeared in the kitchen a short time. She checked me out. “All dressed up, and no place to go?” she said with a smirk.

“I’ve been all dressed up, and earning money,” I responded. “The only place I want to go is to bed,” I added.

“How was the dinner?” I asked.

“Same old, same old,” my sister answered, “except for some nasty comments from your uncle. You didn’t miss much. Now tell me about this modeling?”

“I model a bunch of clothes and a photographer takes pictures.” I said, “not too much about it, except that I get paid.”

Amy was studying my dress. “I’d like to wear that dress for a party on Saturday. Is that okay with you?”

Sure, no problem,” I answered, “isn’t that what sisters do?”

“I like you a lot better as a sister than as a brother,” she said with a smile. “Maybe you should be Renee full time,”

Our mother frowned when she heard what Amy had said, so I didn’t answer her. As we were going upstairs, I said to Amy, “Help me get out of this dress. Oh by the way, it might have to go to the cleaners tomorrow, since I’ve been wearing it all day.”

Amy smiled, “As Roy, you sweat. As Renee, you glow. A little perfume will do the job. Oh, I’ll need to borrow some of the perfume you use. Conflicting aromas, you know.”

Friday, November 27, 2015:

The other models and I arrived at the store at about 10:00. I had brought along several pairs of shoes, some underclothing, slips, a short pink satiny robe for a cover-up between shots and my makeup. Ms. Shay had us try on the dresses and clothes she had selected for the shoot. I was lucky, All the clothes Ms. Shay had selected for me to model fit. By noon, we had loaded the clothes in Ms. Shay’s car, and Ms. Shay brought out some sandwiches for a light lunch.

When we arrived at the photography studio at about 1:00 I was surprised to see quite a few people there. First, there was the photographer Steve and his assistant, Sherry. Additionally there was a makeup lady, Ruth, and Shelly, a wardrobe lady who could make any quick alterations if necessary. Rounding out the crew was Annette, a writer from the newspaper for the ad copy and Sylvia, a representative from the modeling agency. It seemed to me to be a whole lot of people for a dozen or so pictures.

After introduction all around, Sylvia was the first to speak up. “Ms. Shay,” she said with a little menace in her voice, “I’m here because you hired two girls from our agency, but I heard that you have brought a third model. According to our contract with you, all of your models have to come from our agency for a photo shoot.”

“She’s one of my employees at my store,” Ms. Shay responded.

“That doesn’t matter,” Sylvia declared, “if she isn’t one of our models, the other models will refuse to participate in this photo shoot.”

Ms. Shay was getting angry. “Look,” she said, “Why don’t you just take your two models and get out of here. I’ll do the whole shoot with just Renee.”

“If you do that, you still have to pay my agency for my two girls.”

“No way!” expounded Ms. Shay, “You’re the one pulling them out.”

While this was going on, the photographer was getting visibly annoyed. “Look, I want to get on with this shoot. Can’t you seem to work this out?”

I was getting intimidated because of all of the hostility over me being a model. “Ms. Shay, if it’s causing a problem, I don’t have to be a model. It’s okay with me.”

It was then that the newspaper representative spoke. “Sylvia, there seems to be a simple solution,” she said, “why don’t you just sign up Renee as one of your models, and we can all get to work.”

“But...” Sylvia started to say before Ms. Shay cut her off.

“That’s okay with me, under the condition that you don’t use her for any of your other jobs without my permission. After all, she is my employee.” Everyone, except Sylvia, nodded their heads, indicating that this was an acceptable solution.

Sylvia just looked a bit deflated, having lost that argument, but she wasn’t going to give up without a few more comments. “But she hasn’t gone through our screening process and given modeling lessons. Also, the owner of the agency has to approve all new hires. She doesn’t even have a portfolio”

“Give it up, Sylvia,” the Photographer said, “I’ll make up a portfolio from the shots from today.”.

Hearing no further objection from Sylvia, the photographer then said, “Good, now that everything’s settled, let’s get to work.”

With that, the clothes to be modeled were put on a rack with numbered hangers, and Ms. Shay, with a smug smile, gave the details of the clothes to the newspaper representative. Then the actual photos were taken. I never realized how many photos were needed, since only one of each outfit would be in the ad. I also realized why so many people, aside from Sylvia, were necessary to make the photo shoot move smoothly and quickly.

There were digital prints made and the photographer studied them. He then turned to Sylvia and said, “You should be glad that you signed up Renee. The camera loves her. She doesn’t need any of your so called training.”

Saturday, November 28, 2015:

The day after the photo shoot, Ms. Shay had the proof of her ad on her desk. She also had a contract from the modeling agency for me to sign. “And how is the new star of the modeling business today?” she said, as she handed me a copy of the ad. One of my pictures was largest and most prominent.

Ms. Shay then added, “I spoke with Mrs. Bates, the head of the Bates modeling agency. She loves you. She even told me how proud she was of Sylvia ‘discovering’ you and signing you up before any other agency snapped you up. I just let all that slide, even if Sylvia was an ass, and had handed her boss a load of you-know-what. Oh, by the way, the lady from the newspaper was really impressed with you. She writes a column called ‘On The Runway’ which appears in the Sunday style section of the paper, and you and the store will be mentioned. Great advertising.”

Sunday, November 29, 2015:

Amy was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when I came downstairs for breakfast. When she saw me, she exclaimed, “Oooh, we have a celebrity in our midst!”

“Huh?” I responded.

“Look at the paper,” she said as she handed me the Style section of the paper. “Look at the ad for your store, you’re all over it. Not only that but check out the fashion column. Both you and your store are mentioned,” Amy continued and said, “and look at this photo in the column, you’re called a ‘rising star in modeling.’ I’m so happy that you’re my sister.”

My mother entered the kitchen at that moment. “Who’s you sister?” she asked. “You don’t have a sister.” With that, Amy thrust the paper into my mother’s hands. My mother looked at it. Her only comment was, “Oh my!”

Just then the phone rang and my mother answered it. “It’s Becky, and she wants to speak with the rising star in modeling.” I reluctantly took the phone.

“Did you see it?” she asked. I figured out what ‘it’ was.

“Yeah,” I responded. “So much for keeping my cross dressing low key,” I complained. “Now all the kids at school will know about it.”

I was scheduled to start work that afternoon at 1:00. When I arrived at the store, it seemed more crowded than usual. When Ms. Shay saw me she hurried across the store to greet me. “Isn’t it absolutely wonderful?” she exclaimed. “People have come here to see you, and lot of them have bought dresses.” It was then that I noticed that someone had printed out a photo of me and had written ‘Our own Renee’ on it and had pasted a border of gold stars around it like a frame. It was prominently posted by the cash register.

It was then that a customer recognized me. “After I saw the paper, I just had to come here and meet you,” she told me. Her attention to me caused other customers to notice and I soon had customers all around me. I noticed that Ms. Shay had loaded a rack with the clothes that had appeared in the ad.

“Ladies,” I announced, “the clothes in the ad are on the rack. We have a good collection of different sizes.”

“Not all the sizes, now,” Ms. Shay announced. “Get them while you can.”

Some of the customers had brought the Style section of the paper with them and asked me to autograph my picture which I gladly did.

There was a line at the fitting rooms, and when a customer approached me, I turned her over to one of the other clerks to ring up the sale. Ms. Shay noticed this and whispered to me. “You’re giving all your sales to the other girls.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “they didn’t get a chance to model, so it only seems right.” During the day the other girls came up to me and thanked me for letting them get the commissions.

I was tired and hungry when I arrived at my house. Amy and my parents were waiting for me in the kitchen. My father frowned when he saw how I was dressed, but said nothing.

“Well,” Amy asked, “how did it go today? Did anyone say anything about the stuff in the paper?”

“Oh boy,” I answered, “did they ever. The store was packed when I got there, and we were busy all day. Ms. Shay had copies of the column and pictures all over the store, and lots of people wanted to see me and talk with me. I guess that it was my ‘fifteen minutes of fame,’ except it lasted all day. I glad it’s all over, and things can go back to normal.”

“Don’t bet on it,” my father muttered.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015:

I was working an evening shift. The stuff from Sunday was still prominently displayed, and there were a lot of customers in the store. Ms. Shay came up to me as soon as I entered the store. “Our rising star!” she said as a greeting. I just blushed. “You really made a hit. We had a very profitable weekend, mainly because of you.”

Later on, Ms. Shay pulled me aside. “I’ve had several calls from Ms. Bates from the modeling agency. It appears that you are ‘hot stuff.’ She had calls from her clients who want you as a model, and she wants me to allow that. I want to talk with you and maybe allow a few. Think about it.”

“I don’t know,” I replied, and then continued, “I don’t have a lot of time, with school and all, and I don’t want to leave you short handed at the store while I’m at photo shoots.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, “but this might be your big chance.”

Later on, I recognized one of our ‘special customers.’ It was Mr. Stevens, who had been Mr. Thompson’s ‘date’ at the Jones’ New Year’s Eve party, except that at this time he didn’t look much like a ‘Mister.’ He, or maybe I should say ‘she’ was wearing a conservative dark blue dress with an A-line skirt. Her makeup was also conservatively done and she was wearing a styled wig. Altogether, she looked pretty good. “Hello, Renee,” she said.

“Oh, hi, Mr., er, ah. . .” I said with some hesitation in my voice.

“Stephanie,” he said. “Stephanie Stevens,” she added with a big smile. “I like the alliteration, Stephanie and Stevens.”

“So, how can we help you?” I said.

“Not ‘we’ but ‘you.’ I came to see you,” he said. “It appears that the Mr. and Mrs. Jones are hosting a formal New Year’s Eve party again this year, and Mr. Thompson has invited me as his date.”

“Oh?” I said.

“If you’re going to be there, in a formal gown, I want to wear a formal gown also.”

“I haven’t been invited,” I admitted.

“Oh,” she said. “Look,” she added, “my date, Mr. Thompson works with Mr. Jones, and maybe he can drop some non-subtle hints to see that you’re invited. For the moment, let’s assume that it works, so let’s find a smashing gown for me. I’m wearing padding on my butt and hips, so we can do a tight fitting gown,” she advised, “and with a slit, definitely a slit, so I can show off some leg.”

She tried on quite a few gowns. With pleasure, I noted that price was not a consideration. We finally selected a gown in cream colored satin. The skirt was form fitting and it did have a slit which came up to above mid thigh. It had spaghetti straps with a deep plunging vee neckline. It came with a short sleeve chiffon bolero jacket.

“So, what will you wear?” she asked.

“Probably what I wore last year,” I said. “Assuming, of course, I’m invited,” I added.

“But everyone already saw you wearing it,” she complained.

“And they’ll see it again.”

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 10
By Pentatonic

Saturday, December 5, 2015:

Becky was going into her third trimester soon, and she was beginning to show. Naturally, most of her clothes no longer fit her, so it was decided that Auntie Renee would go clothes shopping with her. Shopping for maternity clothes was a novel experience for me, but Becky and I soon got into the swing of it. Of prime importance were clothes she could wear to school. We thought that clothes that would fit during her whole term were best.

It wasn’t long before Becky’s budget for maternity clothes was exhausted, so I kicked in some of my earnings to round out her new wardrobe. When we returned to Becky’s house her mom insisted on a fashion show. I didn’t know if her mom would approve of me being present during clothes changes, but she said, “I’m assuming that both of you went into the fitting rooms together, so you should stay.”

After modeling all of her maternity clothes, Becky was standing in the center of her room, wearing only her bra and panties. Her rounded belly was obvious, and for reasons which were not clear to me, I rubbed her belly and said, “Hi baby, I’m your auntie Renee.” Both Becky and her mom chuckled when I said this.

“I’m really glad that we have an auntie Renee. It’s important to me,” Becky’s mom said. With that, she stood up and made to leave the room.

Then she said something which made no sense to me at the time, “I’m going to leave you two to have some time together,” and with a leering smile she left the room, closing the door behind her.

I soon found out what Becky’s mom had meant, when Becky took my hands, pulled me to my feet, gave me a hug, and rubbed her belly against mine. When we broke off the embrace, she reached behind her and took off her bra. She then took my hand and put it on her naked breast. With a wicked smile, she then said, “Mom suggested this.” It wasn’t long thereafter that we both were naked, lying side by side on her bed.

Sunday, December 6, 2015:

It was after I returned from work, still dressed as Renee, that my mother turned to Amy and me and announced, “As you two should have figured out, we are hosting the family Christmas dinner, and your father and I expect both of you to be there and on good behavior.”

“Look,” I responded, “I’ll be on good behavior, but what about uncle Ralph?”

“You just worry about yourselves,” she responded, “your aunt Marie and I will take care of him, even if it involves the use of duct tape.” Her last comment caused Amy and me to smile.

She then added, “I expect the two of you to clean up the house and help with the dinner.”

“If I help with dinner, does that mean that I can stay in the kitchen the whole time?” I responded.

“No!” she announced. She turned to me, and added, “And you will wear a suit.”

“A suit?” I questioned. I knew what she meant, but I decided to be a smart alec. “I have this nice suit with a pencil skirt and matching tailored jacket. Maybe a ruffled blouse?”

Amy thought this was humorous, and began to chuckle. My father didn’t. “You know darn well what your mother meant, so stop being a smarty pants,” he exploded.

“Maybe that should be ‘smarty panties’,” Amy said under her breath.

Unfortunately our father heard this and he said, “You behave yourself, young lady.”

After dinner, Amy and I went to her room. “I liked your idea,” she said. “Maybe if you wore the suit with a pencil skirt, our uncle Ralph would blow a gasket when he saw you.” We both laughed.

Friday, December 18, 2015:

It was the last day of school before the Christmas break. Some of the teachers had a mean streak and loaded us up with homework “to keep us from getting bored over the Holidays,” as one teacher said.

The English teacher assigned us to read Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare and to write an essay about some aspect of the play. Since the play involves cross-dressing, I figured that I would write about that.

I gave Becky a ride home from school, and when we arrived at her house, she invited me in for a snack. We were sitting at the kitchen table when her mother walked in, “I don’t know if we gave you an invitation to our New Year’s Eve party, but we’d love it if Auntie Renee would attend. Since the party will run late, maybe you’d like to spend the night here.”

I left shortly thereafter and went home to change for my job. When I arrived at the store, Ms. Shay said that there was a modeling job which I might like, and the photo shoot would be on Tuesday. It was for a mail ad for a Valentine’s Day party at a local night spot. “What will I wear?” I asked.

“They want you to wear something sexy, and one condition is that they have to buy it here,” she said. “We can pick out three dresses for you, and let the client choose.”

“Do I wear one of them when I go to the shoot?”

“No,” she replied, “we can pick out something here for you to wear. I’ll get the details from Ms. Bates. She even said that she will pick you up from here and bring you back. I think she’s doing that so she can get a good look at you.”

Tuesday, December 22, 2015:

I woke up very early to fix my hair and apply some makeup, since I was told to be ready at the store at 8:30 in the morning. The night before I glued on my breast forms to avoid any accidents like one of them popping out of my cups. I also applied some makeup to cover the join, since the dresses which Ms. Shay had picked were rather revealing. Ms. Shay had picked out a skirt and blouse combination to wear to and from the shoot. The skirt was shorter than I liked, and if I was not careful everyone could see my stocking tops and garter straps.

I had packed a ‘Renee’ suitcase with some shoes, my makeup and some extra underclothing ‘just in case.’ Mrs. Bates arrived at about 8:45. I had never met her before, and my initial impression was that she was attempting to look young, despite the ravages of age. Up close, one could see that she was not completely successful.

Mrs. Bates examined me from head to foot, like she was examining livestock at a state fair. She even lifted the hem of my already short skirt to ensure that I was wearing stockings and garters. “Pick up your skirt,” she then commanded, “and let me see your legs.” After I had done so, she commented, “very nice.” We then loaded the dresses and my ‘Renee’ case into her car and headed off to the shoot.

The photo shoot was at the night club, which didn’t open for business until late in the afternoon. The photographer and the rest of the crew were the same people who had been at my first photo shoot. There were about a half dozen models present. The manager of the night club welcomed all of us, and proceeded to select what clothes all of us were to wear for the shoot. Naturally, he chose the dress with the longest slit for me to wear.

I took off my street clothes and put on a robe for makeup. The makeup was nighttime makeup and heavily applied. I put on some sparkly dangling earrings to go with the nighttime look. I noted that only one other female model was wearing stockings and garters.

My first shot had me sitting sideways at the bar facing a good looking guy. We were holding drinks and smiling at each other; at least I was smiling. He was leering. Of course, the slit in my dress was facing the camera, and after a few shots the photographer arranged my skirt to have my whole leg, stockings and garter straps exposed. He and the manager liked this and a lot more shots were taken like this, including some that involved kissing.

There were a lot of shots taken, some at tables, some at booths and some on the dance floor. As could be expected, the photos of me dancing involved me showing a lot of leg through the slit. It being a Valentine’s Day event, there were poses of couples kissing. Naturally, as before, I was the girl in some couples, with a lot of leg showing through the slit.

The photo shoot was finished by about 1:00 and the club provided sandwiches and non-alcoholic drinks for all present. I got to keep the dress which I wore for the photos. The manager came over to me and said, “I’d like it if you came to the Valentine’s Day party wearing that dress.”

“I’d like to,” I replied, “but I’m not twenty-one.” I could see the disappointment on his face.

I took the time to thank the photographer and his crew, and I asked him if I could have a few copies of my photographs for my portfolio, “Let me look at them and select a half dozen of the best for you, except that might be a hard job, since all of your photos are great.”

On the ride home, Mrs. Bates was all bubbly. “I’m so happy to see you in action, you were wonderful. You really impressed the photographer and the manager. I can see a lot of work for you in the future.”

When we returned to the mall, we brought the dresses and my case back to the store, and Mrs. Bates and Ms. Shay engaged in an animated discussion of how the shoot went. “Renee was the star of the shoot,” Mrs. Bates enthused.

After work I took the dress home to show it to my sister. Naturally, I had to put it on for her. “That is one sexy dress,” she exclaimed, “Where are you going to wear it?”

“I’ll wear it at the store a few times. Otherwise, I don’t know,” I said, with a tinge of sorrow in my voice.

“Then you’ll let me wear it?”

“Sure, isn’t that what sisters do?” I said, with my frown turning to a smile.

“Hey, keep it on,” Amy said, “You’ve got to ask Becky to come over and see you in it.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“How about Dad?” she asked.

“He won’t like it, so why upset him,” I replied.

Becky loved the dress, and had to play with the slit. “You know, I bet Joe would absolutely love to see you in this dress,” she commented.

“He won’t,” I said.

Friday, December 25, 2015:

I had evaded my mother’s family on Thanksgiving by working all day at the store. I had no excuse to do the same on Christmas, since the store was closed on Christmas Day and my family was hosting the dinner. The past few days had seen hectic activity in cleaning the house, buying the food and putting up Christmas decorations.

We opened gifts in the morning and afterwards I took a shower and put on my Roy suit. The relatives were supposed to arrive at about 4:00 so I was able to have a few minutes to visit Becky at her house and exchange gifts. When I arrived at her house, Mrs. Jones answered the door. “No Auntie Renee?” she exclaimed.

“We’re hosting the family dinner, and my relatives don’t want to see Renee. Remember what happened last New Year’s Day.”

“Oh yes,” she said, “Now I understand.”

“But you’ll see Renee on New Year’s Eve,” I added, “If not before.”

I had picked up my photos from the night club photo shoot, and brought them with me. “Do you want to see some photos?”

Of course they did. I had six photos and a proof of the mail ad. The mailing was a post card, and I was prominently shown kissing on half of the side where the mailing label would go. This picture was surrounded by a big heart. There were other pictures in a montage on the other side. In all photos I was showing a lot of leg.

“You look very sexy,” Becky’s mom said.

“That seemed to be the general idea.”

I arrived back home shortly before the guests were to arrive. Amy and I were put in charge of greeting them at the door and taking their coats. Then the moment of truth arrived; I saw my aunt Marie and uncle Ralph approaching the door, and steeled myself for a confrontation which never arrived.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Marie, Uncle Ralph,” Amy and I said in unison.

“And a Merry Christmas to you, Amy and Roy,” my aunt said. My uncle just grunted. The sour expression on his face was obvious to all but especially to my aunt. “Ralph. . .” she said menacingly. It was at this point he said “Merry Christmas.”

I was attempting to interest my male cousins in a recent movie which I had purchased when my sister called me. “Roy, do you have a minute?”

“Sure, sis, what’s up?”

“Come to my room.”

My sister and female cousins were all in her room, with slightly wicked smiles on their faces. Nothing good could come from this, I thought. On prominent display was the dress which I wore at the photo shoot at the night club. Why did I ever tell her she could borrow it? I thought.

“Roy, what do you think of this dress?” she asked with a look of false innocense on her face.

“Very nice,” I said, feigning disinterest.

“Oh, come now,” Amy said, “take a better look at it,”

I walked over to where the dress was hanging. My cousins were now giggling. I pulled out the skirt, revealing the slit, and frowned. “Hardly suitable for a girl your age. It’s rather tarty,” I said.

“Too tarty to wear to a night club? On Valentine’s Day?” cousin Rachael chirped up.

“Maybe you’d like to see some pictures of this dress?” my sister said, as she picked up my portfolio. Now all of the girls were laughing. I was caught.

“Okay Roy,” cousin Natalie said, “time to spill the beans. We want details.”

“We want all of the details,” cousin Sandy said.

“Well, I’m a model with the Bates agency, and I was hired for a photo shoot.”

“Wearing that dress?” Sandy asked.

Before I could answer, Natalie asked, “At a night club?”

“It was a photo shoot, done before the club opened for the day,” I said, “They wouldn’t have let me in if they were open, because I’m underage.”

“But that is you, wearing that dress?” Rachael asked.

“Yes,” I softly admitted.

“How come Amy has the dress in her closet?”

“Because she asked if she could borrow it, and I said yes,” I said, “It’s a sisterly thing to do,” I added, instantly regretting what I has said.

“So you consider yourself to be Amy’s sister?”

“Sorta, and at some times.” I admitted, “It’s sort of a secret,” I added.

“Look, I’ll keep the secret if you go around with me, dressed like that, to pick up boys. You are a real boy magnet,” Rachael added.

“Wow, my cousin’s a fashion model,” commented Sandy.

I then related how I became a model, and told them how much I earned for a photo shoot. This discussion continued until we were called to dinner. Thankfully, Uncle Ralph and I were seated at opposite ends of the table, and there were no unseemly outbursts from him. For my part, I said as little as absolutely necessary.

After dinner, I mentioned to my sister and cousins that I would be wearing that dress at the store on Wednesday, and they could see me in it if they came to the store.

“We’ll be there,” Rachael said.

“You can bet your panties in it,” Natalie added, and the cousins chuckled loudly.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015:

True to their words, Amy and my cousins showed up at the store, and true to my word I wore the dress. When Ms. Shay saw us, she came over and said, “Here’s some cash, so why don’t you go to the food court and cause some excitement.” We packed some filler in some of the store’s bags and brought them with us to show that we shopped at the store.

We went to the food court and did indeed cause some excitement. Several women asked if my dress came from the store, and I told them that it did.

Thursday, December 31, 2015:

Today I arrived at the store when it opened so I could leave early and get dressed for the New Year’s Eve party. My mother had not wanted me to stay the night at Becky’s house, but Mrs. Jones pointed out that the party would run well past midnight, and that there were a lot of crazy drivers on the road. Finally she talked my mother into letting me stay overnight.

I packed my car with my Renee suitcase and hung my gown in the back of the car. It was the same gown that I had worn the year before. Ms. Shay wanted me to get a new gown. “You’re a model,” Ms. Shay said, “You can’t wear the same gown two years in a row.” I pointed out that I wouldn’t have a lot of places to wear a gown, new or old. I also pointed out that I was running out of closet space, because I also had all of my Roy clothes in my closet.

“You are a representative of the store,” Ms. Shay responded, “Wearing the same gown would be a negative reflection of the store.” Ms. Shay and I went over to where the evening gowns were. After she looked at what was there, she pulled a satiny royal blue gown from the rack and handed it to me. “Here,” she said, “try it on and let’s see how it looks.”

When I put it on, I noticed that it had a long slit. I pointed it out to Ms. Shay. “Most of the gowns which you have worn have a slit. Your public likes it.” I liked the gown, regardless of what ‘my public’ liked, so I bought it, using some of my money from the night club shoot and my 60% discount.

I let Amy wear the dress which I modeled at the night club shoot. When my mother saw the extent of the slit, she offered to sew it shut. “It’s shameless,” she declared.

“If it’s good enough for my sister, it’s good enough for me.” Amy replied. My mother frowned when Amy said ‘sister’ but didn’t say anything. My mother did insist, however, that Amy wear pantyhose and not stockings and garters. “Showing off the tops of stockings and garters is just too immodest,” she declared.

I, however, was not prohibited from wearing stockings and garters. Maybe my mother believed that I was beyond hope of reforming. If so, she was right.

The first thing I did when I arrived home from work was to use hair remover and take a shower. I used a very floral smelling lotion afterwards. I then glued on my breast forms and used concealer to hide the join. This was followed with my hose and corset. I also put on the sexiest panties and topped it off with a skirt and blouse, which I would also wear coming home the next day. Finally, I packed a very sexy nightgown. Suitably equipped, I went to Becky’s house.

Becky wanted to help me get dressed, which wasn’t totally necessary. I guess that she wanted me to help her get dressed, which also wasn’t totally necessary. However it would be fun, so that was what we did. Once in her bedroom, she unzipped my skirt and let it fall to the floor. The skirt was lined, so I was not wearing a slip. She then unbuttoned my blouse and I shrugged it off. I then undressed Becky and kissed her pregnant belly. Soon our panties joined our other clothes on the floor.

As we did the year before, Becky and I greeted the guests at the door and took their coats. I was particularly interested to see what Mr. Thompson’s companion, Stephanie, would be wearing. I was not disappointed. She was wearing the gown she and I had picked out at the store.

“You look stunning,” I said.

“Thank you.” she said, “and so do you. Isn’t that a new gown?”

“It is,” I answered. “I took your suggestion. It isn’t as glamorous as your gown, because I don’t want to compete with you.”

“You are such a dear,” she said, and we gave each other air kisses, the better to not smudge our lipsticks.

A while later she pulled me aside and said, “I received a mailer about a Valentine’s Day party at a certain night club. Do you know anything about it?”

I blushed. “Ahah,” she exclaimed, “It appears you do. Now tell me all about it.”

I explained that I was doing some modeling and was assigned to that photo shoot. “I’ll bet that you were first choice for the photo shoot,” she said.

“I wouldn’t know about that. What I do know is that it pleased Ms. Shay, because the night club had to pay for the dress, and after the shoot it was given to me.”

“I’d like to see you in that dress. How come you’re not wearing it tonight?”

“I didn’t think it was formal enough and I loaned it to my sister to wear it tonight,” I answered.

“But it is sexy enough,” Stephanie commented. “By the way,” she added, “I liked the photo of you kissing that man. It looked like you enjoyed it. Did you?”

“I did, he was a good kisser.”

“So you don’t mind kissing men?”

“No, but I also like kissing girls.”

“I have to visit the washroom,” she then said. “Why don’t you come with me?”

I had a good idea what Stephanie wanted, but I wanted the same thing. When we were in the washroom and the door was closed, she said, “Would you let me kiss you right now, given that we both know the other is male?”

I answered her by embracing her and giving her a deep, passionate kiss.

“Wow.” she said, “Let’s do that again.”

We did. “Looks like both of us have to repair our lipsticks,” she said.

After fixing out lipsticks, she said, “It probably would be better if neither Robert nor Becky, or anyone else, knows about this.”

I agreed with her, and we rejoined the party.

The party wound down at about 2:00, and another half hour passed before the last guest left. Becky’s mom and I were picking up glasses in the front room when she said to me, “I really appreciate the support you’ve given Becky. Being pregnant, she feels that she is not attractive or sexy. Therefore, I’d like you to share her bed with her tonight. I found some pretty, matching, nighties for the two of you to wear.”

What could I say? Becky’s mother really wanted me to have sex with Becky. How could I resist? The plain truth was that I couldn’t resist the invitation.

Friday, January 1, 2016:

Becky and I woke up about 10:00. There were clothes scattered all over the room. I found my nightie crumpled in the bed clothes. At least I thought it was mine. A further search turned up the other nightie. Clad only in the nightie, I went to take a shower. While in the hall, I met Becky’s Mom. She smiled at me, and said, “That nightie looks good on you.” I thanked her and went into the bathroom.

After my shower, I realized that the only thing I had brought with me to the bathroom was the nightie, so I put it on. Becky did the same. We heard Becky’s mom call out that breakfast was ready. Since Becky’s mom had already seen me clad only in a nightie, I figured that it was okay for me to wear it downstairs. Becky and I, so clad, walked into the kitchen hand in hand.

Becky’s mom smiled when she saw us. “Those nighties look darling on you, but I don’t want you to catch a cold, so why don’t you get dressed and come back down in a few minutes.” I dressed in the same skirt and blouse that I had on when I arrived at Becky’s house the previous day.

When Becky passed by her mom, I heard Becky say. “Thanks Mom, for everything.” Becky’s mom had a knowing look on her face when Becky said this.

It was about noon when I arrived home. I had hoped to make it to my room without seeing anyone. No such luck. My parents and Amy were all sitting in the kitchen when I went through the back door.

“Did you have a good time?” my mother asked, which produced a giggle from my sister. My mother then realized what she had asked and rephrased her question, “How was the party?”

“Okay,” I said, “it was lots of fun.”

“I’ll bet it was,” my sister remarked with a wicked smile. I just gave her a dirty look in response.

My father, who had remained silent during this exchange, finally spoke up, “I have a New Year’s resolution for you. No more dresses or skirts.”

This was too much for Amy. “Does that include skorts or culottes?” she piped up with a snicker.

“Amy, you keep out of this,” Dad said, “This is between your brother and me.” He looked at me and asked, “So?”

“No,” was my brief answer. “I will work at the store from time to time and there are the modeling jobs,” I added.

“Well.” he said, “anything else?”

“Yeah, when Becky and I go shopping for the baby. If I dress as Roy, everyone will think that I’m the father.”

“They already do,” he responded. You wearing a skirt won’t change that. By the way, I’m not so happy with the fact that my son is a fashion model for women’s clothes. That night club ad is shameless.”

“But it means money,” I said, “good money that I can use towards my college education.” He couldn’t argue with that, I thought.

“Look, Dad,” Amy said, “I don’t want to give up my sister,”

My dad just snorted and said no more.

The New Year’s Day dinner was held at my aunt Marie’s and uncle Ralph’s. I was viewing it with some foreboding, given my uncle’s behavior a year before. As every year before the men went to the rec room to watch bowl games, which meant a lot of people in the room. My dad, uncles and male cousins plopped and sprawled in most of the seats in the room. I spied a straight back chair at a desk in the corner of the room, away from everyone else.. Force of recent habit took over and I sat on the front of the chair, my back straight, shoulders back, knees together, legs crossed at the ankles and my hands in my lap, just as I would if I were wearing a skirt. I didn’t realize that this was the wrong thing to do until uncle Frank gave me a strange look during a commercial, and asked, “Hey Roy, something wrong with you?”

I suddenly realized what happened, and I had to think fast. “Got a crick in my back,” and wriggled as if trying to work it out. I then slumped down in the chair and threw one arm over the back of the chair.

Uncle Ralph had to try to be mean and funny at the same time. ‘Probably comes from wearing a bra all the time,” Thankfully everyone ignored him. It was at this time it was announced that dinner was ready.

On the way up to the dining room my cousin Phil whispered, “You still doing. . .ah. . .you know what?”

I knew exactly what he meant. “Yeah,” I whispered back.

“Why?”

“Money. I still work at the store, and in addition I’m doing modeling.”

“Like girl’s clothes?”

“Exactly,” I responded.

“Cool,” he said. “I’d like to see you sometime, dolled up like a chick.”

“I’ll be at the store tomorrow. Swing by, and see for yourself.”

The rest of the day passed without incident. As I was taking stuff out of my purse, I noted a card that I had not seen before. It said ‘Call me, Stephanie’ and it had her cell phone number. I put it in a book, like a book mark. I wondered why she had given it to me.

A new year. I hoped it would be a good one.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 11
By Pentatonic

Monday, January 4, 2016:

The first day back at school after the break was cold and overcast, the weather mirroring the moods of the student body. Mr. Burns, the English teacher, on the other hand, walked into class with a smile on his face. “Hope you all enjoyed Twelfth Night. Does anyone know what twelfth Night is?” I knew, but I didn’t want to call attention tp myself. “Anyone?” he repeated. Reluctantly, I raised my hand.

“Mr. Evans?” he said.

“It’s the end of the Christmas Season, and involves a lot of drinking and eating.”

“Very good,” Mr. Burns responded, “which is tomorrow for those who care. Please remember that your papers are due on Wednesday, which is Epiphany. From your papers I should be able to discover who actually read the play and who only surfed the internet for easy answers.”

I felt smug. Not only had my friends and I read it together and discussed it among ourselves, but I had actually written my paper, It was entitled: ‘Twelfth Night - Successful Cross-Dressing.’ In my paper I also made references to Cheribino’s cross-dressing in Der Rosenkavalier. I had my completed paper in my backpack, but was reluctant to turn it in early and incite the ire of my classmates.

Monday, January 11, 2016:

Mr. Burns brought our papers into class. “Well, it seems that some of you tried to fake it, and it was obvious, an ephiphany of sorts. However, there was a group of you whose papers were very good. I don’t want to embarrass anyone, but perhaps Miss Jones could explain what she did.”

“A group of us met and we assigned roles and we read the play aloud and together, since the play was intended to be heard. After each act we shared our thoughts,” Becky explained, “It took more time than the run time, but we had a lot of fun. The biggest problem was finding a time when everyone was available. We also discovered that we had some unrepentant hams in our group. I would tell you who they were, but some of their egos are already at the bursting point.” This produced a chuckle from the members of the class.

“You have discovered the best way to understand a play. I commend you and your fellow students,” Mr. Burns said.

All eight of us received ‘A’s on our papers.

That afternoon Ms. Shay telephoned me. “I received a call from Mrs. Bates. It seems that Coffrey’s Department Stores at the mall wants to do a four page full color ad for spring fashions which will be inserted in the paper to appear on a Sunday. She wants you as one of the models and she wanted to know if that was okay with me before she called you. Naturally, I don’t like a competitor using my employee, but it is too good of an opportunity for you to pass up. The store wants to have a fashion show, complete with a runway, in the food court on the Saturday before the ad appears.”

“Sounds cool,” I said.

“Okay, I’ll have Mrs. Bates call you with the details.”

Thursday, January 14, 2016:

On Wednesday I had spoken with Mrs. Bates and confirmed that I would be delighted to model. “There is a photo shoot at Coffrey’s Department Store a week from today in the afternoon. They’re doing a spring clothes ad and they are using the bridal salon since it has the most room and a pretty background. There will also be a fashion show in the food court of the mall on the Saturday afternoon before the ad is put in the paper. They’re going to set up a runway, and you’ll model various outfits and walk up and down the runway.”

This runway business didn’t seem quite as simple as Mrs. Bates would have one believe. I had seen some views of fashion runway work, and I thought that I better look into it before the actual day.

I then thought about Stephanie’s card.

During lunch hour, I called Stephanie, and expressed my concerns and asked her if she knew anything about working on a runway. “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “Why don’t you stop over at my place this afternoon after school?”

It was a school day, and I was all Roy. I didn’t want to stop off at home and have to answer a bunch of question, so I’d have to go as I was. I did call home and lied to my mother and said that I was going to hang around with some of the guys but would be home before supper. Maybe not too big a lie, because Stephanie was, in truth, a ‘guy.’

When I arrived at her place, Stephanie seemed to be surprised to see Roy at her door. “What? No Renee?” she commented.

“No time to change,” I answered, “remember, I was at school all day?”

Stephanie obviously had time to change. She was wearing a negligee with only a bra and panties underneath and a pair of furry slippers on her feet. She was also wearing expertly applied makeup.

“On the phone you mentioned being in a fashion show and need to learn how to walk down a runway.” she said.

“Yes.”

“As a female?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, now let’s talk about runways,” Stephanie said. “I would expect that there will be a little stage with the runway extending in front of it. I also expect that there will be curtains at the back of the stage. You might come from behind the curtain either in a group or singly. If in a group, you will, one by one, go down the runway, turn, go back and stand on the other side of the stage until everyone has done the runway. If singly, you will come from behind the curtain, alone, and do the runway. They’ll tell you how they want to do it. Now, the important part is how you walk the runway. Let me show you what I mean. Pretend that this hallway is the runway.”

She moved to one end of the hall and walked down it, turned around, and walked back. “The important part is to put one foot directly in front of the other, like this,” and she demonstrated what she meant. “Lead with your toe, not your heel, and put a sway in your behind. It makes your skirt move nicely.” She then demonstrated this. “Your turn is important. If you have a full skirt, you want it to flare up when you turn. Watch me.”

She then had me walk up and down the hall, watching and commenting on how I was walking and turning. Finally she declared that I was ready

Wednesday, January 20, 2016:

The actual photo shoot was not unlike the others in which I had participated except there were a lot more people involved and it was being done ‘green screen.’ With green screen, the only background is a green screen. The background can then be added. There were models present, along with makeup artists. The store provided people to handle wardrobe. The photographer had two assistants. There even was a director.

My first photo had me wearing a yellow print halter sundress. I had one arm extended and someone put a fake bird on my extended index finger, and I looked at the bird and smiled. A lot of shots were taken with me and the bird, with the photographer and director reviewing the shots before taking more. I then modeled a lot of different outfits, and I noticed that some of my fellow models wore the same outfits that I wore. However, no one else did the bird thing.

In general, I followed directions, and at one point the photographer came up to me and said, “Honey, I wish all of my models were like you. You’re good looking, you’re easy to work with, you follow directions and most importantly, the camera loves you. What agency are you with/”

“Bates,” I replied with a smile.

“And your name?”

“Renee Evans.”

“I’ll be sure to ask for you for future shoots,” he concluded. This made me feel good. Another thing that made me feel good was that the director, who was in charge of advertising at Coffrey’s, offered me a job.

Saturday, January 23, 2016:

I awoke early on the day of the fashion show to use a hair remover and to reattach my breast forms. I had used some of the money I earned modeling to buy top of the line breast forms and makeup to conceal the join. I also used some makeup to give a hint of greater cleavage. Naturally, Amy was an enthusiastic helper, even offering to help me with my gaff, which help I declined.

I had a 9:30 appointment at the salon for hair, makeup and nails. I was assured that everything would be completed a little after eleven, which it was.

I very carefully dressed, choosing clothes which would make changing clothes easy, but which also looked good on me.

Amy drove me to the mall to save me from having to spend time looking for a parking space. I arrived with plenty of time to spare and checked in with security. The store had planned to run the show multiple times that day. The first show would be at 1:00, with four other shows starting on the hour thereafter.

My first stop was makeup, and when the makeup artist saw me she said, “Oh Honey, your makeup is wonderful. I don’t have to change a thing. Who did it?”

“I had it done this morning at my salon,” I responded.

“Well, stop by each time before you go on, in case we have to repair anything,” she said.

I then located where I would be changing into the different outfits which I would model. There were clerks from the store assigned to help the models change outfits. The models were put in groups of four, and each model in a group was assigned a number. I was number one in the first group. I would model the same yellow sun dress which I wore in the photo shoot, minus the bird.

All of the outfits to be shown were given a number, and the store had printed a sheet identifying, the outfit by number, a description, where in the store it could be bought and the price. These were freely given to all of the members of the audience. There was a numeric display above the stage which showed the number of the outfit while the model walked down the runway along with an announcer who provided commentary.

The store manager made welcoming remarks and music was started. I listened to the beat, and planned to walk in time to the music. I was the first model in my group of four, and the first model to walk on the stage, accompanied by applause and wolf whistles. As Stephanie had taught me, I pranced down the runway, did my turn which flared out the skirt, and pranced back., wiggling my behind. The audience loved it.

I looked at the audience and recognized Annette from the newspaper, who wrote a weekly column for the style section called ‘On the Runway.’ I had appeared in that column once before where Annette called me a ‘rising star in modeling.’ After the first show, I was sitting and waiting for the makeup lady when Annette came over to me. “Oh, Renee,” she said, “You were absolutely wonderful. Where did you learn that walk?”

“A friend taught me.”

“Well, she did a great job. It was wonderful to see you strut your stuff. By the way, the store’s ad campaign is called ‘Fly Into Spring,’ and you are the centerpiece. Your picture with the bird is front and center in the newspaper insert and is posted all over the mall to draw attention to the fashion show here.”

I was a little surprised with what Annette had said.

Just before Annette excused herself to talk with some of the other models, she said, “Make sure you read my column tomorrow.”

Sunday, January 24, 2016:

I was woken up when I heard my sister yell, “Hey, sis, get your pretty butt down here. Now!”

I was tired when I went to bed the night before, and I had not removed my Breast forms. Given the immediacy of Amy’s request, I put on a bra and some panties and covered it with a terrycloth robe. The first order of business was getting some coffee.

The Sunday paper was spread out on the kitchen table, with the Style section and store ad on top. Amy had an enormous smile on her face, which contrasted with my mother’s frown. My mother was the first to speak. “Shameless,” was all she said.

I had no idea what was going on, so all I could say was “Huh?”

“You!”

“Me?”

“Yes, prancing and strutting around like some loose woman,” she said. She then turned to Amy and said, “I don’t like it when you refer to Roy as your sister. He’s your brother, and don’t forget it.”

“Would someone please tell me what’s going on while I get a cup of coffee. I’m still half asleep?”

“No, you stay where you are until I’m finished with you!” my mother commanded.

“Okay,” I replied, “I’m listening.”

My mother picked up the ad insert and pointed at my picture, the one with the bird. “Look at you, standing under a rose trellis, looking all sweetness and innocence. Then look at you on that runway, looking like sin incarnate.”

“That’s what a model is supposed to do on the runway,” I said in defense. “I get paid money to do that.”

That was the wrong thing to say, because my mother countered, “Like a prostitute gets paid!”

I looked at Amy, and mimed drinking coffee. She got the message and brought me a cup. My mother then picked up the Style section of the paper and shook it at me. “Did you see what that Annette said about you in her column. You shouldn’t be looking to her for proper moral guidance.”

An evil thought came to my mind: better her than Stephanie. My mother was staring at my chest. “I see that you’re still wearing those falsies!” she declared. “Are you also wearing a bra and panties?”

I decided not to answer that question, but that did not stop my mother’s diatribe. “I don’t know whatever came over you to dress like a woman.”

I had too much of her railing at me. “You remember when my class had to write about how it would be to be the opposite sex, and you and Becky went out and bought me a bunch of girl clothes? It was you who started it.”

“But how about the Halloween party and you as the Queen of the Night?” she countered. “Maybe it should have been ‘QUEER of the night.’ Did you see what that Annette said about you in her column?” I obviously had not had a chance to read the column, so my mother supplied some juicy tidbits from it, like “She really knows how to strut her stuff” and “delightfully sexy moves.”

“I saw it and It was just plainly disgusting.” she concluded, but then added, “Go upstairs and get dressed before your father sees you like this.”

Amy grabbed the Style section of the paper and the store ad, and said, “I’ll take these with me so Dad doesn’t see them.” With that she followed me upstairs. Once in my room I took off my robe. “You are wearing a bra and panties!” she exclaimed.

After I took a shower and after I changed into my Roy clothes, I was able to look at Coffrey’s ad and the column written by Annette. She was lavish in her praise of me, even referring to her previous column. When I had finished, Amy said, “You really were the star of the show. Everyone loved you. Look at the ad, there are lots of pictures of you in it. The reaction you got when you were on the runway was fabulous. I am so proud of you and that you are my sister.”

Amy then thought about what she had just said. “You still are my sister, aren’t you?” she asked.

I smiled at her and said, “Absolutely!”

Wednesday, January 27, 2016:

I received a call from the Coffrey’s Manager. “The reaction to you at the fashion show was fabulous,” he said. “There is a lot of interest in you, and a lot of people want to meet you. What we would like to do is have you at the entrance on Saturday and greet customers coming into the store. You would be wearing the yellow sun dress. It would be for about five hours, from 10:00 until 3:00. Are you interested?”

I told him I was, and started planning how to pull this off without my parents knowing about it. I called Becky and told her about it, and we decided that, if necessary, I could get dressed at her house.

I also called Ms. Shay and she said it was okay. I also called Mrs. Bates, and she said she would work out the financial details with the store. She then added, “By the way, after the positive reaction to the show, we’re upping your modeling rates. I think that you’ll be very pleased.”

Saturday, January 30, 2016:

I woke up very early that morning, and put extra care in my makeup and hair, trying to duplicate my look from the fashion show. I even glued on my breast forms and used makeup to hide the join. Amy joined me when I was just finished getting dressed. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“How do I look?” I said in the way of an answer.

“Gorgeous!”

“Now, how do I get out of the house without the parents seeing me?”

“I’ve scouted the situation. Both parents are in the kitchen eating, so I think we can sneak out of the front door.”

I successfully escaped from the house and arrived at the employee’s entrance at the store at about 9:45, where I was met by the store manager. “Your admiring audience is already collecting at the main entrance. Now, let me see how you look,”

I took off my coat and he looked me up and down. When he was finished, he declared, “Fabulous!”

The manager and I made our way to the front entrance where I was greeted with applause and whistles. I noted that there were a lot of pictures of me posted all over. All of this gave me a warm glow and I smiled. I then addressed the crowd, and said, “I’m looking forward to chatting with each of you, but first you should notice that there is a list of outfits from a week ago, and there is a video monitor replaying the fashion show. The reason I mention this is that if you buy one of the outfits and show the sales clerk the list, you get an automatic fifteen percent discount.”

The store manager then took over. “One other thing is that there are pictures of Renee on this table, and if you have a sales receipt from the store for any day in the past two weeks, you get a picture and Renee will personally autograph it if you want.” This did not seem to be a big deal to me, but it did cause a buzz of excitement and a flurry of searching through purses and pockets. “This offer is good for the next five hours, so if you can’t find a receipt, we have plenty of merchandise on hand, so if you buy anything, and I mean anything, that will work.”

I began to mingle with the people and made it a point to talk with each and everyone present. To my delightful surprise, they acted like I was a real celebrity, and not just some kid from the local high school. While this was going on, the manager was handing out photographs. I did notice receipts being handed from one person to another, and I was sure that the manager noticed the same. However, that didn’t phase him and he kept on handing out photographs, which was the main idea. The photos were of me under the trellis with the fake bird on my finger and were printed on glossy paper. I guess that if people thought they were of some value, it would be great advertising for Coffrey’s.

I then sat down at a small table and began autographing each photo as it was handed to me. I even personalized them if requested. Naturally I had to be pleasant and charming as I could be with a big smile on my face. The manager noticed this and smiled back at me.

After the initial crowd had their autographed photos, things quieted a bit. It was then that I noticed a trio of girls who were in my class at school. One of them kept staring at me. “Excuse me for staring, but you remind me of someone I know, but I just can’t place her,” she said.

Good pronoun, I thought. “I hope she’s not prettier than I am,” I said.

“No, no, nobody could be prettier than you.” she replied. Talk about an ego boost. The fact that she couldn’t place me was a plus. Maybe it’s the fake boobs, I thought. If so, they were worth every penny I paid for them, and that was a lot of pennies.

During my greeting session, a lot of the customers took my photo on their cell phones, some of me alone but most of them with me posing with their friends. There was, however, a man who hung around most of the time snapping photos. He had the look of a professional photographer. When I asked the manager, I was told that the store had hired a photographer for the event. “We plan on doing a piece on our spring ad campaign, and today’s event will be part of it,” he said, “I’ll get you some nice prints for your portfolio,” he added.

Naturally, Amy, Becky and my friends had to show up and get autographed photos. Later on, Amy came up to me. “My, my,” she said, “Aren’t we the celebrity.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “fifteen minutes of fame, and my feet feel like I’ve used fourteen minutes of them already.”

“No,” she answered, “you’ve got a lot more minutes coming. By the way, when you are ready to come home, give me a call and we can figure out how we can get you into your room and back to being Roy without the parents any wiser.”

“Thanks sis,” I said, “I couldn’t do it without you,”

“That’s what sisters do for each other,” she said.

Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 12 - Conclusion
By Pentatonic

[Author’s note: I’m sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter. Some things came up and turned my life around, and now things are settling down.]

Friday, February 5, 2016

I had another counseling session, this time with my parents. I wanted to resolve the growing hostility they had to my dressing as a female. Naturally, my modeling was a big part of it.

After the usual bringing Dr. Devlin up to date, I said, “I get the feeling that my parents want me to totally stop dressing as a girl.”

“Is that true?” she asked my parents.

“Absolutely!” my father asserted and then added, “We think that this has gone on way too far.”

“In what way,” Dr. Devlin asked.

“He’s our son, not our daughter,” my mother answered.

“But I thought you three had worked out a deal?” Dr. Devlin asked.

“We had, but it didn’t work,” my mother said.

“What changed?”

“He’s a female model,” my father said.

“For which I am well paid,” I interjected.

“What happened is he was hired for a department store spring fashion ad campaign,” my mother said.

“What’s wrong with that? He said he was well paid.”

My mother retrieved the store ad and the Style section of the paper from her purse. “Just look at that,” she said.

“It’s a pretty picture of him in a sun dress. That can’t be all there is too it.”

“Look at what that Annette wrote about him on the runway in the fashion show. I was there, and I saw it all. I was never so embarrassed in my whole life,” my mother said.

“Why were you embarrassed? Did they announce that he was a boy and your son. Did anyone connect that he was your son?”

“No, that wasn’t it,” my mother said, “It was the way he carried on while on the runway. It was shameless, it was almost immoral. Look at the way this Annette person described it.” She handed Dr. Devlin a copy of the column.

Dr. Devlin read it and looked at me. “Did you really ‘strut your stuff’ and have sexy moves”?

“Maybe a little, but the audience loved it as well as the manager of the store.”

“How about you?” Dr. Devlin asked me, “did you like doing it?”

“I did,” I answered, “I felt so connected with the audience. I want to keep doing modeling, not only for the money, but for the pleasure it gives me.”

“Do you feel that you really are a girl inside?” Dr. Devlin asked me.

“Sometimes, maybe most of the time.”

“Well, I don’t want him to feel that he is a girl,” my father said, “inside or out. I want him to stop wearing female clothes as long as he’s living under my roof.”

“You mean you’d kick him out on the street?” Dr. Devlin asked with astonishment.

I was frightened and began to cry before my father could answer Dr. Devlin’s question. I wondered where I’d go if I was out on the street. My mother moved over to me and tried to comfort me with a hug. I pushed her away. “You don’t love me. You don’t want me to be your child.” I said between sobs. Now my mother started crying uncontrollably.

Now it was plain that everyone was upset. My father must have realized the consequences of what he had said. After a few minutes of crying filling the room, my father said, “I didn’t mean I’d kick him out in the street. I withdraw what I said.”

It is very difficult, if not impossible, to retract what has been said, and I continued to cry. My mother seemed to have recovered somewhat, and said, “Maybe we ought to go home.”

‘Home,’ I thought, where was my home? Did I still have one? Where would I go? Should I just marry Becky and the two of us find a place to live? I had some money saved for college, and we could survive if I dropped out of school and got a job. Could I continue working as a model? Alternatively, would Stephanie take me in?

By now I was curled up in a fetal position and hugging my legs. I was still crying. My mother stood up and put her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Honey, let’s go home,” she said.

“Home?” I sobbed, “do I have a home?” I didn’t move. “Why don’t you and Dad go and leave me alone?”

Dr. Devlin was visibly upset at possibly having witnessed the breakdown of a family. “Roy, you shouldn’t be left alone. Go with your parents. I’m sure you will feel better in a while.”

“Okay,” I said, and stood up. My parents and I then left for home.

Amy was sitting at the kitchen table when we arrived. She took one look at me and asked, “What’s wrong?” I didn’t answer her, instead I went upstairs to my room. Amy followed close behind me.

Once in my room, I curled up on my bed and started to really cry. “What happened?” Amy asked. I was crying too hard to answer her. She sat on my bed and hugged me. We stayed that way for some time. Finally, I put on my pajamas and climbed into bed.

Saturday, February 6, 2016

I hadn’t eaten anything the night before, and after a restless night I was hungry. It was very early when I made my way to the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast. Amy must have heard me, and came into the kitchen and sat next to me. She put her arm around me, and asked, “What happened? I asked Mom and Dad, but they wouldn’t tell me. Whatever it was, it had to be bad, because both of them were really upset.”

“It looked like Dad wanted to kick me out of the house.” I said.

“Why?”

“Because I cross dress.”

“I thought that issue was resolved,” she said.

“So did I, but Mom was really ticked off about the fashion show, and Dad wanted me to stop dressing. He said he didn’t want me dressing under his roof. Dr. Devlin asked him if he’d kick me out, but before he could answer, everything went bad.”

“Are you going to stop dressing?” she asked.

“I guess I’ll have to, or face the consequences.”

“What consequences?”

“Find a place to live or someone who would take me in until I graduate.”

“If you stopped dressing you couldn’t do any modeling, could you?”

“That’s about it. I really need the money if I hope to go to college.”

I had finished my breakfast, so I stood up and said. “I’m going upstairs and get dressed, as Roy. Then I’m going out all day. I really don’t want to see Mom and Dad right now.”

“You’re not going to do something stupid are you?” Amy asked with a bit of fear in her voice. “You’re my only sister, or brother as the case may be, and I can’t imagine life without you.”

“Nothing stupid.” I reassured her. I just need time to sort out my thoughts.”

After kicking around all Saturday, I went home and immediately went to bed. When I was in bed, my mother knocked on my bedroom door. “May I come in, Honey?”

“I’d rather that you and Dad just leave me alone,” I answered.

“But your father and I am worried about you,” she said.

“I’ll be okay. Just leave me alone.”

“But you didn’t have anything to eat,” she added.

“I’m not hungry. I just want to be alone.”

“Amy’s worried about you. Will you talk with her?”

“Okay,” I answered.

It was not long before Amy came to my room. She sat on the bed and rubbed her hand on my shoulder. “Mom and Dad are really worried about you, and Mom is upset with Dad. Dad appears to be very sorry about what happened at counseling. By the way, Dr. Devlin called. She seems to be worried about you, Mom and Dad. Won’t you come downstairs and least talk with the folks a bit?”

“Not today, maybe tommorow.” I said.

“You know, feeling sorry about yourself doesn’t do anyone any good. Promise me you’ll talk to them first thing tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, I promise.”

Sunday, February 7, 2016

So on Sunday morning the whole family sat down around the kitchen table. My dad spoke first. “Roy, I’m really sorry what I said on Friday. It just came out, I wasn’t thinking. I want you to know that your mother and I love you deeply, and we would never kick you out of the house, no matter what you decide to wear.” He decided to lighten things up a bit, and said, “I looked at those pictures, and you looked really pretty, stunning in fact.”

This caused me to smile, and I said, “Thanks Dad.”

Then it was my mother’s turn. “I’m sorry I was upset with you. I now realize you were doing what you were hired to do. You were acting a part, and I might add doing it well. Your dad and I love you deeply, and regret upsetting you.”

“I’m sorry for upsetting you and Dad,” I responded.

We all stood up and had a group hug. My mother must have believed that the issue was resolved, because she decided to change the subject. “Have you talked with Becky recently?” Valentine’s Day is only a week away. Are the two of you going anywhere for it?”

“I asked her, but she doesn’t feel up to it, so I’ll probably just spend time with her. She wants to work ahead on her school work, so she won’t fall too far behind when the baby comes.”

“The baby is due in about a month, right?” my dad asked.

“Yeah, the due date is March 18th.”

“Has Becky or her family heard anything from the father?” Dad asked.

“Not a word.”

“Is she taking Lamaze classes? Amy asked.

“She couldn’t get into a class until one that starts this week, so there is a good chance that she’ll have the baby before the classes are completed, but something is better than nothing,” I answered.

“Does she have a partner for the class, since the father is not in the picture?” Amy asked.

“Yeah, and guess who,” I answered.

“They’ll think you’re the father,” my mother commented.

“Let them,” I said, “It doesn’t bother me.” I thought that it wouldn’t happen if I showed up as Renee for the classes. However, this was the wrong time to bring that up.

“How about her school work after she has baby?” my father asked.

“It’s already arranged. I’ll pick up the assignments from the school and bring them back when she does them,” I answered.

“How about tests?” Amy asked.

“I’m not sure, but I imagine they have figured it out. After all, Becky’s not the first girl to get pregnant while in high school.”

We discussed babies for a while. Then my mother suggested that I bring Becky over to visit, which I did. Becky’s mother came along with Becky and the three of them talked ‘baby’ for the rest of the morning.

During lunch I said that Becky and I were going shopping for baby things. That was not exactly how it worked. Both Becky’s mother and my mother invited themselves to be part of the excursion.

My dad found this humorous. “You’re on your own. You’ve got three females to deal with. I expect that your job will be to carry the purchases.

When we got to the mall, there was one fly in the ointment. At the department store, my picture as Renee the model was plastered all over the place. Thankfully, no one mentioned it.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

At the first Lamaze class, everyone assumed that I was the father. I could live with that, since I never expected to see any of our classmates after the baby was born. Mrs. Maynard, the Lamaze instructor, made a point of getting acquainted with all of the participants. “You’re Becky Jones,” right?” she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she consulted her class list, and continued, “and you’re Roy Evans?”

“And you’re the father?”

“No,” I answered. “I’m just a friend.”

“Then where is the father, and why isn’t he here?”

“We’re not married, and he denies paternity,” Becky said.

“Oh.” was all Mrs. Maynard said.

There was a lot of information provided at the class, including what Becky could expect in the near future, all the way through the actual childbirth.

During the class, Becky squeezed my hand and said, “I wish Renee was here.”

“Yeah, but too many people recognize Renee,” I replied, “You’re supposed to be the center of attention, not me.”

“You’re so sweet,” Becky said with a smile.

Saturday, February 13, 2016

It was about 4:00 when Joe called. “I’ve got a problem.” he stated.

“And what might that be?”

“Sue.” He said, and then added,” She’s ticked off at me, and wants to break our date.”

“Why?”

“She claims that I’m seeing someone else.”

“Are you?” I asked.

“No, except for you.”

“Oh great,” I said sarcastically, “so now I get to be ‘the other woman’ when I’m not even a woman.”

“If she won’t go out with me, maybe you would, as Renee?”

“What, did you take extra ‘stupid pills’ this morning? If Renee went out with you, it surely will get back to Sue, in which case she will dump you.”

“So what can I do?”

“Act contrite and swear that there is no other woman. A dozen roses wouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay, I’ll try that. Thanks,” he said and ended the call.

With one problem solved, another one manifested itself. Amy came barging into my room wearing only a bra and panties. “I need your help!” she declared, and then explained, “I’ve got a hot date tonight, and I’ve got nothing to wear!”

“Let me guess,” I said, “the fashion police pulled a raid and confiscated all of you clothes?”

“Very funny,” she said sarcastically, and then walked over to my closet. “Where is that dress you wore for the nightclub photo shoot?”

“I think that Mom thinks that it is too immodest,” I suggested.

She ignored what I said, and started pawing through my closet until she found what she was looking for, and took it out of the closet. “Thanks,” she said as she breezed out of my room.

A half hour later the door to my room was still wide open and I heard my mother’s voice loudly saying, “Amy, that dress is too revealing. I don’t want my daughter to look like a street walker.”

“But it’s okay if your son does?” Amy loudly declared. I shut the door to my room so I didn’t have to hear the rest of their conversation, but what I had heard made me smile.

I didn’t have any wardrobe issues that evening. I was dressed as Roy, and I was going over to visit Becky at her home. Being close to eight months pregnant, Becky didn’t want to go out.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

I had signed up for a full day working at the shop, and after a shower I put in my corset and red hose. I followed that with a red skirt and blouse combination and went downstairs to have some breakfast before I left for work.

Both of my parents were sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper. After a few minutes, my father said, “Disgusting!”

I had an idea what had caused his statement, and decided to say nothing. My mother was not so restrained. “What is it dear?” she asked.

“Look at these ads.” he said as he handed my mother a section of the paper. While he did this I caught a glance of two ads; one for the nightclub and the other for the department store. Both contained my picture.

“Oh my,” she said as she handed the paper back to my father. She then turned to look at me with a very displeased expression on her face.

“I thought we were done with this nonsense,” my father said.

I felt that I had to say something. “My modeling contract allows them to use my image for print ads for a year, provided they pay the agency and me for each use. Think money.”

“Even if they pay you, I still don’t like it,” he responded.

I finished my breakfast in silence and went back to my room to put on my makeup and do my hair.

When I arrived at the store, the first thing I noticed was that someone had cut the nightclub ad out of the paper and stuck it on a piece of cardboard which said, ‘The dress in this ad was purchased here,’ and also said, ‘The model is our own Renee.’

Ms. Shay came over to me before I even had a chance to hang up my coat. “Mrs. Bates wants you to call her,” she said, “She has some modeling jobs for you. I told her that they were okay with me.” When I took off my coat, Ms. Shay looked at me with a smile. “I like your outfit; very appropriate for Valentine’s Day.”

I called Mrs. Bates. “Coffrey’s department is putting together its on line catalog and wants you to be one of their models. How does that sound?”

“I’ll have to check it out with Ms. Shay,” I answered.

“I already did, and she said it’s okay with her.”

The store was not busy, so in mid-afternoon I left to spend the rest of the day with Becky.

Monday, March 21, 2016

Nothing happened on Becky’s due date, or the next two days. Becky and I were sitting next to each other in history class when I heard her gasp. “Are you Okay?” I asked her.

“It’s starting,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“What do you think it is?” she said retorically. “I just had a contraction.”

A few minutes later, she grabbed her purse and ran from the classroom. All of this did not escape the notice of Mr. Bryce, the teacher. “Would someone tell me what’s going on? If it’s more important than the history lesson, maybe you’d like to share it with the whole class,” he said with a sneer. He didn’t have a clue.

“She just had a contraction,” I said. I knew all about this from what I had learned in Lamaze class.

“A contract what?”

“A contraction,” I said.

“So?” With this most of the girls started to snicker at Mr. Bryce’s ignorance.

“She’s having a baby!” I announced.

“What? Having a Baby? Here? Now?” he stammered, with fear written all over his face.

“I hope not here,” I reassured him, and added. “And from what I learned in Lamaze class, not right now, but soon.

“Why did she run out of class?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe her water broke. I’m only guessing.”

“What are we supposed to do?” he asked.

“Get her to her doctor or maybe the hospital,” I suggested, “or failing those, at least have the school nurse see her.”

A few minutes Becky came back into the classroom, and sat next to me. “My water broke,” she whispered to me.

“Yeah, I figured it might be that.” I said, “What do you want to do? Go home? See your Doctor? Go to the hospital? See the school nurse?”

She glanced around the room and noticed the curiousity and concern on everyone’s faces. She smiled, with a wicked smile, and said, with all of the fake innocence she could muster, “I’ll stay here for a bit. I just can’t stand the suspense. I just have to know if the Missouri Compromise was successful,” referring to the history class topic of the day. Everyone, except Mr. Bryce, laughed loudly.

When Mr. Bryce regained some control over the class and his own composure, he said, “Miss Jones, maybe you should see the school nurse. She can sign you out from school and you can go wherever you need to go. Is there anyone who can pick you up?”

“Roy gave me a ride to school and he is my Lamaze coach, so maybe he could take me to the nurse and then home or whatever,” she said.

Mr/ Bryce was visibly relieved that the problem was in someone else’s hands, and wrote notes to see the school nurse. As we were getting ready to go to the nurse, I picked up my backpack and Becky’s books. When she saw me doing this, she declared, “I’m not an invalid, I can darn well carry my own books. After all I’ve been carrying this for quite a while,” and she patted her belly.

As Mr. Bryce handed us our notes, he said, “You’d better get along,” like he thought the baby would pop out in the next thirty seconds and start asking searching question about the Missouri Compromise and other events leading to the American Civil War.

As we passed a girl’s washroom on the way to the nurse’s office, Becky stopped me, and said, I’m glad I’ve got some pads with me. I’ve been carrying them with me for the last few weeks. I’m beginning to squish and I want to change my pad.”

She handed me her books, and said, “Here, make yourself useful while I visit the restroom.”

She paused for a moment, and then said with a smile, “Too bad you’re not Renee today. If you were, you could go in and help me.”

When we arrived at the school nurse’s office there were a number of students in the room, no doubt trying to convince the nurse that they really were sick in order to avoid taking a test scheduled for the next period.

The school nurse was an older woman with a stern visage, having dealt with malingerers for many years. She looked at Becky and me with a frown. “And what’s your flimsy excuse for being here?”

I handed her the notes from Mr. Bryce and said, “She’s started contractions and her water broke.”

“And what makes you an obstetrician?” she said scathingly, “Can’t she talk for herself?”

“I can,” Becky said, “and Roy is correct. We’ve been going to Lamaze classes together.”

The stern look on the nurse’s face diappeared. ‘How often are your contractions, Honey?”

“I just had one and . . . .” Becky said and gave a sound of pain.

“Another one?” said the nurse. Becky could only nod her head.

“I gave Becky a ride to school,” I said, and then added, “Becky’s mom’s car blew a brake line, and she can’t pick her up, so I’ll be the one to take her home and wherever the Doctor directs us to go.”

“I’m not supposed to release a student to another student, but this is kind of an emergency,” the nurse said, and added, “I presume that you’re the father?”

“No,” I answered.

“They all say that,” she commented. “Well a DNA test will resolve that issue,” she concluded, and signed us out of school.

While in my car on the way to her house. Becky called her mother and explained what was going on.

Becky’s contractions were coming more often and were more severe. The Doctor said that we should go to the hospital directly after picking up Becky’s mom. Upon arrival, Becky was examined, and it was determined that while she wouldn’t give birth right away, it was best to keep her until she was ready to deliver.

A nurse entered the room. “Will you have anyone with you in the delivery room?” she asked.

“I have a list,” Becky answered, and handed it to the nurse.

Becky turned to me and said, “I put you name on the list as ‘a friend.’ along with Renee’s name. Too bad Renee can’t make it.”

The nurse turned to me and asked, “And you’re the father?”

“No, but I am her Lamaze coach and partner,’ I said, “the father won’t be here at all.”

The delivery was, well, a delivery, with lots of blood and stuff. At one point, during a painful push, Becky yelled, “I hate you Chad!”

“Who’s Chad?” the nurse asked.

“The father,” I answered.

The nurse nodded her head knowingly and smiled.

In the end, Becky delivered a beautiful and healthy baby boy. I even got a chance to hold him and coo baby sounds to him.

“Too bad he’s not the father,” the nurse commented, “He looks like he’ll make a wonderful daddy one day.”

Becky’s mother responded. “He will. I only wish that he was the father.”

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

At school the next morning, everyone had heard about the events of the past day, and crowded around me for ‘details.’

“What did you name the baby?” was the main question. I had an answer prepared.

“Since Becky’s first contraction began in history class when we discussing the Missouri Compromise, I suggested that Becky name him ‘Missouri Compromise Jones.’ However, she said that people would shorten his first name to ‘Miss’ as a nickname, and people would call him ‘Miss Jones.’ Becky rejected my suggestion as causing too much gender confusion, so in the end Becky reversed the father’s first and middle names, so his name is Robert Chadworth Bereston.

“Were you in the delivery room?” was a common question.

“Yes, after all I was her Lamaze coach.”

“Was it gross?” a girl wanted to know.

“Not really.” I answered,” the miracle of birth can’t be considered to be gross.”

After school I went to the hospital to visit Becky and admire the baby. During my visit, Becky said, “I was hoping that Renee would visit me and the baby. You know that both you and Renee are on the approved visitor list.”

Becky’s mom heard this. She knew of the problems my parents had with Renee. “Becky would really like to see Renee,” she said to me, and she laid out a plan that I would go to the Jones’ house, change into Renee, visit Becky and little Robert, and return to the Jones’ house to change back to Roy.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

I instituted the plan laid out by Becky’s mother, and Renee went to visit Becky and the baby. It should have been simple, but that is not what happened. Although my name was on the approved list, one of the girls at the nurse’s station recognized me as the model. “Oh my,” she delcared, aren’t you that famous model for Coffrey’s Department Store?” I had to admit that I was, but added. “I don’t consider myself to be famous.” This drew a crowd of hospital staff. One of them referred to the list and noted that there was a Roy Evens and a Renee Evans on the list.

“A boy named Roy Evans visited yesterday,” an aide said. “Are you related to him?” she asked.

“Distantly,” I answered. Well, ‘distantly’ is hardly a precise word, and I didn’t consider it too be too much of a lie, since there was a distance; the distance between a training bra and a ‘C’ cup. I felt that being sociable was proper and they peppered me with questions and comments until a supervisor saved me when she ordered my adoring group to get back to work.

Becky was very happy to see me as Renee, and, frankly, I was happy to be Renee, even for a short time.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Graduation. At last. It turned out that Becky returned to classes by mid-April. I had brought her class assignments to her each day and returned the completed class work the next day. She hadn’t missed anything and her grades were excellent. Becky’s parents and the baby attended the graduation, and the baby was the center of a lot of attention.

Naturally my parents and Amy were there. I was dressed in a suit, as Roy.

Shortly before graduation DNA tests were performed which proved that Chad was indeed the father of little Robert.

There was talk about a wedding. It appeared that Chad’s mother wasn’t going to be denied her grandson.

Sunday, July 3, 2016

Becky and Chad were married on the Sunday of the July 4th weekend. It was a small wedding, and took place in the town where Chad lived. Only the parents of the bride and groom were there, along with close relatives and friends, about thirty people in all. Sue was the maid of honor, and nothing would do but to have Renee as the only bride’s maid. Since I was standing up for the wedding, my parents were invited. Joe was there as Sue’s boyfriend.

Me being Renee the whole weekend caused a lot of problems with my parents. It was only by the intervention of Becky and her mother, that they grudgingly agreed to attend with me as Renee. Becky’s clinching argument was that once she was married, she and I would be separated by distance.

I was fortunate in that I had done modeling of bridal fashions and I had a lovely pink dress with a chiffon overlay over the skirt and lace on the top. It was strapless but came with a short jacket to cover the top. Becky and her mother thought it looked ‘devine.’ My parents grudgingly said it was ‘okay.’

And then there was Joe. Even though he was with Sue, he made it plain that he would like to do things to me. While Sue and I shared a hotel room, Joe had a single room. Sue unwittingly came to my ‘rescue’ when she whispered to me that she would not use our hotel room both nights. My problem was that I didn’t want to be ‘rescued.’

The wedding reception was held in the church recreation hall, and a DJ provided the music. Since I was dressed as Renee, Joe insisted that I dance with him. I enjoyed dancing with him, even if he whispered lewd suggestions to me and had his hand on my behind some of the time. In fact I really enjoyed my weekend as Renee, and was able to dance with the best man and the groom’s man.

Perhaps it was all of the fun I had that on that weekend that I decided that I really wanted to be a girl. After all, I had, in the past, contemplated marrying Becky, but now that she was married, that was no longer possible.

Friday, September 2, 2016

I had previously told my parents of my decision to become a girl. I had enrolled in college as Renee. While my parents were very unhappy with my decision, they didn’t try to stop me.

I had a session with my counselor, where I confirmed my decision. I had started hormone replacement therapy and my counselor told me that I would have to live as a female before anything permanent could be done. I accepted that and announced that my year real life experience would start on the day after Labor day. Only time would tell how that would work out.

I decided to update the essay which had started me on the road to womanhood, with today being the final entry into Roy’s journal.