It all started earlier this summer when Mom insisted I get a summer job. Of course I procrastinated; I mean why would I want to work when I could just relax and have fun like my friends. On the last day of school, Mom had had enough though, she actually picks me up from school and says, as I climb into the car, “Terry, I am taking you to the mall. There is a job open at New York and Company that you are going to take. Cheryl, you know, Christi’s mom, is the manager there and she said she would be happy to have you.”

I look at her like she has turned green and grown antennae… Finally, I am able to speak, “New York and Company? That is a girls’ clothing store… What am I supposed to do there?” She shakes her head and says, “I don’t want to hear any lip; you’ve had weeks to find a job and you have put it off. No more. This is a good job. Cheryl is even going to pay you a few dollars above minimum wage if you do well. Besides, Christi will be working there, too. I know you really like her…”

I am mortified and whine, “Mom! What are you talking about? And…even if…that doesn’t make up for working in a girl’s store!” She just smiles and says, “No matter. That is where you are working this summer. Besides, even if, as you say, you don’t like Christi, which makes me laugh, think of all the other girls that will be shopping there. It is about time you got a girlfriend—you are nearly sixteen!” I say, “Yeah…nearly sixteen and still no puberty…thanks, Dad!” Mom looks at me sternly and says, “Don’t you be bad-mouthing your poor father, God rest his soul, he couldn’t help his genes…any more than I could help love him. You may stay scrawny like him, but that does not mean someone won’t love you…”

I don’t even try a comeback…she is pulling into the mall parking lot and there is no use. She parks and makes me get out and follow her into the mall and then up the escalator to the second floor where New York and Company is located. She literally drags me into the store and a…cute girl—she looks to be about seventeen or eighteen, greets us, “Welcome to NYC. I am Amber. Can I help you find something in particular? That section over there is all on sale…fifteen percent off…”

Mom shakes her head and says, “No, thank you though, Amber. Actually, we are here to see Cheryl McReady. Is she available—she is expecting me, Grace Kinsley. Could you please let her know?” Amber bustles off to get Ms. McReady and I stand there trying not to drool at the gorgeous girls milling about the store. Maybe this won’t be so bad, after all…

Amber takes us to an office at the back of the store and Ms. McReady hugs mom and says, “Grace! I am glad you brought Terry. Terry, I am glad you are willing to take the job. Amber, please take Terry and show him around the store. He is going to be working with us this summer…” Amber looks at me strangely, but smiles at Ms. McReady and says, “Sure thing, Ms. M. Come on, Terry, let me show you around…”

I follow Amber back out into the store. Obviously, I have never been in here before… She shows me the sections: pants, jackets, accessories, shoes… She looks at me and says, “I guess you are about a size two…let me measure you…” She grabs a tape measure and starts measuring me. I stand there, stunned, and ask, “What are you doing? What difference does it make what girl’s size I am?” She giggles and says, “Oh, I just like to guess peoples’ sizes. See? I was right. A size two, short. Most girls would kill for that…”

Before I can retort, Ms. M. and mom come out. Mom says, “You are all signed up and an official NYC employee now!” Ms. M. says, “Welcome Terry. You will have to sign a few papers but you are otherwise good to go. Christi can’t come in tonight and I need the help, so your Mom agreed to let you stay and start straight away…” I look at mom, shocked. I finally, stutter, “B…b…but…” I don’t get any more out.

Ms. M. says, “The only thing is you are not dressed for work… Normally, I would say you could use your discount here…” Amber speaks up and says, “Ms. M. I just measured Terry—he is a perfect 2S. I am sure that we can find some things here and no one would ever know.” I pale as Mom says, “It is settled then. This job is not about the money—it is to get him off his tail this summer… Here Cheryl. Take my credit card and use it to get him whatever he needs for the job—even if it is in another store. Obviously, I prefer getting a discount whenever possible, though. I trust your judgment and I need to run. I will pick you up out front at eleven, Terry.” And…she leaves…

Amber pulls me over to the clearance rack and says, “I know we have some things in here that would fit…let’s see if they will work. With your discount, you can get several outfits that way…” She sorts through the pants and finds several pair of solid black and some pin-striped ones that, unlike some others on the rack, have belts on them. The belts are the skinny girly kind, but she says that we can change that out. After she pulls out three pair of the pants she goes to the racks of ‘tops’ and pulls out several button-front shirts; in white, solid colors, and striped.

She looks at my sneakers and white socks and shakes her head. She picks up a package of black tights and adds them to the pile. She goes over to the shoes and says, “There is not a huge selection here, but let’s check your size first.” She measures my foot with one of the foot-size gauge thingies and proclaims me a size 6 ½ (women’s). Then she says, “We have these flats, but they are ballet flats and would probably stand out as more girly than you would like. We have these new booties in…they are open-toed and open-backed, and have a pretty high heel. I don’t really think it would be noticeable, though, with those pants…and it would give you a little extra height. Let’s see…here we go. We have them in your size and in black. Perfect!”

She grabs a belt and shoos me towards the changing room. She stops at her purse and pulls something out on the way. She tells me to go in and take off me clothes, “I will hand you some things to put on over the door. Use this first, though…I always keep a spare in my purse. You can keep it; make sure you use it every day, though!” She hands me an unopened travel-sized stick of vanilla-scented Secret deodorant. “You need it and believe me, we will know if you are not using it!”

She pushes me in one of the stalls and closes the door. I stand there, unmoving for a while—until she asks, “Are you undressed yet?” I groan and say, “No. I don’t think this is a good idea…I mean everyone will know that I am dressing like a girl.” Amanda says, “They won’t know. I promise. Look—try these on. If it looks girly, we will figure something else out…”

I sigh and strip down to my underwear. I shudder and open the deodorant. I smell it and it is actually not, too bad…although pretty strong vanilla. I rub it on under my arms and say, “OK…I put on the deodorant…it feels funny—I have never used deodorant before.” Amanda mumbles something about that being obvious and then says, “OK, try this blou…shirt…” She hands me a white shirt. I pull it on and start to button it up, but have trouble. I complain, “The buttons are on the wrong side. How am I supposed to do this?” Amanda giggles and says, “I am sure you will figure it out. Just keep trying…” I grumble, “People will know it is not a guy’s shirt with the buttons on the wrong side.” Amanda asks, “How many times have you looked at which sides the buttons are on. No one will pay any attention. Are you done yet?” I finish them up to the last three on the top and give up. I try and button the sleeves, but there is only button that sort of lets the cuffs flare open. I look in the mirror and it is true; if you are not specifically looking to see which side the buttons are on, you can’t really tell. The cut of the shirt is a little off, pulling in at the waist and flaring at the breast more than usual, but the material really feels soft and nice.

I say, “OK, I have the shirt on. I guess it is OK…” She hands me the black nylon tights, already out of the package and says, “We don’t have socks here, so these will have to do…” I look at them like they might eat me, and whine, “Can’t we just go to a shoe store and get some socks?” She says, “Well, we could, but you have already paid for these now that they are opened…and I promise that no one will be able to tell; it is not like you will be wearing a skirt, or anything…” I sigh and say, “So, how do I put these things on?” Amanda giggles and asks if it is OK to come in and show me. After she shows me how to roll them on and get them situated, I grumble, “OK…I guess…these feel funny. They are tight.” Amanda giggles as she says, “That is why they are called tights, silly. I think we will need to get you different underwear, though. Boxer briefs are not the best with the pants…and especially with tights. Hang on…”

She disappears, leaving me standing in the dressing room, feeling like an idiot. A few minutes later, she comes back and says, “I just went to VS next door. Here…I got you the ‘boy cut’ style—just ignore the bit of lace. They were on sale…” She hands me a pair of pink girl’s panties that are cut like a boy’s briefs, but have lace around the waist and legs. I let out a little noise of surprise and exclaim, “I am NOT wearing those!” She laughs and says, “Oh, come on Terry, who is going to know—besides they are paid for. They were on sale and there are no returns on them. Do you want to tell your Mom you wasted her money?” I say, “why couldn’t you get boy’s underwear?” She says, “Victoria’s Secret is right next door, so it was quick—and this is as close to boy’s as they get there… I will just step out so you can change into them.”

I shoot daggers at her back as she leaves the little stall and closes the door. I look at the…undies…holding them between two fingers like I might catch something from them and sigh. She is right. If Mom finds out they spent the money and I refused to wear the stuff, then she will kill me. She, of course, will believe them over me in the mood she is in right now. Dang! I should have found another job…even McDonald’s would be better than this… I unroll the tights and change into the…undies…and am surprised at how soft they are. The lace tickles a little, but they feel really nice. I shake my head and roll the tights back on.

Amanda comes in when I am done and says, “There, that is much better. See. Those boxers were all wadded up in there…that would have shown through your pants. They may look like guy’s pants, but they are made for girls…the fabric is totally different and would show that mess under pants.” She messes with my tights telling me I need to keep the seams straight and then hands me a pair of black pants. I pull them on and the material rubs against my nylon-clad legs and it feels…good. I struggle with the first button, the ‘safety’ button that is hidden on the inside of ‘good’ pants. It is on the wrong side again. When I finally get it buttoned, I notice that it pulled a triangular flap over the fly area, meaning that even with the zipper open, the area is closed. I ask, “How am I supposed to pee with all of this stuff…and this stupid flap? The…undies…don’t have an opening, either.” Amanda says, “You will have to unbutton your pants, of course, and pull things down. There aren’t any urinals here in the store anyway, only a toilet…and you better not get pee everywhere…that is just so gross…”

I get the other two buttons closed and close the really short zipper. I notice that the thighs are a bit tight and the legs flare out a bit—Amanda tells me that is normal for ‘modern’ boot-cut pants. I also notice that they sit really low on my waist. I try to pull them up, but Amanda tells me they are supposed to be that low—that they are mid-rise pants, which is the style for women…to give the impression of a longer torso. I slide on the boots and feel really funny with the three-inch heel and the open toe and back…

Ms. M. stops by at that moment and inspects me. She says, “Well, Terry, you look very nice. No one would ever know that you are wearing female clothing. You will want to button that one button, two open ones, I don’t mind—three is too much…cleavage….well, chest… you know what I mean. The shoes are the closest thing to a problem, but you will be mostly behind the counter for a while anyway. Just make sure to put your belt on. Now, your hands are still a problem. Your skin is rough and those nails are atrocious. Not only do they look bad, but you could snag some of our more delicate material… Amanda, please see what you can do. I will let your Mom know something needs to be done long term…” She looks up and says, “…and Amanda, see what you can do with that mop of hair, as well…” She gives her an apologetic look and turns to leave, then turns back around and says, “Oh, is that vanilla I smell? I will say that is much improved over that sweaty smell from before…make sure you continue to use your deodorant!”

Amanda takes my hands and trims my nails and files them. Then she hands me some hand lotion to apply to my hands. Then she takes some sort of gel and spreads it through my hair before she brushes it into a style she seems OK with. She says, “You really need to get some good vitamins, your nails are too thin; they are actually cracked and split. They need some serious help. Keep using the lotion on your hands and it will soften up your skin and help get rid of the rough spots… Now, put on your belt and come on—I will show you how to use the register…”

The first couple of steps are weird in the high heels. Thankfully, they are wider heels and I adjust fairly quickly, but still marvel at the click-clack sound they make on the marble flooring. Ms. M. just nods at Amanda when she sees me…

Amanda shows me how to work the register and I pick it up pretty quickly…and the night goes pretty fast from there, since there is a steady stream of customers…none of which say a thing about me or the way I am dressed… Maybe they are right…no one noticed anything…or at least laughed at me. But Mom is going to have to get me some real clothes… This is too nerve-wracking…even if they DO feel really nice…

Mom picks me up outside the mall. I have several bags with the clothes from the store…and the clothes I had worn in. I had wanted to put my sneakers back on to walk out, but somehow…they had gotten lost. Ms. M. promised they would show up… Walking out in the booties was a little nerve-wracking, but no one paid me any attention, at all… I throw the bags into the back seat and climb in the front. It is a quick ride home and I am happy to get to bed…

To be continued...