Part Two – The Dress-Up

“We could just play with your dolls, Sharon,” Terry said as they entered the house, hoping to get his two friends to forget about dressing him as girl.

“Awww, we’re getting too old to play with dolls,” LaKetta said.

“But we always have so much fun,” Terry persisted.

“That’s just for little girls, Terry,” the girl replied.

Terry knew she was right; girls of eleven and twelve were beyond the age of playing with dolls, but the truth was that Terry had always enjoyed the fantasizing that came with their playtime. For a while Terry was transfixed into thinking he was the doll in whatever role he had assumed. Usually, he was a little girl identified in the dream world as “Merrilee,” a name he chose one day for its melodious lilt.

The boy had even saved part of each week’s allowance money, hiding the extra nickels and dimes in one of the several boxes of baseball cards that he had hidden under shoes in his closet. One day while riding his bike he saw a rummage sale, noting that the family had laid out many items for girls, including toys and clothes. His eye quickly found a Barbie doll, almost perfect and dressed in a light blue prom dress. He told the pretty teen age girl that he wanted it for his sister’s birthday and she offered it to him for two dollars, which was half the marked price. “You’re a sweet brother,” she said, smiling.

The girl agreed to hold it for him for two hours while he peddled home to get his money. He was so excited he pedaled his bike faster than he had ever done before, returning in a sweat to pick up what was to become his prized possession. He stashed it in another box (also labeled “baseball cards”), placing it among the other boxes; he pulled it out when he was alone in his room.

Terry hoped his girlfriends would never lose interest in dolls, but it seemed on this day, at least, they had other plans.

“She’s just trying to get us to stop putting a dress on her,” Sharon said, using the female pronoun for Terry.

“Dolls are still fun,” Terry said, his face turning into a pout.

“Do we have a bra that fits her?” Laketta asked, reaching over to fondle the boy’s left breast.

“Hmmmm, she’s needs a big one, but I think I can find one in my sister’s room,” Sharon said, reaching out and cupping his right breast.

It didn’t take long for Sharon to return, holding two bras and what appeared to be girl’s panties. “I think she’d look good in this lacy one,” she said, dropping the clothes onto the bed while retaining a white, bra made of translucent lace in her hand.

“No, I won’t wear it and quit calling me she,” Terry said, his voice trailing off. He knew he hardly sounded convincing in his protests, since he secretly felt he might look quite nice in the lace bra.

“Aw, come on, Theresa, it’s just for fun and no one but us will know,” LaKetta said.

“No,” his voice came out weak.

Just then LaKetta reached over and began tickling him, running her fingers into his soft tummy, causing him to giggle uncontrollably. He doubled over and collapsed on the bed, helpless to fend off their tickling.

“No, stop,” he whined between his giggles that were now turning to tears.

“Not ‘til you say yes, Theresa,” LaKetta said, continuing her merciless tickling.

He finally nodded that he would put on the bra and panties and LaKetta halted her tickles. The two girls gave him one of the panties, a satiny turquoise one with lace at the top and a ribbon on the right front. They told him to go into the bathroom, take off his boy clothes and put on the panties.

“Come back and we’ll help you with put on the bra and the other clothes,” Sharon said.

“Give me the bra, I can put that on myself,” Terry said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“You can?” Sharon said.

“See, she’s done this before,” LaKetta said, giggling.

“No,” he protested vainly.

“You have, Theresa, don’t lie to us and you like doing it, don’t you?” she probed.

“Well, no . . .” he said hesitantly, his quickly reddening face betraying the truth of his protest.

Terry knew he had not fooled his girlfriends and they obviously suspected he enjoyed the idea of dressing like a girl.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he said.

“No,” both girls said, almost in unison.

“Will you help me dress up pretty, then and not just like a boy in girl clothes?” he said, then.

“Let’s make Theresa the prettiest girl in the seventh grade,” Sharon said.

“She’s got all the makings of a girl, doesn’t she?” the other girl said.

Terry entered the bathroom, took off his boy clothes and put on the panties and bra. Thanks to the practice he had at home with his mother’s bras, he was able to hook the bra in the back and then carefully packing his soft, fleshy breasts into the cups of the bra. He took a minute to admire his soft, pink body in the mirror, his breasts filling out the bra and his white tummy with its love handles oozing from the top of the panties’ elastic.

He had always hated to go shirtless since his body was so pathetically nonathletic; no boy should have breasts as he had. Yet, now as he looked in the mirror he saw a girl and everything appeared so natural.

Just then the bathroom door opened and LaKetta entered, catching him admiring his image in the mirror.

“Hey there,” Terry protested.

“We wondered what was keeping you so long, Theresa, and now we know,” she said, turning to yell back at her friend, “Sharon, you gotta see this girl.”

“Come on,” he pleaded again.

“Wow, she’s hot,” Sharon said.

“Yeah, but we gotta do something about that tummy,” LaKetta said.

“She needs a corset, and I think Camille has some in her drawer,” the other girl said, referring to her sister.

Sharon left the room, announcing she’d return soon.

“Theresa, I love how you enjoy being a girl,” LaKetta said as they left the bathroom to await Sharon’s return. “You really do, don’t you?”

Terry wasn’t sure how to answer that. He was concerned his friends would think he was overly strange or might want to drop him as a friend. Worse yet, they may want to expose his girly behavior to their schoolmates.

LaKetta was not to be deferred. “Theresa, really, you always seem to love to play dolls with us and do girl things. I know you do. You’re just one of us girls and we treat you as a girl, too, don’t we?”

The boy stood there in the panties and bra, his arms hugging himself. He was beginning to feel chilly, the home’s air conditioning system cooling the place.

“I like playing with you,” he said finally.

“I bet you’d like to be a girl for real, too,” the girl said.

He smiled back at her. She knew his secret.

“It took me time to find her corsets. Since Camille lost weight, she doesn’t wear them anymore,” Sharon said, bouncing into the room holding several garments in her arms. Terry looked at the two items in horror; as much as he wanted to reduce the size of his tummy, he didn’t think he wanted to do it so that he’d be in torture.

“No, let’s forget the corset,” he said.

“No way, you want a nice girlish figure, don’t you?” Sharon said.

“No, forget it,” he said, shaking his head in a vigorous negative manner.

“Come on, Terry, I know you wanna be a pretty girl,” LaKetta said.

The girl reached over and started tickling him, and as soon as he tried to squirm away, Sharon caught him and held him. LaKetta’s fingers continued tickling until he collapsed helplessly onto the floor, trying to curl up in defense.

“OK, OK, I’ll wear it,” he finally said, bringing an end to the tickling. He knew he was helpless to resist the two girls.

Terry balanced himself by holding one hand on Sharon’s shoulder and stepped into the corset that she held in front of him; it had been laced loosely but the two had to wrestle it up over his wide hips. Finally it was settled in place, and LaKetta got behind him to lace it tightly.

“Not so tight,” he whined, finding his breath suddenly restricted.

“Quit your complaining girl,” Sharon said, as she pulled it tight.

“Owwww,” the moan came from him.

“There,” Sharon said triumphantly.

“I can’t breathe,” he complained.

“You’ll get used to it, Theresa,” Sharon said.

“Now you know what girls have to go through to look pretty,” LaKetta added.

“And, wow, what a hot figure this girl has!” her friend said.

Though he was still struggling to breathe easily, Terry began to feel a rare excitement; it seemed like his friends had created a girl, and he was her! He looked down to see his tummy, but saw it was gone. Instead, he looked down upon protruding breasts, soft white mounds of flesh that had been pushed up, creating an even more defined cleavage. Suddenly the breasts that had shamed him in his boy’s life were a measure of a girl's pride.

“Let me see!” he said, wanting to be led to the full length mirror.

“Why not?” LaKetta said.

“No, wait,” Sharon said. “Let’s put this dress on first. She needs to see the finished product.”

She held up an emerald green dress, layered dress, with a lace skirt and a fitted bodice. It was a sleeveless dress and as she held it up against Terry he could see it would come down only to mid-thigh.

LaKetta giggled. “Theresa’s going to look so pretty in that.”

“Oh my God, it’s so girly, just perfect,” her friend said.

“I can’t wear that,” Terry protested.

“Why not? It’s so darling,” Sharon said. “My sister looked so pretty in it.”

“It’s just . . . ah . . . ah . . . well, it shows too much of me,” he said.

Terry was always self-conscious about his fleshy arms and heavy thighs and he always wore clothes that covered them. When he went swimming, which he rarely did because of his embarrassing body, he always wore a tee-shirt, explaining untruthfully that he burned easily.

“That’s what boys like to see, and you’ll be just the hottest girl, believe me, Theresa,” LaKetta said.

“Now, before we put the dress on her, let’s fix her hair,” Sharon said, putting the dress on a hanger that she then put on a hook on the closet door.

“She has pretty hair, doesn’t she?” LaKetta asked, as she brushed Terry’s dark blonde hair so that it hung freely and straight down to his shoulders.

Sharon put a dark green hairband over the top of his head and then fixed a few strands to create a bang across his forehead. They finished off the process by putting some light foundation on his face with a bit of rouge that added pink to his cheeks.

“She’s too young for lipstick, I think,” Sharon said.

“Yes, put let’s put some gloss on the lips, anyway, Sharon,” LaKetta said.

Terry sat patiently as the girls worked over him, fussing with his hair and makeup; they talked constantly about how pretty a girl he was becoming. He knew he should be feeling humiliated; after all he was a boy, wasn’t he? Yet, he felt so totally at ease, realizing for the first time in his life that his physical self was being praised for being pretty and beautiful instead of pathetic and ugly. Terry realized, too, that as they talked about him he blushed.

“Look at her blush,” Sharon said at one point.

“I do not,” he protested.

“You do too, and that’s so cute. Boys like to see that in a girl,” LaKetta said.

“I’m not a girl. I’m a boy, besides we’re all too young to date,” he said finally.

“Maybe, maybe not,” LaKetta said. “You’ll still excite the boys, I’ll bet.”

The girls ended their fussing over him and finally had him stand so that they could pull the dress down over his head. It seemed a little tight at first, but once the two girls finally pulled it down fully and adjust it, the dress felt comfortable for the boy.

“Let me see now,” he said.

“No, first we need to find some shoes for you,” Sharon said.

She ran to a closet and soon emerged with a pair of white Mary Janes. “These should fit,” she announced.

Terry sat down on the bed, as ordered, and held out each foot as the girls put them on his feet. With the corset on, he realized he’d have trouble bending over to get the shoes on.

“Now, let’s see what you look like,” Sharon said, grabbing Terry’s hand and leading him over to the mirror.

Terry took his time focusing on the girl in the mirror, afraid that he’d see a monstrosity. Finally he looked and stood in awe at the image before him.

“Is that me?” he asked.

“Yes, pretty one,” LaKetta said.

Terry smiled at the image, receiving a smile in return. He struck a girlish pose, even using one hand to pull up the dress slightly, exposing a bit more of the white flesh of his thigh.

“You girls are such artists,” Terry said finally.

“It was easy. We had good material. You’re really just a girl anyway, Theresa,” Sharon said.

“Now you’re really one of us,” LaKetta said.

“She always was one of us, Laketta.”

“I’m a girl,” he said.

The three girls hugged together, with Theresa in the middle. She was smiling.

*****

Sharon got out her cell phone, held it up and took a “selfie” of the three of them hugging. They giggled in high-pitched voices as they posed for the phone’s camera; Sharon kept clicking until they had perhaps a dozen shots.

“Now, Terri, you go over there, by the vanity, and let me take a picture of you,” Sharon ordered.

“Wait a minute,” Theresa said. “What are you going to do with these pictures?”

“Nothing other than send them on to both of you.”

“I don’t want them showing up on Facebook or something,” the pretty girl said.

“No, it’s just our little secret.”

Terri moved to the vanity, sat down on the lace-draped bench, careful to smooth his dress from behind so as not to muss it. He assumed a girlish pose, keeping his knees together and moving them to the side. He clasped his hands together on his lap, assuming a demure, lovely sight.

“She knows just how to sit,” LaKetta said. “What a girl!”

When Sharon had finished the picture-taking, she shared the results with her two friends. Terri was excited by the results; in each picture, she saw three pretty girls, with the loveliest being, she thought in a vain moment, that it was she. The photos portrayed the former Terrence as a lovely young teen girl, maybe even two or three years older than her real age.

“She should be a model,” LaKetta gushed.

Terri laughed, “Yeah for the juniors plus section.”

“No, no,” protested Sharon. “It’s just baby fat. It’s normal for girls of your age.”

“Too bad, there’s no place to go now that Theresa’s all dressed up,” LaKetta said. “We can’t go to the Hangout like this. She’s dressed too fancy for that.”

“I know and it’s a shame,” said the other girl.

“I’m not going out in this,” Theresa protested. “Everyone will laugh. I’ll look ridiculous. Like a boy in a dress.”

“No they won’t. They’ll just see another teen girl,” said LaKetta.

“If they notice you at all, they’ll just see a pretty girl,” Sharon said.

“Really?” she asked, glancing in the mirror again. She smiled when she saw her reflection; she definitely looked to be a girl . . . and a most girly girl, too.

“Yes, really, Theresa,” Sharon said. “And I can tell any of our friends that you’re a friend from another school.”

The girls gave Terri a few tips on how to hide any of her few remaining boyish mannerisms such as a tendency to take long strides when she walked. They taught her to sit properly, though she had already seemed to master that feminine action.

“She takes to this girly stuff easily,” LaKetta said.

“She’s more girly than either of us,” Sharon giggled.

“I am not,” she argued.

“You are, Theresa, and you know it. You even curl up when you sit, just like a girl, and you move your hands about like a girl,” LaKetta said.

“I love how you curl your hair in your fingers. Only girls do that,” Sharon added. Theresa knew her friends were right. Her mother had told Terrence numerous times to quit the practice of flicking her hair, saying that it was something only girls did.

“You’re spending too much time with girls, and you’re beginning to act like them,” her mother had said. Also threatening to take her to a barber shop for a “real haircut.”.

“They’re my friends,” Terri had argued.

“I know and they’re nice girls, but I wish you’d spend time with boys,” she said.

Terri, of course, continued to spend time with Sharon and LaKetta; many times several other girls might join them and the gaggle of them might prance down the street, Terri among them, indistinguishable from the other girls, with his flowing dirty blonde hair and effeminate mannerisms.

The girls debated whether to take Theresa out in public, finally agreeing that Terri would need to change out of the dress. She was relieved when they said she could take off the corset. She changed bras, putting on a push-up bra that helped to accentuate the natural cleavage of her breasts. The girls went into Camille’s room and brought out a light blue skater skirt and a pink, cap-sleeved tee-shirt with the words “Tender – Do Not Touch” emblazoned across the front.

“My sister won’t care,” Sharon said. “She’s lost weight and doesn’t wear this stuff anymore.”

“But my tummy shows now,” Terri protested.

“That’s all right, Theresa,” LaKetta said. “Now you look like half the girls in our class with their tummies.”

It was true, Terri realized, both boys and girls go through changes as they hit twelve to thirteen years old, many taking on chubby tummies that most will lose as they mature.

“And look how fat my thighs are,” she exclaimed, worried that the skirt was too short.

“They’re not fat, Theresa. Boys like a girl with legs like yours,” LaKetta said.

“You sound just like a girl,” Sharon giggled.