The Chorister Part 3 - Conclusion

The Chorister Part 3 - Conclusion.
By Pentatonic

My name is Jeff. I am a musician and a music teacher. I love to crossdress. While crossdressed as Jenny I sang in a performance, and was later invited to sing in a concert as a soloist.

One evening I was sitting at my kitchen table, pen in hand, with a look of concentration on my face. I heard the door open and Amy, my girlfriend, walked in. “I’m in the kitchen,” I yelled.

“You’re still in you school clothes, Jeff,” Amy exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. The school at which I teach has a loose dress code for the faculty. Men are expected to wear a shirt with a collar. Women can just about wear anything within the scope of decency.

“Yeah, I got busy,” waving my hand at a bunch of papers which were on the table. Normally, if Amy was coming over, I would wear my Jenny clothes, which usually included a skirt.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“I’ve got to write a bio for the concert program.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. After all, you have a master’s degree and your teaching certificate has an endorsement for English. You must have written them out for other performances.”

“Yeah, but the circumstances were different,” I said, picking up the latest draft from the table, “I’ve got to be careful. I don’t want anyone to know where I teach, because someone might put two and two together, and come up with zero Jenny’s on the music faculty at that school.”

“I see,” Amy said.

“Yeah, if anyone found out that Jenny was Jeff, the teacher, the administration would know about it in a very short time, and I could have problems.”

“Aren’t there laws to protect you?” she asked, “They couldn’t fire you, could they?”

“I just don’t know if the non-discrimination laws apply to crossdressers, but even if it does, there are other ways the school administration can get to you. First, you get a lousy annual review, secondly, they assign you to classes filled with lazy or block-headed students and blame you when your classes do miserably on the state tests. Not to mention that some parents would go nuts, After a while, they could fire you, based on the lousy reviews and low state test scores, and not because you are a crossdresser. So, you’re out of a job, and would have a hard time getting another one. You would have to hire a lawyer to pursue a complaint. So, you find yourself out of work for a year or more, with lots of legal bills, Furthermore, there is no guaranty you’ll be able to keep or get your job back.” I put my head in my hands.

“So, what are you going to do?” Amy asked.

“For starters, I’m going to write a vague bio for the performance. I’ll just say that I have degrees, without saying from where. I’ll also say that I teach music ‘at a local highschool’ with no name. I can’t put in any prior work that I have done as Jeff, and I don’t have much as Jenny.”

After a pause, I added, “And I have to get a photo, a head shot. I can’t very well use my Jeff photo.”

I just sat there, and stared into space.

“Well, you have to write the bio,” Amy said, “I’ll help you.” The two of us sat down and came up with a plain vanilla bio. It might be the shortest bio in the program, but what was written was all they would get.

A few days later, I made an appointment with a photographer. Amy came over and helped me with my makeup and hair styling. I only wore a pair of slacks, a low-cut top, and flats. I did, however, wear my grandmother’s earrings. Even with makeup and with my hair styled, I still looked a lot like Jeff. It was later that I decided to wear a wig for a new photo and when I performed as Jenny.

At the next rehearsal, I brought in my bio and photo, and gave them to Mrs. Benson. She read the bio, and looked at me with a frown on her face. “You don’t say where you went to school. You don’t say where you teach. I thought that you took your school band and chorus downstate for statewide competitions. You don’t mention that.”

She paused and looked at me. “It’s almost like you’re hiding something,” she finally said.

If only she knew.

“Oh well, enough of that,” she then said, “let’s sing.”

At the next rehearsal, she guided me to a corner, and began speaking only above a whisper. “I didn’t like your bio, too general, and too short. I thought that someone mentioned that you taught at East, so I called them to confirm. To my surprise, they told me that they didn’t have a Jenny on the music faculty, but that they did have a Jeff, with your last name. You want to tell me about that?”

I hung my head, and after what seemed to be an eternity, I said, “I’m a crossdresser. The first time you met me, I was with my girlfriend Amy. She likes it when I crossdress, and that is why I was wearing a dress. After that, things just happened, and I couldn’t figure out how to tell you. I’m sorry if I deceived you, and if you want me to withdraw from the performance, I will.”

“At this late date, that wouldn’t work. You have a remarkable voice, and we need you,” she said. “I only wish that you had found a way to come clean with me before now. We would have found a solution. As it stands at this time, you are going to have to go through with the performance as a girl. However, the problem is, with your voice, and your good looks, it is likely that you will get further offers after the concert. I’ll let you figure out how to deal with them.”

I lifted my eyes, and with a small smile, I asked, “You really think I look good?”

“Absolutely, If I didn’t find out just now, I never would have believed that you weren’t an attractive woman.”

She turned to go, but at the last moment she asked, “You aren’t, you know, err. . .?”

I got the drift of what she wanted to know. “Gay? No. Remember, I have a girlfriend, who really is a girl.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and with a smile, which contained the slightest bit of an invitation, and said, “Good,” and went to start the rehearsal.

At that point I stopped thinking about what I was and what Jenny was, and focused on my singing.

The next day I called Amy and related the events of the prior night. “She still wants you?” Amy asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “and maybe not just for singing.”

“She better not,” Amy retorted, “you’re mine, panties and all.”

“Hey, let me take you out to dinner tonight,” I said.

“As Jeff or Jenny?”

“I just got home. It was a long day,” I explained. “However, under my manly exterior, I’m wearing a camisole, panties, garter belt and stockings.”

“Does anything show?” she asked.

“I hope not,” I answered, “I’m wearing an oxford cloth shirt, which is a bit loose and heavy and loose pants, so I think my secret is safe. I have regular men’s socks over my stockings, too.”

“So, back to my original question, as Jeff or Jenny?”

“As I said, I’ve had a long day. I’m tired and hungry. I want to go as I am,” I replied.

“Well, I guess it’s okay. Just don’t make a habit of it,” she snickered.

The next rehearsal, I pulled Mrs. Benson aside. “Could I use an assumed name for the program?” I asked.

“I guess so,” she replied. “What name did you have in mind?

“I want to use my mother’s maiden name”

“That’s somehow fitting,” she said with a smile.

One potential problem was averted. So I would sing the concert using my mother’s name. Since I had got tickets for my parents, I hoped they would appreciate the choice of my stage name.

“I also had another picture taken, this time with a wig, as more of a disguise,” I added.

“Probably a good idea.”

On the day of the concert, Amy came over to help me get dressed. I had showered and closely shaved everywhere below my ears. I then filed my nails and put a dark red polish on my fingernails as well as my toenails. I had been using breast forms, and because I was a soloist, I decided that it would be a good idea if I glued them on. I put on a black garter belt, black, sheer, thigh high stockings, and then a gaff and black panties with a lace front and lace around the leg holes and waist. I lay on my bed and Amy came over with the breast forms and adhesive. I could feel her put on the adhesive, followed by the breast forms. “Don’t move right now, wait for the adhesive to set,” she warned.

After the adhesive had set, I stood up and Amy handed me a black lace-trimmed bra, which I put on, followed by a black waist nipper. I wasn’t wild about how it restricted my breathing, but it was necessary to make the gown fit properly. We had decided on a full slip with lace on the hem and the bodice. I sat at my makeshift vanity, and put a towel around my shoulders. I started with foundation to cover any possible shadow of a beard, and followed that with the remainder of my face makeup. Because I would be on stage, with stage lights, Amy and I decided to use more makeup than usual. An important part would be my eyes. I used a dark blue eyeshadow, with lighter blue highlights. I decided to use false eyelashes, and heavier eyeliner. This was followed by blood-red lip liner and lipstick. While I was doing my makeup, Amy was putting on my wig. I thought that a darker color for my wig would help my disguise. She gave my wig a soft wave. I put on my grandmother’s earrings. When Amy and I were finished, I looked approvingly in the mirror while Amy gave a soft whistle. “You look gorgeous,” she said softly.

I removed the towel and Amy went to the closet to get my gown. It was a black cap-sleeve beaded-waist formal gown with rhinestone details and made of a stretch crepe fabric of polyester and spandex. It had a jewel neckline and was lined. Very carefully, to not disturb my hair or makeup, Amy lowered it over my head, and slid it down my body. I added a jacket which came to my waist, also in black, with muted beading. I couldn’t help running my hands up and down the gown, smoothing it to my body. “Quit admiring yourself, and put on your shoes,” Amy demanded. I sat on my makeup stool and Amy knelt in front of me. She picked up a strappy, open toed shoe in black with a four-inch heel, and put it on my foot, followed by the other shoe. One could see the nail polish on my toes through the sheer hosiery.

I loved the sound of my heels clicking on the floor. I loved the feel of the slip and dress on my nylon clad legs as I walked. I picked up a black purse and stuffed some necessary cosmetics in it along with a lace-trimmed hankie and my wallet.

We decided that Amy would drive, and I carefully and gracefully slid into the car seat, keeping my knees together, even though with the long gown no one could otherwise see my panties.

I met Mrs. Benson at the stage door of the auditorium, and she looked me over with admiration and approval. “You look absolutely fabulous, honey,” she said. The other singers and I then walked to the stage and ran through some of the music with the orchestra to warm up our voices. We then went to a lounge to await the beginning of the performance.

The audience applauded when we walked on the stage. There is nothing like the rush you get from this. I smiled at the audience. The concert was a success. Everyone stayed on pitch and our voices blended nicely. The audience seemed to like it. I felt secure and comfortable with my disguise, well, as comfortable as a person can be while wearing a waist nipper.

On Sunday, I called my parents’ house and spoke with my mother. She told me how wonderful I looked and sounded. She was flattered that I used her maiden name for my stage name. I did mention that it would be best if she did not tell anyone about my performance as Jenny.

The next Monday, I was savoring a cup of coffee in the faculty lounge. One of the other teachers came up to me and said, “I went to a great concert on Saturday. It was your kind of music. I kinda thought that I would see you there.” I was tempted to say that he did, only that I was on the stage, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Oh?” was all I said.

“Yeah, they sang a bunch of stuff from operas. Look, I brought the program with me,” and he handed me the program. Although I had seen it many times, I kept up my disguise and read it.

“Yeah, these are great works,” I said as I looked at the program. “What did you think of the singing?” I asked innocently.

“It sounded quite good. The women who sang were really good looking, especially the alto. I’d like to meet her,” he added.

“Oh?” was my only reply. If only you knew that you met her and were speaking with her this instance, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. Inwardly, I was pleased, because I felt that this was an unexpected compliment.

That evening I related my conversation to Amy. “Well, it looks like no one ‘read’ you,” she concluded. A wicked little grin crossed her face. “How does it feel to have a man lusting after you?” she said.

“Oh, get real,” I said, “it was nothing like that. I’m sure that wasn’t the case.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t bet on it,” she said. “You better watch out as Jenny, in case he, or any other man, sees you. They’ll want to hit on you, and be careful around Mrs. Benson.”

“Oh bah,” was my only comment, but I took her comments to heart, and decided to be more careful when I was Jenny.

Over the next few weeks, I thought about my future with Amy. While wearing the emerald green dress that started everything, I proposed to her and she accepted. “Are we going to get matching bridal dresses?” she playfully asked me, and then laughed at her own cleverness. I just made a face at her and stuck out my tongue.

I instantly realized that what I had just done was rather girly, so I composed myself, and in my most serious voice said, “That wouldn’t work. We’ll have to invite some of the faculty from my school, and they can’t know about Jenny. It would cause too many problems, and I might end up unemployed.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just a thought,” she said.

“Not a good one. It would be fun, but no,” I added.

I looked at her for a minute, and then said, “At this time, only you, my parents, and Mrs. Benson know that I am Jenny. As far as I know, no one else knows. I’d kind of like to keep it that way. When we started with me singing as Jenny, I, for one, never saw it becoming a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” she asked.

“You know, if my school finds out about me, I would really be in trouble. I just don’t know how to handle it,” I said.

“Well, we just have to make sure that your school never finds out,” she said.

“But the more that I appear as Jenny, the more likely they will find out. After my last performance, one of the other teachers talked to me and said he thought that I would have attended. Naturally, I didn’t confess that I was there, in a dress. However, there are events in which I would be expected to be in the audience. Someone might make the connection between Jenny and Jeff, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” I explained.

Amy just sat there, digesting what I had just said. With a sad look in her eyes, she finally said, “It almost seems that you don’t want to be Jenny anymore.”

“No, that’s not true,” I responded. “I really like being Jenny, at least part time, and I don’t want to let her go. What I’d like to do is to plan for a way to be Jenny and still be Jeff at school.”

“You mean to carefully control when you appear in public as Jenny?” she asked.

“Yeah, kind of like that,” I responded.

“You could sing as Jenny,” she suggested. “Mrs. Benson knows, but you said that she promised to keep it a secret. I certainly won’t spill the beans, and I think that your parents will keep it quiet, for various reasons, not the least that they might not want their neighbors and friends to know that I crossdress

“Yeah, that might work,” I said. “I am now using my mother’s maiden name as a last name for my performances, and I have established an email account under that name. I’ll do what I can to disguise myself when I sing as Jenny.”

Amy finally let a small smile emerge on her face. “That sounds like a plan, but I think that you will have to keep Jenny’s singing career on a rather low key. No talking with the media, no interviews, no recording contracts, or anything else which will bring attention to you while you are Jenny.”

“Yeah, I think I could do that,” I said. “Do you really think it would work?”

“If you or I see the situation getting out of hand, we could have Jenny back off from further performances,” she suggested.

“How about when we go out shopping or go to dinner? It’s no secret that we are engaged. If people see you with Jenny at the mall, or out to dinner, they may wonder where Jeff is,” I said.

“That may be a problem,” she responded. “Any ideas?”

“Maybe we could put lots of miles between us and this town when I shop or dine with you as Jenny?” I asked.

“We would be seen only as Jeff and Amy around town,” she added. “Yeah, we may have to do that.”

“It’s a shame that people don’t seem to tolerate crossdressing,” I commented. “I can continue to dress, but on a limited basis. I don’t like that, but it may be the only thing I can do.”

“Yeah, but you can still be Jenny on evenings and weekends when you’re home.”

“It’s just not the same,” I complained. “I really like to go out dressed and I don’t like to be limited.”

“Yeah, but we have to compromise,” she said. “Life is full of compromises, and this is one of them. At least you don’t have to give up dressing completely.”

“True,” I responded, “I think that we have a plan that will work, even if it carries some risk of exposure.”

We then retired to the bed to celebrate our plan, wearing matching nightgowns.



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