SARAH Part I of V
Edited by Commentator
Chapter 1 - The Substitute
My name is George and I'm a quite good musician having studied piano for ten years, and sung in the church youth choir for the last five years. In addition to my music, I like to run. I run cross country and the mile and was good enough to make the teams and earn a letter. This labeled me as a “Jock,” as funny as that might seem. A great thing is that being on school teams meant that I avoided regular PE classes and the school bullies. I had made music and cross country my whole life.
At the start of my sophomore year in high school I was only 5' 8" and weighed 125 pounds dripping wet. I had yet to develop and I didn't really need to shave. I had a runner's body with the exception of my butt. It is a family trait that the males have bigger than usual butts. I had shoulder length hair that I would put in a ponytail at my neck.
My voice had not yet cracked and I sang soprano. With all of my practice I had a very good vocal range; about three octaves.
I didn't have any close male friends, my closest friends being Ashley and Kimberly who, like me, were sophomores. We attended the same school and all sang in the youth choir at church. Ashley, Kimberly and another girl named Sarah had signed up for our school's Talent Show which was held every spring to sing three part harmonies like the Andrews Sisters or the McGuire Sisters. Yes, the music was really dated, but they sounded really good. I was their piano accompanist and did the musical arrangements.
A problem evolved as Sarah had to drop out of the trio when her father was transferred to a different city. After Sarah's departure, Ashley, Kimberly and I were practicing our music and trying to figure out a replacement for Sarah.
“You know, George could take Sarah's place. He would make a very good looking girl,” Ashley posited. “ He knows Sarah's parts and does a great job singing them in practice.”
“No way! I'm not doing it,” I shouted. “People would point their fingers at me and laugh.”
“No, they wouldn't,” rejoined Ashley. Kimberly just looked at me with a funny smile.
“But I'm the accompanist,” I argued.
“That's not a problem. It's easier to get someone to play the piano than it is to find a replacement singer. I'll speak with Mrs. Benson, I'm sure she would be happy to accompany us,” Ashley countered. Mrs. Benson was the youth choir leader at our church. Oh great, I thought, if I sing as a girl I'll never be able to show my face in church again.
“That's a great idea,” Kimberly added.
“Well I don't think so,” I replied.
We were in Ashley's living room when this happened. My strong objections had drawn Ashley's mother into the room. “What's the problem?” she asked. The girls explained the situation and Ashley's mother stared at me, as if sizing me up. She called her Aunt Jane into the room and told her of the problem.
“How tall are you and how much do you weigh?” Aunt Jane asked, looking me up and down.
“About 5' 8" and 125 pounds," I replied, "Why do you ask?” I didn't get an answer, instead Aunt Jane asked me to take my hair out of the ponytail, to stand up and to turn around. I did as asked, perhaps a bit too quickly, because turning caused my shoulder length hair to swirl around my head.
“Nice hair,” Aunt Jane said, “now turn around a little slower.” After I did a slow spin nothing was said for a brief time.
“I remember seeing George singing with the church choir,” Aunt Jane said. “With his choir robes, the collar, the bow and his long hair, I thought he was too cute to be a boy. I think that the same holds true now. He could take Sarah's place.”
I didn't like this at all. It was bad enough that a lot of boys in my school thought that I was rather effeminate. Going on stage and performing as a girl would really seal my fate. I wouldn't dare show my face in school after that.
“I'll be laughed out of school, or worse, if I did this,” I complained.
“We'll call you Sarah, since that is the name on our application. We won't use your name. You can get a wig. No one will recognize you,” Kimberly said.
“I'm not sure about that. Furthermore, I don't think my parents, especially my dad, would want me to do this,” I added in objection to their proposal
“How do you know? You haven't even asked them.”
“I know my dad. He wouldn't like it if I dressed and sang as a girl.”
“It's not like this will make you gay or something,” Ashley said.
“Anyway, I'd just look stupid, like a boy in a dress,” I argued.
Ashley just looked at me, sizing me up. “No, I don't think so, I think that we can make you look like a real girl,” she said. “Anyway, it's not like we are likely to win anything since our songs are real oldies and none of the kids are likely to have heard or like any of them. Once we are finished, everyone will forget about us.”
“George, I think the girls are right. You could do it,” Ashley's mother finally said.
The problem was that she was probably correct. My hair was on the long side. Despite all of my running, my butt was larger than average. I had been mistaken for a girl more times than I wanted to remember.
“George, why don't we have your parents and Kimberly's parents over on Friday evening and all of us will discuss it,” Ashley's mother suggested.
Oh great. I had hoped to ask Ashley for a date on Friday evening. Having a parental discussion about me wearing a dress was an extremely poor substitute. The girls, on the other hand, were ecstatic. However, I felt confident that my dad would not permit me to do this, so a meeting was in my best interest.
I put some thought into what I would wear on Friday. I decided that a button-down oxford shirt, pressed slacks, and penny loafers would be a good idea. I tied my hair in a low ponytail at my neck. I tried to look as male as possible and the opposite of “cute.” I looked in the mirror before I left home and liked what I saw, even though it might still have been a bit “cute.”
That evening Kimberly and her parents, Ashley and her parents, along with her great-aunt Jane, and my parents and I were all at Ashley's house. Ashley explained the problem.
“We want George to sing as Sarah in our trio. We can't have George sing as George, since most of our songs are ‘girl’ type songs and it wouldn't be right to have a boy singing them.” Ashley explained.
It was time for me to make a rebuttal. “Rather than me singing, I think that the best idea is for me to rearrange the music for a duet,” I said, happy with my idea. “After all, I did all of the arrangements for the three parts and the accompaniment.”
“Wouldn't that be a lot of work?” Kimberly's father wanted to know.
“It would be a bit of work, but I can do it,” I said with certainty.
“But wouldn't that change the voice parts? It would be hard for Ashley and me to learn new parts,” Kimberly said. Unfortunately, she was right.
“I d rather not do it at all than to do it as a duet,” Ashley pouted. With that statement, I could see the possibility of future dates with Ashley going down the drain if I didn't agree with her.
“That would be a shame,” said Ashley's aunt. “I've heard you practice, and I was really looking forward to hearing you sing the songs at the show.”
“Why don't you do one of the songs?” Kimberly's mother suggested.
We retreated to the kitchen to prepare.
Ashley's mom did the introductions as we walked into the living room. I went to the piano and I played and sang the verse of “Someone to Watch Over Me” which is an exclusively girlish song. Ashley and Kimberly came in on the chorus. I had previously suggested that Ashley or Kimberly sing the verse, and that I only accompany on the piano, but my suggestion was rejected, so there I was singing my heart out for some man to watch over me.
We finished the song. Not a sound was heard for a few seconds, but then everyone began to applaud. Kimberly, Ashley and I curtsied; why I curtsied I have no idea, but when I saw Kimberly and Ashley do it I just joined in. That probably was a mistake on my part because it made me look really girlish.
We sang two other songs to greater applause. When we finished, we sat down and Ashley's mom stood up. “I invited all of you so you could hear our children sing.” Thankfully she used the word “children “ and not “girls” as she might have done.
“We had Sarah as a member of the trio,” she continued, “and George would play the accompaniment. Sarah had to drop out suddenly, and we’re one girl short. After hearing George pour out his heart for a man to ‘watch over me’ you can see why we suggested that George become Sarah for the Talent Show.”
I looked over at my dad to gauge his reaction. He was smiling and nodding his head in approval. Not a good sign for me. My mom was just beaming. No help there.
Ashley's mom looked around the room. “To make this work, George has to become a girl for the performance. I realize that some of you might object to this, but I wanted you to hear the singing before making any decision. I would like to turn this over to George's dad, for his opinion.”
My dad just sat there for a moment, until my mother leaned over toward him and said the word “Follies,” followed by the name of my father's college fraternity. She obviously knew something about this since she and my dad were in college together, and got engaged while in college. My father gave a weird look at my mother and began to speak.
“This is a bit unusual and I haven't discussed it with my son, but I have no objection. He actually may enjoy it.” My mother just beamed. “George,” my father continued, “you realize that you and the girls have put a lot of work into this, and if you don't go through with it all that work would be wasted and two wonderful girls would be disappointed.” Talk about guilt trips.
Neither Kimberly's parents nor Ashley's parents had any problem with me being Sarah for the performance. Ashley's great-Aunt Jane enthusiastically supported the proposal.
I played my last card in my attempt to get out of this. “But if I sing, we will be short an accompanist.”
Like all of my other objections, this didn't work. “I spoke with Mrs. Benson about this today, and she is willing to accompany us,” Ashley interjected. "The Talent Show rules would permit this."
“I realize that going through with this will involve some expense,” Aunt Jane said. “I am willing to fund this project; a beauty salon, make over, hair, clothes, etc. and pay Mrs. Benson. Kimberly, Ashley, I leave it up to you to instruct George, now Sarah, how to present himself as a girl, the walk, expressions, body movements and the like, between now and the show. I am really looking forward to the Talent Show.”
“Don't get too excited, Aunt Jane, it is not likely that we will win or even come in second or third,” Ashley cautioned.
My father looked directly at me. “It's all up to you, George. Will you do it?”
My last hope for an easy escape was gone, once my father had raised no objection. I looked around the room, especially at Ashley and Kimberly, and then lowered my head in thought. After a long pause I raised my head. "I'll do it," I finally said.
Ashley and Kimberly jumped up, hugged each other, and began to squeal with delight. They reached over to me, pulled me to my feet and the three of us hugged each other.
After a few other details were worked out we all headed for home. How am I going to pull this off, I wondered?
When we were back home, my mother came to me and said that I was very brave agreeing to perform as a girl and that she was very proud of me. “There is something that I want to show you,” she said, and pulled out an old photo album. She turned to some photographs of a really pretty girl. “When your father was in college, his frat had a show called the Follies. There were girl parts but no girls in the show. All of the girl parts were played by the boys in the frat.” She pointed to the photo. “Look familiar to you?” she asked. I studied the photograph.
The pretty girl had the same kind of smile that my father had. “Dad?” I asked.
“Your father as a girl,” my mother confirmed. “I reminded him of this before he said something stupid tonight,” she added.
I continued to look at the picture. I hoped that I could look as good.
When I went upstairs to bed, my mother met me, and handed me one of her nightgowns. “Might as well get started right now, Sarah,” she said with a grin.
That night I slept as Sarah, in a nightgown.
Chapter 2 - At The Mall.
The next day was Saturday, and at an ungodly hour of the morning, my mother pulled me out of bed. “Get up, Sarah, we have a lot to do and not much time to do it in.”
“Sarah? Who's Sarah?” I mumbled, wondering why I was wearing a nightgown instead of my usual pajamas.
“You are, dear.”
“Oh,” and it all came back to me. I stood up, and the hem of the nightgown slid down. I ran my hands down the smooth softness of the nightgown.
She pulled out a measuring tape and began to measure me all over my body, including some places where I wished she wouldn't. Oh well, that's the way mothers are, I thought.
“Quit fidgeting,” she commanded. “Remember I've seen you naked more times than you can recall,” and she kept measuring.
After she put down the measuring tape, she said, “I have to run some quick errands. In the meantime, go take a shower, but before you do, you will find some hair remover on the sink. Read the instructions, and put it everywhere except on your head. When I come back from my errands, I expect you to be out of the shower and in this robe.” She handed me one of her robes. It was pink. I just grunted a reply and she left my room. A few minutes later I heard the car starting.
After the hair removal and the shower, I was sitting at the kitchen table in a pink robe, contemplating the mess I was in. My father strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Follies?” I asked.
“Yep,” he replied.
“Because the frat had done it for years, and everyone expected us to do it. I got chosen to be a girl because of my size, and like you I have a good voice. I could sound something like a girl.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah, I met your mother because of the show. She liked my dressing up, and that led to our marriage. So, in a way, you are a product of my dressing like a girl.”
“Mom said she was running some errands. You know anything about that?”
“Not really, but I can guess, and it’s my guess that it has to do with Sarah.”
I only grunted a reply and stared at the walls until my mother returned.
Mom strode into the kitchen, carrying some bags. “I'm glad you followed my instructions. Time for us to go up to your room, Sarah.”
That name again. Yuck!
When we got to my room, my mom reached into one of the bags and pulled out a package with three panties. She opened it and pulled out a peach colored pair. “Here, put these on and tuck your . . . you know what, back between your legs. When you're done, take off the robe.”
I did as I was told, and she handed me a peach colored bra. “Here, put this on. It matches your panties. A girl feels better when her bra matches her panties.”
“I'm not a girl, remember, so I don't feel better when my bra and panties match. In fact I don't feel better wearing a bra and panties. And why are they now ‘my’ bra and panties?”
“Oh just get on with it,” she retorted. “I got you a padded bra, to give you a little shape.”
My mother began to look wishful. “Oh gee! I just remembered that buying a daughter her first bra is an important mother/daughter moment. Sorry I cheated you out of that, but I didn't think that you would want to go into a store looking like a boy to buy a bra.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically.
“Once we get you into girl mode, I can take you with me when we shop for more clothes.”
“I can hardly wait,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I'm only trying to help,” she said. “I don't want someone to look at you and say ‘A boy in a skirt’.”
“Okay mom, I'm sorry.”
“Let me see how that bra fits,” she said, coming over to me and pulling and pushing on the bra. “Looks pretty good, I measured you correctly.”
“Put on this top and skirt,” she said, handing the items to me.
I put on the top. It was just like a T-shirt, but it was, as I later found, to be lilac. I then stepped into the denim skirt, and pulled up the zipper.
“The zipper goes in the back,” she said in a helpful tone.
I twisted the skirt around. “Take a look in the mirror to make sure the zipper is in the center of your back.” I did as she said.
“It's a good thing that your butt is on the large size. It fills out the skirt,” she added. I, for one, did not think that the size of my butt was a good thing.
“Why do I have to wear a skirt? Most of the girls I know wear jeans.”
“Girls’ jeans are cut differently from boys. The waist is smaller and the hips larger. We have to go to the store and try them on to make sure they fit. I got you a skirt since the fit is not as critical.”
“Why couldn't I just wear my own jeans?”
“Because they're boys’ jeans, and girls don't look good in boys’ jeans. Too tight in hips and too loose in the waist. If you wear jeans, you've got to wear girls’ jeans.”
I just grunted in response, not quite following her logic, or lack thereof.
“I got you some girl's athletic shoes. I hope they fit. You don't need any socks, unless they are too loose on you.” I put them on and they fit.
“It's 11:30 already. I called Kimberly and Ashley and told them to come over for lunch at noon to see Sarah.”
I just grunted a reply.
“By the way, you've got to stop grunting. Boys grunt, Girls don't.”
“But I'm a boy.”
“Not the way you're dressed.”
There appeared to be another logic error there, but I decided to let it slide.
Mom then said, “Since you're a girl, you have to help prepare lunch for the girls, and serve it.”
Oh great, I thought, I put on a skirt and I become an indentured servant.
At twelve sharp, the doorbell rang. “Get the door, Sarah,” my mother called from the kitchen.
I trudged to the door, wishing I was somewhere else. As I opened the door, I saw Ashley and Kimberly standing there with big grins on their faces.
“You look great,” Kimberly announced. “Lilac is definitely your color.”
The only color I wanted would be called “invisible.”
“Come into the kitchen girls,” mom called out. “Sarah prepared our lunch. I hope you enjoy it.”
“Sarah, please set the table.”
For some reason this caused a fit of giggles from the girls. I just frowned.
“Ooh! I can't wait to do something with your hair, Sarah.” Kimberly cooed.
“I get to do her makeup,” Ashley claimed, lifting a bag which, as it turned out, had a great quantity of makeup.
I put lunch on the table and flopped down in a chair. Mom and the girls immediately stopped talking and just looked at me, disapprovingly.
“That's not how a young lady sits down,” mom said in a chiding voice. “Smooth out the back of your skirt so it doesn't get wrinkled or ride up. Sit down slowly and sit on the front of the chair. Keep your legs together, don't give the whole world a look at your panties. Now stand up again, keep your knees together and try to gracefully sit down.”
“You've got a lot to learn by the night of the talent show,” mom added. “I hope we have enough time.”
I ate in silence, since Ashley, Kimberly and mom filled every second with talking about clothes, makeup, hair and me as Sarah. The word “cute “ was used more times than I thought possible.
“What's the program for today?” Ashley asked.
“You girls do something with her hair and makeup, and then we're going shopping,” mom interjected among squeals from the girls. I wasn't at all pleased with mom's choice of pronouns. “Let's get started. Sarah, just put the dishes in the sink for now; you can wash them later.”
After I cleared off the table and put everything away, mom and the girls led me upstairs to my parents' bedroom, and sat me down at mom's vanity. This time I tried to sit in a more ladylike manner.
Kimberly pulled the elastic from my ponytail and began attacking my hair with a comb and brush, painfully pulling out the snarls. “Ooh, you've got such nice hair. Too nice for a boy.” It was then that I discovered the joy of having someone brush your hair.
Ashley, meanwhile studied my face, like an artist looking at a fresh canvas. “It's a good thing that I brought some lilac eye shadow,” she said.
My hair is a little long for a boy, but perhaps not to long for a classical musician. Kimberly kept brushing it. She then stood back, and surveyed her work.
“Do you have a scissors?” Kimberly asked.
“Whoa!” I almost shouted. “No one said anything about cutting hair.” I could just envision the creation of a really feminine hair style that wouldn't be able to be disguised when I went to school.
“Oh stop being a baby,” said Kimberly. “I'm just going to get rid of split ends. No girl wants hair with split ends.”
But I'm not a girl, I thought, I can live with split ends.
My mother weighed in with her opinion, and I lost. The split ends, and more, were gone.
“But no bangs!” I stated with as much emphasis as I could muster, while wearing a skirt.
“Okay, no bangs,” they conceded.
“Maybe later,” Ashley whispered to Kimberly.
“I heard that,” I shouted.
“Okay,” Ashley conceded.
“You know a few highlights would look really cute,” Kimberly ventured.
“They would,” agreed Ashley.
I shouted, “I don't want to look cute. Everybody seems to like to apply that word to me. I've had enough of it.”
“But you are cute,” Kimberly said. I frowned. “Even when you frown,” she added.
I decided I needed an ally in what was becoming them versus me. “Where's dad?” I demanded.
Dad heard me, and he entered the room. “What's the problem?”
“They're trying to make me look cute,” I complained.
“Oh,” dad said, and then added, “That actually won't be too hard to do.”
I recalled the photos that my mother had shown me last night. With all the disgust I could muster, I spat out the words, “Blasted Follies.”
My dad just smiled. “You're on your own now. Maybe you'll learn that trying to argue with three women at one time is a lose-lose situation.” He turned around and walked out of the room. I was truly alone.
My mother looked at me in a way I didn't like. “You know, highlights would really look cute.”
“Mom, please!” I shouted. That word again.
“Okay,” she said.
Kimberly drew my hair into a ponytail. Not low on my neck, but high on the back of my head. Girl style. “Does anyone have a blue scrunchie? I think it would go well with her lilac top.”
“Her? Hey I'm a boy, remember that.”
“Yeah, Yeah, whatever,” was the reply.
While all the arguing about hair was going on, Ashley was smearing some stuff on my face. “What's that?” I challenged.
“Concealer and foundation,” was the response.
“Every girl applies concealer and foundation under her makeup. It covers imperfections and is the base for the other makeup.”
“But I'm not a girl. I don't have any imperfections,” I rejoined.
“How about that zit on your forehead?” said Ashley.
“Yeah, that,” said Ashley. “Anyway, I'm finished with the concealer and foundation,” she added, brushing some feminine smelling powder over the foundation.
“Do you think some blush is needed?” Ashley asked.
“Maybe a little,” was the response.
I got blush.
I felt a sharp pain at my eyebrows. "Ouch! What are you doing?”
“Just cleaning up your eyebrows a bit. Stop being a baby,” was Ashley's answer.
“Close your eyes,” Ashley commanded, as she applied some eye shadow. Lilac, naturally.
Next came eye liner and mascara.
Ashley produced a lipstick and began to apply it to my lips. By then, I realized that further resistance was futile, and just glumly sat there.
Finally, they were finished, and stood back to admire their handiwork, “You really look hot, girlfriend,” Ashley exclaimed. I looked in the mirror. I did look like a “cute” teen-aged girl.
Mom put on a coat and grabbed her purse and keys. She then handed me another coat, and said, “We’ll get you a coat at the mall that is more appropriate for a girl your age.” She then picked up and handed me a purse and said, “I already packed your purse.” It had my school ID, a hair brush, some tissue, and the tube of that lipstick. “Put the strap over your shoulder.”
“Let's shop, girls!” my mother announced. I was less than happy being referred to as one of the girls, but I said nothing. Kimberly and Ashley each grabbed one of my hands and began pulling me toward the open door. I think that they held my hands to keep me from escaping.
Once on the front porch, I became terrified. “What if someone sees me?”
“They'd only think that they saw a pretty girl,” mom said, trying to quiet my fears. It didn't.
My attempt to get into the car resulted in another “girl” lesson. “When you get into a car while wearing a skirt, turn sideways, keep your legs together, and when you are sitting swivel your legs in the car,” my mother instructed. “Ashley, would you show Sarah how to do this properly?”
Ashley just giggled, and, even though she was wearing jeans, demonstrated the proper way to get into a car. That caused me to note that I was the only one wearing a skirt. Three females wearing jeans, and the only male wearing a skirt. There seemed to be some kind of injustice here.
While mom was driving to the mall, I asked her, “Why are we going shopping?”
“Because you need some more girls’ clothes,” she responded.
“But I already have a skirt and top.”
“You are going to need to practice being a girl when not in school or church from now until the talent show,” mom explained.
“Bummer,” I muttered under my breath.
Mom pulled the car into the mall parking lot. I looked around. There were a whole lot of people around. “Mom, I don't know if I can do this,” I complained, being sure that everyone in sight would know that I was a boy in a skirt.
“Quit complaining, and let's go,” mom said.
While walking to the entrance of the mall, I could feel the cool breeze under my skirt and on my hairless legs. The hem rubbed my legs as the skirt swayed with each step. It wasn't totally unpleasant. The first store we entered was a big discount store. We headed directly to the woman's wear area. It was filled with all kinds of female attire. Mom strode directly to the lingerie department, followed by the girls and the pretend girl. Mom and the girls immediately began going through the piles of lacy and delicate undergarments.
“Do you see anything you like?” she asked me.
“No,” I replied, truthfully.
Mom looked at a lot of lingerie, checking them for size, “Here,” she said as she pushed a pile of ladies’ underwear into my arms. “Let's go to the changing rooms to see if they fit.” With that, she took my hand and began pulling me to the back of the store. Ashley and Kimberly just giggled.
After what seemed to be an embarrassingly long time, mom found three bras she liked, along with what I found out was a camisole, two half slips and one full slip. We walked out of the changing room, with me carrying my new clothes.
The next stop was the hosiery department, where I acquired three sets of pantyhose.
After paying for the purchases, we left the store, and mom led us to a store that seemed to specialize in what I soon found out were “foundation garments.”
A sales clerk approached us, and asked if she could help us.
“We need a waist nipper and maybe a padded panty girdle for my son,” mom flatly stated. This time I was not referred to as a girl, but for me this was the wrong time.
"MOM!" I barely kept from shouting.
“I see,” the clerk said. “We do get a number of gentlemen customers here, so I think I know what you need.” With this she gave me a broad smile, and winked at me. I was then fitted for a padded girdle and waist nipper. Before paying for them, mom told me to keep them on. She explained that they were necessary so the dresses would properly fit.
“Dresses?” I questioned. “The talent show is only for one night.”
“Yes, but you have to do a lot of practicing being a girl,” she retorted.
However, before heading off to buy dresses, mom steered us into a shoe store. “We need to get shoes before you try on dresses,” she explained, not that it made a lot of sense to me. I wondered if shopping for girl clothes somehow made your mind slip out of gear. As we sat down, a young male clerk approached us.
“You're getting better at sitting,” mom whispered to me, “just remember to keep your knees and legs together.” She handed me a pair of short nylon socks. “You need to wear these when you try on shoes.”
“What can I get for you, ladies?” the clerk asked.
“You probably should measure her feet,” mom explained, “and we are going to need a pair of pumps with a two inch heel, some sandals, and maybe a pair of flats.”
The clerk sat down in front of me and pulled out a device to measure my feet. I could feel him holding my foot and leg, and it seemed that he was trying to get a peek under my skirt. I was glad that mom had told me to keep my knees and legs together.
After measuring my feet, the clerk disappeared in the back of the store, only to return a minute later with multiple boxes of shoes.
Mom made me try on all of the shoes, and to walk around to try them out. I had a problem with the heels; I teetered around, nearly falling, until I figured out to step on the ball of my feet before putting the heel down.
“First pair of heels,” mom confided to the clerk, who nodded understandingly.
We finally ended up with a pair of heels in black, a pair of sandals, and a pair of flats in dark blue. With the athletic shoes my mother had bought earlier, I now had four pairs of girls’ footwear.
“Do I need all of these shoes?” I asked.
“A girl never has too many shoes,” mom explained.
Mom handed me all of the parcels, and announced, “now for dresses and skirts.”
Dresses and skirts, as in plural? I wondered.
After finding the section with my size, mom, Ashley and Kimberly went into high gear, pulling dresses and skirts off the rack and holding them up to me to see how they looked. They seemed to be having a great time doing this.
It turned out to be dresses and skirts, in plural, as in two dresses and three skirts, along with three more tops, all in various colors, which mom and the girls claimed to be “my” colors.
I had to admit, only to myself, that I rather liked trying on the dresses and skirts. They looked good on me and I looked very pretty with them on. I rather liked the feel of the hems rubbing against my hairless legs.
At long last, we all stopped at some Jean’s store. I was able to get a pair of jeans, girls’ jeans to be sure, but at least they were jeans. With my padded panty briefs and the waist nipper, I filled them out nicely. They were so obviously girls’ jeans that I knew that I could never wear while I was George, aside from the fact that they wouldn't fit without my foundation garments. I asked if I could wear them home, but my mother said no, and added that I needed all of the skirt time I could get.
Mom finally announced that we were finished shopping, much to my delight. However, we weren't going home right away. She suggested, or maybe commanded, that we were going to stop at the food court for some refreshments before heading home.
As we entered the food court, I recognized some boys from school. I really, really, didn't want them to see me and whispered this to my mom.
“Don't be foolish,” she whispered back to me, “they're likely to see you sooner or later, and by the way, you need to learn how a girl acts around boys.”
After we got our food and drinks and sat down, three boys who were in my classes headed over toward us. “Hi, Ashley,” one said, “who are your friends?”
“These are Kimberly, Sarah and Sarah's mom,” Ashley said and introduced the boys to us. I was petrified. However, having a mom with us seemed to keep things on an even keel. After a few minutes of chatting, during which I said nothing, mom announced, “It's nice to meet you, but we have to be heading home.”
On the way to the car, Ashley turned to me. “See, all your worries were for naught. The boys really thought that you were a girl.”
That was all I needed. “I don't want to be seen as a girl.”
“Well, you certainly don't want to be seen as a boy dressed like that, she snickered.
The ride home was uneventful. Ashley, Kimberly went into non-stop talking, and I, feeling girlish in my clothes, actually joined in, discussing clothes, school and boys. Mom just smiled.
Ashley and Kimberly told me how much fun it had been, and headed to their homes. When I said that I was going upstairs to change, mom told me to keep my skirt and top on. Mom, dad and I then sat down for dinner. After dinner I put on a fashion show for dad, and then I headed upstairs for bed. When I got to my room, I discovered the nightgown from the last night in the place where my pajamas would usually be. With a sigh I slipped the nightgown over my head and rubbed my hands over my body, enjoying the feel of the fabric. When I got in bed, I realized that I was really tired, and fell asleep immediately.
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