How Romeo and Juliet Changed My Life
Part II - Conclusion
Author’s Note: This is a continuation of How Romeo and Juliet Changed My life, Part I, where Steve and Dave attend an all boy’s summer camp and Steve ends up playing the part of Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Maybe Steve would rather be Stephanie, and starts counseling. All is not happy at home, however.
Chapter 3 - Deeper and Deeper.
When we were home after the third session with Ms. Branch, I undid my French twist, removed my makeup and changed back into my boy clothes. I then rode my bicycle over to Dave’s house. As usual, he was sprawled in front of the television. “Want to go for a ride?” I asked.
“Yeah, okay,” he said and he stood up. “Ma, Steve and I are going out for a bike ride,” he announced.
“Okay,” his mother replied. “Have a good time.”
“Where do you want to go?” he asked once we were outside.
“Somewhere private where we can talk,” I responded. We ended up at the same park and same picnic bench as before.
“Okay, what’s up?” he said.
“You know that I’ve been going to counseling. Well, something came up today.”
“What about us?” he said warily.
“The counselor brought up me dressing as a girl, and asked me if that would bother you. So I’m asking if it would.”
“Heck, I’ve seen you dressed as a girl in the play. I even kissed you when you were dressed as a girl.”
“And other times,” I reminded him with a smile
“Okay, I wouldn’t mind, but it becomes a question of when and where. Like, for example, school’s not a good idea.”
“I agree. I just want to know if the concept is okay.”
“It is. Do you want to do it at your house?”
“Unfortunately, that may not be an option.” I explained my father’s attitude.
“I don’t know about my house, either,” he said. “My parents probably wouldn’t like it, even if my sister thought it was a cool idea.”
“Your sister?” I asked. “Does she know about us?”
“No, but she thinks that you are awfully girly.”
“There is another problem,” I said, “it takes a while for me to get into girl mode, and it is best done when I’m at home.”
“How does your mom feel about you dressing up?” he asked.
“I think that she’s cool about it,” I said, “after all, she took me shopping to get some girl clothes.”
“Okay, then, how about at your house when your dad isn’t home?”
“That may be it,” I replied.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Yeah. We were pretty heavily into it at camp. Do you still feel the same way?”
He didn’t respond immediately. “Yeah, I think I do,” he finally said.
“Prove it,” I challenged him. “Give me a kiss.”
“Right here, out in the open? Someone is likely to see us, and since you don’t look like a girl right now, they may get the wrong impression.”
I stood up. “Okay, then behind the field house. No one will see us there.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.
We walked behind the field house, checking right and left to see if anyone could see us. No one could.
I moved close to him and put my arms around his neck and he put his arms around my back. We pulled each other closer, and our lip met. Our tongues explored each other’s mouth. It made me feel wonderful. We broke off for a moment to see if the coast was still clear, and went back to our kiss. He seemed to enjoy it as much as I did, because I could feel his erection pressing against my belly.
We finally came up for air. “That was wonderful,” I exclaimed. “I’ve missed our kisses.”
“So have I,” he admitted.
We spent the rest of the afternoon just goofing off, and I returned home feeling better than I had for quite a while.
On Monday morning before breakfast my mother told me that the blood tests were fasting tests, and that we were going to the lab before school. At the lab I was led into a small room to wait for the vampire; oops, I mean the phlebotomist. She walked in the room and looked at the blood test orders, and I could see that she was counting the number of gallons, oops, I mean vials, she would need. I wondered if she drew any conclusions from the nature of the tests which were ordered.
After the blood draws, my mother mentioned that the Easton Clinic had called her and said that they wanted me to have a complete physical, and that she had called Doctor McNally and she could do it this morning. “I called the school and told them that you had a doctor’s appointment and would not be at school until after lunch,” she said.
“Dr. McNally isn’t our usual Doctor,” I commented.
“No, she’s my gynecologist,” my mother said.
“But gynecologists women’s doctors,” I said in the way of objection.
“And you are . . .” she said, leaving the sentence incomplete.
When we got to the Doctor’s office, the receptionist handed me a clipboard with a medical history questionnaire. “Have a seat, miss, and fill it out, and then give it back to me.” I let the word “miss” slide.
The questionnaire had the usual questions, birth date, height, weight, allergies and previous medical history, but, interestingly, no question of whether I was male or female. Maybe they thought that they didn’t need to.
I chuckled at the questions that asked whether I was pregnant, the date of the onset of my last menstrual period, and whether I had any vaginal discharges.
A time after I gave the receptionist the completed questionnaire, she said that the Doctor could see me now, and my mother and I went to Dr. McNally’s examination room. “Hello, Mrs. Spicer,” she said, “and this is your daught . . .” She stopped mid-sentence. When she recovered her composure she said, “We don’t usually treat boys.”
“He’s a patient at the Easton Clinic,” my mother said, “so I thought it would be okay.”
“Oh, the Easton Clinic,” Dr. McNally said, with a look of understanding on her face. She weighed me, measured my height, took my blood pressure and listened to my heart. In a few minutes I was on the examination table wearing nothing except one of those silly disposable patient gowns. There were two arms coming from the bottom of the table with places for my feet.
Then the “fun” began. It was embarrassing, especially with my mother present. “Have you been intimate with anyone?” the Doctor asked.
“I’ve kissed a boy,” I responded.
“How about anal intercourse?”
“No way!” I stated with vehemence.
“How many different boys have you kissed?”
“My friend, Dave.”
“Anything more than kissing?” I must have turned redder than a stop sign, and I just nodded. By this time my mother was looking shocked.
The Doctor then lifted up the paper gown, exposing my genitals. While looking at them, she asked, “Do you get erections?” I said that I did, but I didn’t get that big.
“When you kissed Dave, did you get aroused?” Again I said that I did.
She then took out a ruler and measured my penis! Talk about embarrassment. If that wasn’t bad enough, she started squeezing my ball sac. “Well, the good news is that your testes have descended.” I had no idea why this was good news.
The Doctor then lifted the paper gown almost all the way up, and looked at my chest. “Any pain or soreness?” she asked.
“Your nipples are larger than normal,” she observed, and began prodding and poking around my nipples. “There appears to be more tissue here than I would expect. Have you been taking hormones?”
“No,” I replied.
“I think that we need some blood tests,” the Doctor said.
“We just had some done that the Easton Clinic wanted,” my mother said, “I have the receipt and it lists the tests.” My mother handed it to Dr. McNally.
“These ought to do for a start,” Dr. McNally said after she reviewed the list, “would you ask the Easton Clinic to send the results to me?” My mother said she would.
“Do you ever dress up like a girl?” Dr. McNally asked.
“I have, but my dad doesn’t want me to, so only rarely” I answered.
“How do you feel about his dressing up?” the Doctor asked my mother.
“I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s nice to have a daughter,” my Mother answered.
The Doctor turned to me, and said, “I don’t imagine you want to be called Steve when you’re dressed?”
“Stephanie,” I answered, “or Steph for short.”
“Okay,” the Doctor said, “that does it for today. “I’ll write up my notes and send them to the Easton Clinic. I want you to make an appointment for a followup visit in two weeks. If your nipples get sore, give me a call.”
“Am I growing tits?” I asked.
“Here we refer to them as breasts, not tits,” she said reprovingly. “But to answer your question, it is possible. I won’t know for sure until all the results are in and we see what develops.”
Once back in the car on the way to school, my mother turned to me and said, “you never told me about you and Dave.”
“I didn’t think it was important,” I responded.
“You’re my child. Everything you do is important to me.”
“Maybe, but Dad would blow a gasket if he knew.”
“That may be so, but I have one question for you, and I want a truthful answer. Did you ever have Dave’s penis in your mouth?”
After a pause, I said, “Yes.”
“How about the other way around?” she asked. I didn’t think that it was a good time to remind her that she said that she had only one question and that this was question number two.
“No,” I replied.
* * *
My mother and I arrived at the Easton Clinic on Saturday to hear about the results of the blood test and Dr. McNally’s findings. My father elected to not attend, but rather to play golf with his friends. It was just as well with me. I dressed en femme. When we went into Ms. Branch’s office there was a man already sitting there wearing a white lab coat. “I’ve asked Dr. Liss to sit in on this meeting, if you don’t mind. I have consulted with him all along, and I think that he is more qualified to answer your questions than I am,” Ms. Branch explained.
“You must be Stephanie,” Dr. Liss said, “I imagine you are anxious to hear the results of the tests. It appears that even though you are 16, the onset of puberty has been delayed. While your testicles have descended, your penis is small. Your hormone levels show that your testosterone levels are low but your estrogen level is high. We could wait and see if you experience a growth spurt, which most likely means that you will develop like any man. If you don’t experience a growth spurt, we could look for something else, and maybe try some hormones which will speed things along.”
“However, that might not compatible with one of your stated options when you first came to us, that is to recognize that you are a girl in a boy’s body. It would be compatible if you decide that you are a homosexual man. Ms. Branch and I have discussed hormone therapy, and don’t think it is recommended in your case, at least not at this time. Let me explain. If you are a girl in a boy’s body, and you want to be a transsexual, we could give you hormone replacement therapy. That would decide the issue against remaining a male. However, hormone therapy would cause you to develop female traits, such as breast development. Since you want to go on to college, hormone therapy would make your high school career more difficult, because you would look more and more like a girl as time went on. This itself could cause you problems.”
“Therefore, I would recommend that no medical action be taken at this time, and wait until you are ready to graduate from high school, at which time you would have to decide if you are a homosexual or want to be a transsexual. You should keep coming in, but less often, and we would closely monitor you. I note that you have seen Dr. McNally, and she reports that it is possible that you are developing breasts. Continue to see Dr. McNally and have her report any significant developments.” With that, he thanked us for coming in and left.
“Okay, Ms. Branch, what does this all mean?” I asked.
“Simply put, no hormones, and we wait and see what happens over the next year or so,” she said.
“I’m not sure I like that,” I said.
“There’s not much I can do about that,” she said.
On the way home, my mother turned to me and said, “you might not like what they said, but I think that they may be right. Waiting to see what happens may be the safest thing to do.”
I said nothing.
* * *
Chapter 4 - The Halloween Dance.
After my fourth appointment at the Easton Clinic, Dave stopped by. My mother gave him a “what are you doing to my poor daughter?” look, which Dave and I thankfully ignored.
“I got a new game for the computer. Want to try it?” I asked.
“Sure,” he answered, and we headed up to my room.
“We have to be careful, my Mom thinks we are up to something,” I said.
“We are, so what?” he answered.
“I have to live here, so we’ve got to be cool,” I said.
“Okay, where’s this game?”
“There isn’t, it was just an excuse to get you up here so we could talk,” I said.
I explained what happened at the Easton session and poured out my frustrations. I was ready to cry.
Dave sensed this and said, “That’s heavy stuff. Let’s talk about fun stuff, instead.”
“Like kissing?” I said in a seductive tone.
“No, about Halloween, and then maybe kissing,” he replied.
“Let’s start with kissing,” I said and I put my arms around him, and we kissed. Suddenly I heard footsteps on the stairs. “Mother’s coming up here,” I said with alarm. We quickly disengaged and stared at the computer screen.
There was a knock at the door, and without an invitation to enter, my mother opened the door.
“Do you kids want anything to eat?” she said with feigned inocense,
“No, Mother, we’re all right,” I responded.
After she left the room, I asked, “Okay, what about Halloween?”
“It’s less than two weeks away, on a Friday. The school is having a dance. You want to go?” he asked.
“Is that a date?” I laughed.
“We could go stag,” he said, but we should think about costumes.
“Why? If we’re going stag, you pick out your own costume, and I pick out mine, that is, if I decide to go.”
“You have to go. I was hoping to coordinate our costumes,” he said.
An evil thought ran through my mind. “How about Disney costumes. I could be Peter Pan, and you could be Tinker Bell.”
“Very funny,” he said sarcastically. “I was thinking more or less like Romeo and Juliet.”
“People would assume that we are a couple,” I said. “That wouldn’t do anything good to our reputations. One or both of us would be labeled as gay.”
“Okay, I only suggested that since it would be an opportunity for you to dress as a girl. You seem to want to do that,” he said.
“I do, but we need to keep it so we aren’t connected with each other as a couple.” I suggested that I would wear an evening gown and Dave would go as a pirate.
I told my mother what Dave and I had come up with, and she agreed to help. She picked Dave and me up from school and went to my house where I started my transformation. I borrowed Mom’s maxi and peasant blouse again, put on my own panties, bra, panty hose and shoes. I put my hair in a French twist and added a touch of makeup. My mother handed me a purse and I filled it with my necessaries, after which my mom, Dave and I headed to the thrift store.
I found a long evening dress which fit, more or less, but which my mother assured me she could alter. We found a wig for me, just in case. Dave found some pants and a shirt that he could make into a pirate costume. The crowning part of his search was a wide black belt.
We got home well before my father got home, so I was able to take my hair down, clean off the makeup and get back into my regular school clothes.
* * *
On Thursday, I was uncomfortable all day at school. My chest, and more particularly my nipples hurt. When I got home from school, I mentioned this to my mother.
“Come into the bathroom, where there is good light, and take off your shirt and undershirt,” she instructed.
She looked closely at each nipple, and then touched one of them, They were sensitive, and I told her so. She said, “I think that your undershirt was rubbing against them. Were you wearing one of your usual T-shirts? It’s not a new one, is it?”
“Usual and not new,” I said.
“I have a suggestion,” she said, “put on your bra, and see I that helps. You might want to cover it up with a loose flannel shirt, so your father doesn’t notice that you’re wearing a bra.” I did as she suggested, and found immediate relief. “We’ll have to mention this to Dr. McNally next Monday.”
On Monday, we checked in with Mr. McNally’s receptionist and she handed me one of those paper examining gowns, and told me to go to the examination room, take off all of my clothes and get on the examination table, as had been done before. A short time thereafter Dr. McNally walked in
“Well, how are we?” the Doctor said routinely.
“Okay, I guess,” I replied, “but my nipples have been bothering me.”
“Oh,” she said with more than casual interest, and she lifted the paper gown up to my shoulders. She poked, prodded and rubbed my nipples and my chest near them. “What did you do about it?”
“Mom suggested that I wear a bra,” I answered.
“Did that help?”
“Oh yeah,” I replied.
She looked at her file, and pulled out a photograph of my chest taken the last time I was there. “Only two weeks, and I can see a slight change.”
“Sit up, and let me measure you,” which she did. “No significant difference, but I can feel more breast tissue. We’re going to have to keep an eye on them.”
She told me to lie down and she put my feet in those things which I later found out were called stirrups, leaving my crotch exposed to the breeze. She pulled on my penis and poked and prodded my balls. “Nothing new there,” she said.
“Have you taken any pills that you haven’t already told me about?” she asked.
“I got the results of your blood tests from Easton. Did they explain them to you?” she asked.
“Yeah, they said that puberty was delayed at that my hormones were all messed up,” I replied.
She laughed. “Well, that’s one way of putting it. What did they recommend you do?”
“Essentially nothing until I graduate from high school, and they cut back my counseling sessions.”
“Oh? Did they mention hormone replacement therapy?”
“Yeah, they did, but said they wanted to wait and see what happened all by itself until I graduate.”
She looked through her file. “Ah, we do have the signed releases of information,” she said to no one in particular. “I think that I would like to discuss your case with them. Unless I’m wrong, something has just started to happen, as you say, ‘all by itself’.”
“Does that mean I’m getting tits?” I said brightly.
“I told you we don’t like that word around here, but, as you so crudely put it, it is possible that you are growing tits.”
“Cool,” I said, “Just wait until dad finds out. He’ll flip.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. McNally said.
“He goes nuts every time anyone brings up my wearing of any female clothes,” I responded.
“I see,” she said. “Wait a moment and I’ll give you a ‘to whom it may concern’ letter, saying that it is medically advised that you wear a bra or nylon camisole to protect your nipples. It’ll also request that you be excused from PE or any sports. You can show it to your father and give it to the school.”
I smiled. A minor victory won.
“Does this mean that I’m turning into a girl?”
“As opposed to anything else?”
“No, it’s too soon to make that kind of evaluation.”
“Okay, you can go now,” she added. “Wait for the letter, and make an appointment to see me in two weeks.”
After dinner that evening my mother showed my father the letter. “What’s this all about?” he demanded.
“She may be growing breasts,” my mother said, intentionally using the pronoun ‘she’.
My father’s face was turning red with anger. He threw the letter down, jumped up from the table and stalked into the living room. “Quacks!” he shouted.
* * *
On Tuesday afternoon, my mother began the alterations on my evening gown in earnest. The first thing she did was to modify the top part so it hung correctly given my small breasts. She then had me put on my one inch heels, and stand on a stool so she could adjust the hem. She marked up various seams to get the fit just right. We were done and everything was put away by the time Dad got home
On Wednesday my mother gave me a bag. “A present for you,” she said.
I opened it anxiously, and pulled out a full length slip. “Thank you, Mom,” I gushed.
“I thought the evening gown needed a slip to hang correctly,” she said. “But there’s more in the bag.”
Indeed there was: a pair of long gloves and some costume jewelry. I went over and gave her a big hug. “Put on your bra, slip and dress and stand on the stool. I want to make sure of the alterations,” she said. I did, and the alterations turned out to be perfect.
My mother and I came up with a plan for Friday. We would have an early supper, right after dad came home. Immediately thereafter I would go upstairs, do my hair, nails and makeup, and mom would come up and help me with the rest. We figured out that we could finish getting me ready by 7:15, after which my mother would distract my dad and I would slip out the back door. Mom would have one of her coats ready for me by the back door, along with my purse. After I was out of the house, hopefully undetected, I would get in the car and we would run over to pick up Dave. The goal was to get to the dance at 7:30.
On Friday, it worked like clockwork to a point. At 7:20 we were at Dave’s house. I went to the door and rang the doorbell. Dave’s mom answered the door. “Trick or treat,” I said.
For a moment his mother stood there slack jawed. When she recovered she opened the door all the way and said, “Oh my God! Bob, come here. You’ve got to see this and I need pictures.”
Dave’s dad appeared in the room. “Juliet revisited,” he said with a smile.
Tiffany heard the commotion and came to see what was going on. “I knew it! I knew it!” she crowed. “He does like to wear dresses!”
Dave came into the living room as a reasonable imitation of a pirate, his pants and shirt torn, a big black belt, a black eye patch, a bandanna on his head and a pair of black boots. “Arrrg,” he said in his best imitation of a pirate. “Shiver me timbers, it’s a fair maiden.” The schools zero tolerance meant no toy sword or pistols. Pictures were taken, and Dave and I went out to the car.
“I thought you’d never come out,” my mother said.
“Pictures.” I said. She nodded her head in understanding.
“Dave, ask your mother for copies of the pictures.”
“No problem,” he replied.
We were fashionably late, by ten minutes, and we each made our own grand entrance.
I saw that I made an impression. Girls stared at me in wonderment. Boys stared in lust. I thought that I would be immediately recognized, but such was not the case. Maybe it was because I was considered to be a nerd, and therefore invisible and people didn’t remember what I looked like. Maybe it was the hair. Maybe it was the makeup. Finally, maybe it was the dress.
As planned, Dave would seek out his friends, to keep our distance from each other. Neither of us wanted to be part of a ‘couple’ since it may cause problems later. This didn’t bother me.
Cindy and Sue were the first to come up to me. “Steve?” Sue said uncertainly.
“'Tis I,” I said, “but for tonight it’s Stephanie.”
“How did you do it?” Cindy asked.
“Talent, pure talent,” I responded, “and a drama class at the summer camp. I got most of this stuff at the thrift store,” I lied. “My mom helped me a whole lot. She’s good at sewing and stuff.”
“Are you wearing, you know, ah?” Cindy said and paused.
“Underclothes?” I added for clarification.
“Yeah, like a bra and panties?”
I stuck my nose in the air, and sniffed in imitation disgust. “One never asks a lady what she’s wearing, or not wearing, under her dress!”
“No, come on. What are you wearing?”
“It’s a secret,” I said. “Have I asked you what you’re wearing under that skimpy outfit?” Cindy was wearing a brief and revealing witch’s costume. “Not that it isn’t obvious in your case.”
Sue heard this exchange and laughed. This caught Dave’s attention. “Hi guys, what’s going on?”
“Just girl talk,” I replied, “you wouldn’t be interested.”
Cindy, Sue, their dates and I found a table. Cindy and Sue wanted to dance, so I ended up watching their purses. After a while a guy I knew came up and asked me if I wanted to dance. I motioned him to come closer, and I said quietly, “I’m really a boy, and enough people know that, so if we danced it might ruin your reputation.”
“Thanks,” he said, “I couldn’t tell. You do make a beautiful girl, however,”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied. “It took a lot of work to get this effect.”
After quite a few similar encounters, the guys left me alone for the most part. However, one guy, dressed as a drag queen was much bolder. “Hey, sweety, want to dance?” he asked.
“I’m really a guy.” I told him.
“I know that. So am I. I’m gay,” he said, “but I do want to dance with you.”
“Why don’t you go ahead?” Sue urged. “Try a walk on the wild side.”
“Okay,” I said, and he took my hand and we went to the dance floor. It was a slow dance.
“My name is Al,” he said, “but tonight I’m Alice. How about you?”
“Steve, and tonight Stephanie,” I replied.
As we danced, he held me tighter and tighter until I could feel his erection pushing against my belly. I tried to move away, but he was holding me too tightly. “You’re turning me on,” he said.
“That’s obvious,” I replied.
“You dress as a girl a lot?” he asked.
“No,” I answered truthfully.
“Your hair and makeup is just too perfect for a guy who doesn’t dress a lot.” he said.
“My mother did my hair and makeup.” I lied.
The song was drawing to a close, and Al lowered his face to mine and kissed me. I did not respond. He broke off the embrace, and started to walk me back to the table. Halfway there I said, “I really need to take a leak. Any idea where there’s a washroom I can use, dressed like this.”
“As it is, you’ve asked the right girl for that information,” he said. “Come with me,”
After visiting the restroom he said, “I haven’t seen you at any LGBT meetings. How come?”
“I’m not,” I lied, not willing to admit that I was frightened to do so even if I might be a “G” or a “T.”
When I got back to the table, Sue said, “Did you know that Al is gay?”
“Yes, he told me.”
“You didn’t mind?” she asked.
“No, because he told me which washroom was safe to use,” I responded.
“I didn’t think about that,” she mused.
“You wouldn’t need to. Tonight I do,” I responded.
I didn’t get a chance to dance with Dave, although I wanted to. After the evening wore on, I called my mom and asked her to pick me up. I asked Dave if he wanted to go, but he said he wanted to stay and one of the guys would give him a ride home.
Once in the car my mother told me that Dad was in bed, so when we got home, I undressed, removed my makeup, let down my hair, took care of my clothes and got in bed without any problems. Before I fell asleep I thought about what I had done. I enjoyed being a girl.
Chapter 5 - The Painful Truth.
On the Wednesday after Halloween, my mother got a call from the Easton Clinic. Apparently Dr. McNally had reported the pain in my breasts, and they wanted to see me on Friday afternoon. My mother told me that she would pick me up from school.
“I didn’t tell your father about the recent developments. I didn’t think he needed to know, so it may be best that you don’t say anything about it either,” she said.
She asked me about my breasts, and I told her that the camisole helped.
When we arrived at the Easton Clinic, the receptionist said that both Ms. Branch and Dr. Liss wanted to see me, so it may take a few minutes to get them in the same room. A while later she told us to go to Ms. Branch’s office.
Ms. Branch was sitting at her desk, and Dr. Liss was perched on top of one end of the desk. Mom and I sat down.
Dr. Liss started the conversation. “We heard from Dr. McNally, and we would like to discuss her findings with you. She said that there are signs that your breasts may be growing. If that is so, we may need to change our game plan.”
“First of all, how are you feeling?” Ms. Branch asked.
“Okay, except for the pain in my nipples,” I replied.
“What are you doing about that?” she asked.
“I’m wearing a smooth nylon camisole as she suggested,” I said. “It helps a lot.”
“Would you mind if I looked at them?” Dr. Liss asked.
“Okay,” I said, and I took off my shirt and the camisole. Dr. Liss poked around and felt my nipples.
“I see,” he said, “Dr. McNally may be correct. I can’t tell for sure, since I didn’t previously examine you. You can put your clothes back on.”
After I was dressed, he handed my mother a piece of paper. “This is for additional blood tests. We would like to compare them with the prior tests. We’ll send a copy to Dr. McNally.”
“When is your next appointment with Dr. McNally?” Ms. Branch asked. We told her it was on Monday. “Probably too soon for her to have the lab results,” she added. Dr. Liss nodded his agreement.
“We’d like to put this on a two-week cycle of blood tests and appointments,” Dr. Liss said. “The blood test order is a standing order, so you just have to show up and have the test taken. We’d like to see you in a week, so we have the results of the last blood tests, and then every two weeks thereafter. Have the blood tests done three or four days before your appointments here. I’ll now leave you in the capable hands of Ms. Branch,” he added, and left the room.
We spent the rest of the appointment discussing things in general, and the Halloween dance in particular. “How did you feel getting all dressed up?” she asked.
“I loved it. I only wish I could do it more often,” I answered.
“Any negatives from any of your classmates?” she asked.
“Naw, they mostly though it was really cool. By the way, do you want me to dress for the next appointment?”
“However you wish. If your father comes along it may be best if you dressed in your male clothes.”
* * *
So, I started the every two-week cycle lasting through Christmas, during which time my breasts grew slightly, because, as Dr. McNally said, of the hormone imbalance. Not much growth otherwise, except for my hips and butt, and that only slightly. It seemed to me that I was slowly turning into a girl.
Christmas was mostly like it had been in the past, with one exception. After Christmas dinner, my mother pulled me aside.
“I have another present for you, but you should hide it from your father,” she said and handed me a box. I anxiously opened it. It was the doll that I had always wanted.
By the start of the new year I had pretty much decided that I wanted to become a girl. Dave understood, even though it would change how we acted with each other. I told Ms. Branch at the Easton Clinic, and we reset our aims. When I told Dr. McNally, she smiled and said, “Your body has already made that decision.”
* * *
My breasts continued to grow, but my areolas were growing at a faster rate. I looked at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. My mother, however, was concerned, and again brought the matter up with Dr. McNally.
“You have told us that Steve’s testosterone level is low, but why?” she asked.
“Did Steve ever have mumps?” Dr. McNally asked in return.
“Yes, when he was six,” my mother answered.
“A mumps orchitis infection can damage the testes. It is called primary hypogonadism or testicular failure. This type of hypogonadism is usually caused by a disease, illness, or external factor that directly affects the testicles’ ability to produce testosterone normally.”
“Another cause of low testosterone is called secondary hypogonadism and usually involves a failure in the communication loop between the hypothalamus and the pituitary gland for one reason or another. To understand this, you have to realize that males do produce estrogen. However, once a man has too much estrogen in his system, a vicious cycle can ensue in which the high estrogen levels leads to a faulty feedback system, tricking the brain and testes into producing even less testosterone. This can lead to even higher levels of estrogen and more severe estrogen dominance, magnifying the high estrogen symptoms.”
“In your case, there are signs that it could be either,” she said to me. “What is clear is that your body is not producing much testosterone but is producing a lot of estrogen.”
So I’m turning into a girl, all by myself, I said to myself.
“What can we do about it?” my mother asked.
“That depends on Steve’s goals. If she wants to transition to being a female, we don’t have to do a lot at this time. On the other hand, if he wants to remain male, we could start Testosterone Replacement Therapy. You don’t have to decide today. Talk it over with your counselor at the Clinic.”
Chapter 6 - The Butterfly Effect.
I remember discussing the “Butterfly Effect” in science class. It posits that small causes can have large effects, like when the flap of a butterfly’s wings in the amazon can affect a tornado in Texas, or something like that. I’m not too sure about it but sometimes it seems to work,
To keep peace in the family, I bound down my breasts except when I slept. One Saturday I had been working it the attic and I was covered with dust, so I decided to take a shower. I left all of my clothes in my room, wrapped a towel around me, and went to the bathroom to shower. When I was finished, I again wrapped the towel around my waist. Wrapping it like a girl would cause too much crud if my father saw me that way. I hadn’t considered what would happen if I wrapped the towel around my waist and my father saw my chest. I soon found out.
I was in the hall going to my bedroom to get dressed when my father unexpectedly came up the stairs. He saw me, his jaw dropped, and he didn’t move a muscle. However, after a moment he seemed to recover. The butterfly had flapped its wings.
“Katherine!” he yelled. “Come here, right now!”
My mother hurried up the stairs. “What is it Joe?”
“Look,” he said, “he has tits! How did that happen? Have you been giving him pills without telling me? Is this something those quacks at the Easton Clinic have done?” he asked, the words tumbling out in rapid succession, not waiting for an answer.
“Joe,” my mother said, “this is something her body is doing all by itself.” My father let the female pronoun go by without an objection. I guess he was too shocked.
“Why don’t the two of you come down to the kitchen and we can talk about it?” she said.
“Can I get dressed first?” I asked, which were the first words out of my mouth since running into my father.
“Yes, dear,” my mother said, and she winked at me. I took that as saying that I should come down en femme.
I went into my room and put on a pair of pink nylon panties, a pink bra and my camisole. “Pantyhose,” I told myself, and put them on. Next, I picked a short skirt and a blouse with ruffles down the front. I put my hair in the now familiar French twist, and fastened it with a new French twist fork which was decorated with sparkly things. As for makeup, I went the whole nine yards. So what if I looked a little tarty, I was going to get yelled at no matter what I wore, so I might as well get yelled at for wearing something I liked. I put on my pumps, and went downstairs.
When I entered the kitchen, my mother smiled and nodded her head, confirming that I had received her silent message. My father, on the other hand, frowned.
“Would someone tell me why my son is growing tits?”
“Breasts, dear. I don’t like the word ‘tits’ used in my house,” my mother said reprovingly.
“Okay, ‘breasts’ then. You still haven’t answered my question.”
“If you had paid attention during the sessions at Easton, and not missed any, you might have an idea. Since you didn’t, let me explain it to you,” she said.
“It better be damn good,” my father grumbled.
My mother ignored my father’s last comment. “Something has happened in her body, and she is not producing enough testosterone to counter the estrogen her body normally makes. This is a hormone imbalance. Something may have happened to her testicles when she had the mumps, or it may have been caused by something else, but the inescapable truth is that she is not producing a lot of testosterone but is producing a lot of estrogen. Dr. McNally can confirm that this has caused her breasts to grow.”
“Can’t they do something, like give him some medicine to turn him into a man?” my father asked.
“Maybe they could,” I finally spoke, “assuming that I wanted to take the medicine. I’m old enough to refuse medications.”
“So, you want to be a girl, and you have the . . .” he paused, “. . . breasts to prove it? How come I never noticed that before?” he asked.
“Because I use an elastic bandage to squeeze them flat,” I responded.
“Oh,” he said.
“I do it to keep you from being upset.” I said to him, “Because I love you.”
“And to answer your next question, yes, it is uncomfortable all the time and painful every once and a while.”
He had seen my breasts. The butterfly had flapped its wings in the amazon. Now I waited for the Texas tornado.
Dad looked pained. It was almost like he had a little storm cloud over his head, shooting bolts of lightning at him.
“Even you have to admit that she’s beautiful, even better looking as a girl than she does as a boy,” my mother said.
My father looked at me. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he finally admitted.
“Look,” my mother said, “you’ve had a son for sixteen years. Now I want a daughter for just as long, if not longer.”
Dad just grunted. You could see that he knew that he was losing this battle.
“So you’ll allow me to dress like a girl at home?” I asked. He nodded.
“And even outside of the house when I want to?” I asked. Again, he nodded.
He must have been thinking about how he acted for the last year. He looked like he was ready to cry. I stood up, went over to him and hugged him. It was then that he started to cry,
Okay, it wasn’t a tornado in Texas; it was rain on his cheeks right here.
I kept hugging him. “Dad, I love you,” I said, “I don’t want to lose having a father.”
“And I don’t want to lose you,” he said between sobs.
It was too much for my mother and me. We both started to cry. My mother stood up and came over to us and we had a long family hug until we regained out composure.
Dad hung his head. “I’m sorry for all the mean things I said. Can you forgive me?”
“Forgiving is part of loving,” my mother said, “and we both love you.”
“And I love you.”
A major barrier had been cracked if not broken. Full acceptance would come but it would take time. I knew we were progressing when Dad took us to a fancy restaurant with me fully dressed, en femme.
It’s surprising what the sight of a naked nipple can do, I reflected.
* * *
I invited Dave to come over the next day, which was a Sunday. When he rang the doorbell, my father answered it.
“Hi, Dave, come on in. She’s upstairs in her room.” Dad said.
Dave noted the use of the female pronouns but said nothing until he entered my room and saw me sitting at the computer wearing a skirt and blouse.
“What the heck happened?” he said.
“Dad saw the light. He had a change of heart.”
“How did you do that?”
“I flashed my tits at him.”
“Ooh, I can’t wait to hear about this,” he said, and I told him the whole story.
“So you can be Stephanie whenever you want?” Dave said. I nodded and smiled.
“And you have tits?” Again, I nodded.
“Can I see them?” I nodded my consent, and took off my blouse and bra.
“Can I touch them?” In response I took his hand and placed it on my breast.
It was more stimulating than his kisses. I felt a tingle down to my feet. He fondled my breasts and nipples. I didn’t want it to end, but it did.
“So, do I look kissable?” I coyly asked, or at least as coyly as a girl could right after having a boy fondle her tits.
“Yeah, you do,” he responded.
“So prove it,” I said.
* * *
Final notes: on the day after graduation from high school, I started on Hormone Replacement Therapy, even though my body had started it on its own. I also became Stephanie all the time, which was great. I have alway loved swimming, but I hadn’t been in the pool since my breasts started growing. Now I had a modest one piece suit, and I could go swimming.
Dave and I are going to go to different colleges, but we promise to remain friends.
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