Being a Girl - in his Dreams

Saved to re-read, title and details lost, so then much rewritten

How much did he want the dream to be real ?

Jackson heard the door open and turned around in panic too see his mother, Anya, standing in the doorway. Somehow she had come back from shopping, opened the front door and come all the way upstairs without him noticing any of the usual warnings. And, by golly, hadn’t he been so careful on every previous occasion. But this time – she’d come home more quickly than expected and he’d been too busy admiring himself. Ooops was perhaps too mild a word (a family phrase but suitable for even THIS situation).

He was a boy of 13 years but presently not dressed that way. Instead he wore a pale geen droop-neck cashmere pullover with an embroidered dark-green leaf design and a just-above-knee cream suede skort. Both were his elder sister’s. And panties. But no bra or tights.

He had started to try on his mother’s clothes just a few months ago. And then begun to do the same with his sisters’. Actually, it was tricky, mother’s clothes fit better but sis’s were more his style.

He could not explain why but he did it with a lot of guilt and shame. Nevertheless, despite the fact that after each dressing session he promised to himself never to do it again, the next time he had the chance he did it again. The indescrible urge was just too overwhelming.

The clothes did not fit his slim body very well. The pullover was sooo nice, soft yet lovely. The very girlish style was pleasing too. The skort was not a good fit. He had to put a belt through the two hanger loops in order to keep it up. However these were amongst his favorite pieces to wear. He liked the look, but most of all he liked the material. So very different from any of his usual clothes.

"My oh my, what do we have here?" His mother asked with a strange look on her face. Jackson wasn’t quite sure what that look meant. Anger – no. Disapproval – unsure. Approval – no.

"It is just a jo ... joke," he stumble-stuttered.

"A joke, what do you mean?"

"I...I was a bit bored and saw the clothes on the chair and... and wondered how they would look and feel."

"And how do they? Obviously you looked, and now you’re feeling. And I’m looking at my son wearing, um, very unusual costume.”

"Well they feel quite ok, but I was just going to put them back …. And now you’re here. And … well, obviously I’d better take all this off." Saying this he lifted the pullover to unbuckle the belt. Being properly dressed, there was a good inch of gap between the pullover and the skort!

"Stop it!" as his mother pulled at the waistband of the skort. "This is nearly two inches too wide." Pulling by the waistband of the skirt she dragged him to the table. She sat and he stood.

Anya was a seamstress and she worked at home, altering clothes for different clothing stores. The room with the large wardrobe they were presently in was her working room. She grabbed a pin-cushion and attached it around her left wrist. Still holding the spare fabric of the waistband at the seam she put a first pin to fix it. A second and a third followed before Jackson began to recover: "What are you doing? Please stop!"

Silently and clearly unimpressed, his mother put the fourth and fifth pin in and was already down at his hip.

"Please, please, Mom, I will never do it again, please just let me take it off!" he was pleading with tears in his eyes.

"Stop whimpering, I'm almost done and then you can take it off," was his mother's answer.

Proficient as she was, this was the case a minute later. She helped him out of the skort carefully. As he took it off and started to remove the pullover, she stopped him again.

"We are not done yet, young lady. Keep the pullover on and put this on while I am altering your skirt." By this she gave him a denim skirt she had pulled out of a lower drawer. "I cannot wear it anymore, it is an old one and much too slim for me. If it fits it's yours!"

"Mom, are you crazy?

"Put the skirt on before we discuss mental health – mine or more specifically yours!" She ordered in a strict voice Jackson knew not to disobey.

While he was putting the skirt on, puzzled by all what happened, his mother was already altering the other skort - she had labelled as ‘your skirt' - with the sewing machine.

When so unexpectedly caught by his mother he had expected that she would scream and order him to take off the clothes right away. He had not expected this reaction. What was she up to? Suddenly, he started to fear that she wanted to dress him like a girl and show him off to his father and his older brother. That would be his death. He was starting to shake and could not manage to close the button of the skirt which in addition was the wrong way around.

"Come here, I'll help you. You will learn to button up this way in no time! Oh, it is a perfect fit. How do you like your first own skirt?"

"Mom, please stop it, I will be nice and never ever do it again!" He was pleading.

"Young lady, this is certainly not the end but the beginning; just enjoy!"

"Mom, please. I'm not a girl!"

"I'm not so sure about that," answered his mother. "You dress up in my clothes for months now and seem to enjoy being a girl! Do you think I have not noticed you dressing in my skirts and things?"

Oh, she did know all the time. Was today some sort of trap?

"Now go and fetch the dark brown boots with the 2 inch heels just around the corner. We have about the same size and they will fit lovely to your brown skirt and pullover. I'm done in a minute and you can try your new clothes on."

"Mom, please, please let's stop this! Please don't make me wear these clothes in front of Dad and Bob; I'm sorry that I dressed up in your clothes."

"You don't have to be sorry and they are now your clothes. Here try your new skirt on, I'm done."

Still puzzled Jackson stepped out of the jeans skirt and into ‚his' altered brown skirt. It was a perfect fit and deep down he loved it. Then his mother ordered him to put on the boots and to model for her. She also took some photos.

"I am not intending to show you dressed like this to your Dad and brother. They would stop all this immediately – and very angrily."

"What then?"

"When I recognized your interest in female clothes I investigated on the internet and also had several long talks with Andrea. You know, my friend from high-school who works now as a psychiatrist. We couldn't work out exactly what would be best for you. Andrea has found others for whom 24/7/365 full immersion therapy, dressing as a girl, being a girl, going to school as a girl works for some. Due to the expense, often she suggests full-time girling just for every evening and weekend. What has been decided is that whenever we two are alone at home, which will be most of the time with Bobby going to college next week and your Dad travelling most of the time, you will dress as Jackie. Am I guessing that’s the name you call your girl-self."

Jackson twitched. His dressing had never got as far as giving him-her a name! It was the feel of the clothes that he enjoyed.

"If you’re going to be any sort of girl any of the time, then you’ll be helping me with the domestic chores. In particular you’ll be my mannequin and fashion model. I am fed up with altering cheap and unispired clothes, my dream was always to be a fashion designer for young fashion. With this obvious interest in female fashion and my dream we could be a real team."

Jackson was just speechless. Slowly it dawned on him that he would / could / might be spending a lot of time in dresses and skirts.

His mother continued, "I have no intention to reveal our little secret to anybody we know except for Andrea. By the way, we have an appointment with her later. We’ll have to do some shopping first. Here’s a jacket and a bag; let's go."

He was totally surprised and found himself already in the car when he realised that he wias already out of the house dressed as a girl. For the first time.

"Smooth your skirt when you sit down and enjoy the ride, Jackie! This is almost like Christmas and Easter for me to have a lovely daughter so suddenly. We can go to town to the salon. Then you’ll be ready to meet my friend Andrea. She knows about boys like you.”

They drove to a larger town quite a bit away. This made Jackson-Jackie considerably more relaxed since he was sure that the chance to meet somebody he knew there was very slim.

They pulled up into a parking lot in front of a large building and went in. For Jackie it was a really scary-exciting experience to leave the car and to feel the breeze under his skirt. Surprisingly, he had not too much problems to walk in the boots since they had a wide heel, but he had to walk differently. All thses differences made him very aware that he was outside the house and in girl-costume. Scary. However, nobody came close or paid much attention to a woman and her daughter.

When they entered the elevator they were alone but in the last moment a woman in here early 30s entered also.

"Thank you for holding the lift. You have a lovely daughter and so nicely dressed."

The threesome moved together to the nearby salon. They all sat while tea and coffee arrived. They were told there would be a short wait until their salon-girls were ready. The delay encouraged Anya to expand on her ideas to her new friend.

"Thank you. Yes, Jackie likes the more feminine clothes. She never was a tomboy and always wanted to wear dresses and skirts only."

"How lucky you are. All my friends with daugthers complain about them just running around in pants and t-shirts."

"I know how lucky I am and I am enjoying every minute with her. She hopes to become a fashion model in some years time, but I'm not so sure if I want that. It is a tough business and a lot of the models have anorexia. I think I will keep her as my own healthy fashion model in dresses and skirts for the next years. I’m a seamstress planning to design my own fashion line. I think Jackie and my ideas will work well."

Jackie stood there, shocked speechless by what he was hearing.

"I'm actually also in the teen fashion business and we really have to make sure that our models do not fall into this pattern when older. For us it is just a no-go to promote a stupidly-thin picture of young women – even though it’s what too many magazine editors think they should show.”

"That's very brave since the mainstream is flowing in a different direction."

"No, but my team does believe that the ‘silent majority’ is fed up with these starved models and would go for a different type of fashion if they had the opportunity. We need to give them that choice. Make them believe the choice is real, affordable and ready for them.”

After they had all been buffed, polished and shone to a high gleam, by coincidence they all finished at more or less the same time. The lady, Jenka, led them a few shops along. "Here is where I'm working,"

They looked at the sign filling almost the whole wall. ’Young Fashionistas' was framed with the pictures of two teen models in fresh and colorful attire.

"This is my brand," Jenka explained.

"You are the owner?"

"Yes, I just started a few month ago after having been working in the fashion industry for the last ten years and I'm always looking for some new inspiration. If you have a first collection, Anya, please let me know. Or even when you have some pieces ready and concepts or drawings gfor more.”

Jenka turned to Jackie. "Jackie, we will have a fashion show Saturday in a week and I'm still looking for some models for the young teen's fashion. Would you like to give it a try?"

Jackie was taken by surprise since this was the first time he was directly addressed. What were his options for a reaction? His mother had indicated his enthusiasm for fashion and his plan to become a model. He had only one way to react whitout sounding very odd:

"Oh, oh, Jenka, you took me by surprise. Yes, I would love to – if mum says that’s okay’”

"Ok then. Reharsal is next Saturday at 2 pm. You just have to wear underwear in light color like white or light pink for the summer collection. The bra should be strapless for the shoulder-free dresses and tops. You don't have to care for make-up or nail polish that will be done by my staff – that means don’t wear any. By the way, I like your pixie cut. It is almost boyish and will make a point with the very feminine clothes. That's fine with you?"

Anya was beaming with pride hearing about her Jackie’s opportunity. “Sure, Jenka, I'm so happy for this. I’ll drive Jackie here. Can I stay for the reharsal?"

"Of course, Anya. No problem – and then stay for the show. I can’t ask you to miss Jackie on the catwalk."

After exchanging phone numbers, Jackie and Anya set off with happy smiles on both their faces.

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At the appointed time, they arrived at Andrea’s office. The receptionist, a pretty young girl with pale red shoulder-length hair, took their details and waved them to a pretty room with long windows looking over the park. Andrea came in moments later.
"Nice to meet you Jackie. Anya has told me quite a lot about you, well enough details to start with anyway. How do you feel?"

"Great!" And he explained what happend in the last few hours since his mother entered his room. And in the next hour, he began to relax and open up about what had happened in the last few months. And what sort of vague ideas he had for the future.

"Now even with all this background information I cannot directly begin with any actual treatment for you. I have no clue yet as to whether you ‘just like dressing up’; want to be a girl sometimes; want to be a girl deep in your soul or just want to pretend some of the time. Finding out is going to require a fair amount of talk. Mostly by you. And I’ll ask some questions now and again. This is going to take time.”

“I won’t call this therapy or treatment or anything complicated. We’re finding out about YOU and what you want for yourself and how we might help with some of your wishes, intentions and so on. At the age of 13, you’re not very likely to be ready for life-changing suggestions, let alone life-changing actions.”

“If you’ve been thinking about becoming a girl. It may be that you've been webbing, and you’ll have read about the options. At this stage, it may be that 24-7 might be the right option and enough opportunity for you to decide if being a full-time girl is suitable for you. Or not. You need enough time to find and love your inner self. Not what you think other people want for you. Certainly, there’s some way to go before testosterone-blockers to delay puberty. If it does become advisable – bearing in mind the several rules and rgulations. Then there is the deparate issue of any estrogen-type options to begin developing any female characteristics. At this stage, there will be NO encouragement to tucking, testes-reinsertion, or pseudo-labia. That MAY, and I repeat MAY, come later.”

“But I can dress up?”

“Within your mother’s rules – I see no problem.”

“And I can do the modelling?”

“That has to be outside my remit. I do NOT recommend doing so unless there is 101% certainty that you will not be outed. And I would strongly advise telling any potential employer.”

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Jackson was still turning around while his mother began speaking. Her first words destroyed the daydream he had been having.

"What the hell are you doing here in my clothes! Dressed up like some silly girl. You’re a boy and that’s that" she shouted and slapped his face hard. Her camera was suddenly in her hand, flash, flash, flashing.

“If I ever catch you like this again then these pictures will be sent to every one of your friends. To school. To your judo club and anyone else I think needs to know about this disgusting behaviour. And if I do find you dressed up I will drag you down the street to the doctor to have something done to you. If I even THINK you’ve been in my drawers or your sisters’ then you’ll be in so much trouble.”

She tore the clothes off the young boy and sent him to bed, sobbing and wailing.

A few moments later, she came into his room and searched every drawer, every cupboard, every possible pace there might be a stolen, hidden stash of pretty, soft, smooth, silky, lovely unboy clothes. Fortunately for Jackson, nothing was found.

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Dreams ……… they CAN be a glimpse of a possible future. Or of an IMpossible future.