By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
(It was just a dress I saw in a store window while on a Christmas shopping trip, but it helped me realize a truth about myself.)
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
(It was just a dress I saw in a store window while on a Christmas shopping trip, but it helped me realize a truth about myself.)
CHAPTER ONE
I couldn’t help myself. That dress in the window. Lacy, lovely mint green-colored fiber, and flowing so daintily. The dress seemed ideal for a girl in middle school; its skirt flared out at mid-thigh. Puffy cup sleeves exposed the lovely arms of a girl and its scooped bodice added a teasing look. It took my breath away.
I let out a gasp; I tried to keep it low so no one would hear, but Mitzi, my nosey sister, did.
“What’s got you all excited, Teddy?” she said.
“Nothin’,” the I said, my face growing red, realizing that my interest in a pretty dress had betrayed me. Why would a boy like me admire a dress?
“You were looking in that fashion shop window. Did you see something?” Mitzi asked. She was always intruding into my thinking. I adored my pretty sister, but there were times when I felt I hated her.
“Nah, I was just looking at our reflection in the window.”
I don’t know if she accepted my lie, but mercifully she said nothing further, merely shaking her head to signify an amused disgust.
She turned and began walking away through the mall’s crowded corridors, beckoning me to follow. I took one last look at the sweet, lovely dress and continued after her. It just seemed the dress was made for me.
*****
Mitzi, my sister, was fifteen, and I had just turned fourteen; we were born about fifteen months apart. Mitzi and I were really close and I could say she was my best friend, though sometimes were argued. What brother and sister don’t? I admired Mitzi; she was smart and pretty and had lots of friends. By and large, she was a happy and cheerful girl.
I didn’t really have any other friends, so maybe that’s why I clung on to Mitzi as a friend as well as my big sister. When she entered her second year of high school a few months ago, she tried to discourage me from accompanying her to meet her friends. In fact, Mitzi was developing into young womanhood, having blossomed with pert breasts and a cute bottom, along with sparkling blue eyes, lovely legs and flowing light brown hair. Already she was attracting the attention of boys.
Sometimes we were asked if we were twins; we both were about the same height and I also had brown hair, though mine was a bit trending toward blonde. While I kept my hair long, it wasn’t as long as Mitzi’s. I probably should have gotten it cut shorter, but I liked the feel of the long hair. I played with it constantly, flicking it away from my eyes with a light gentle hand.
“You look like a girl when you play with your hair, Theodore,” Mitzi said. We were sitting at the food court in the Hickory Hill Mall on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, doing a bit of early Christmas shopping. We were enjoying our iced tea and veggie wraps when she made the comment. She often used my hated, given name when she was angry with me or was criticizing me. I didn’t like it when she was bossing me.
“Oh?” I said, quickly taking my hand away from my face.
“Why don’t you get it cut, little brother?”
“Quit nagging, Mitzi,” was my only reply.
Mitzi scowled. She had only reluctantly permitted me to accompany her that Saturday after mom had told her, “Just take Teddy with you, Mitzi. It won’t kill you.”
I had nearly fifty dollars with me, money I had earned baby-sitting for Mrs. McGonigal’s two little girls. I had been sitting for them for two years, since I turned twelve and Mrs. McGonigal said I was the best baby-sitter she’d ever had, even though I was the first boy. She had told mom that the two little girls, Emma, who was five, and Emily, who was three, adored me because I played dolls with them. “Besides, your son had no problem in changing Emily when she was in diapers and he always did the dishes,” mom had been told.
Mrs. McGonigal recommended me to her friends and I had developed quite a string of baby-sitting jobs. Most of the money I earned went into my savings, but I regularly gave mom part of it for the household. I did keep one dollar out of every ten dollars for my own use, and had developed my nest egg of fifty dollars to spend.
Mitzi had told mom that there some pre-Black Friday bargains that she wanted to take advantage of. I knew that was only an excuse because she probably had planned to meet her friends at the Mall and I knew Mitzi didn’t like having her wimpy little brother tagging along. In fact, I liked her friends, Melodie and Heather, who were in Mitzi’s class in school. A few minutes after we got our food and drinks, the two girls showed.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Melodie, who was tall and husky, said.
I especially liked her; she was one of Mitzi’s best friends and was often at the house. Melodie and Mitzi had been in school together since First Grade and I often played with the two of them at our house.
“Oh that’s you, Teddy,” Melodie said. “From the back, I thought you were another girlfriend of Mitzi’s. Your hair is so long.”
“I just told him to get it cut,” Mitzi said.
“Oh I think he’s cute and he should keep it long,” Heather piped up. She was an exceedingly beautiful dark-complexioned girl, whose body was filling out into early maturity.
Melodie and Heather joined us at the table and the three girls began chattering about shopping, several boys in the school and some general gossip. I was comfortable with the girls and soon added a few words of my own to the conversation. And, I giggled right along with them.
“We’re supposed to be Christmas shopping. You guys looking for anything specific in the mall today?” Mitzi asked her friends as the conversation began to lag.
“Yeah, we’re trying to find a dress for Melodie for the Holiday Dance,” Heather said.
“Are you both going?” Mitzi asked, referring to the dance held in the high school gymnasium on the last Friday before Christmas vacation.
“Yes, aren’t you, Mitzi?” Melodie asked.
“I don’t know. Who’ll I dance with?”
“Some guy will ask you, you’re so pretty, Mitzi,” I interjected.
“So you’re beginning to notice girls now, little brother?” she teased.
I know I began blushing. Yes, I had begun to notice girls, particularly how they dressed, wore their hair, walked and talked. They were able to wear such colorful and different clothes, while I only had boring boy clothes to wear.
“You’re cute when you blush, Teddy,” Melodie said chucking me under the chin. I knew I must have become crimson in the face after Melodie’s remarks. Even though she was a year older than me I liked her a lot, not as a potential girlfriend, but just because she was always happy to have me join in when she and my sister got together. I loved playing with Mitzi’s and Melodie’s dolls, dressing and undressing them. Melodie had tons of clothes for her Barbie. When they entered middle school, they quit playing with their dolls, and I had to sneak into Mitzi’s room and pull her dolls out when I was home alone. That’s too bad, isn’t it?
The girls talked on a bit more about what stores Melodie and Heather were visiting in their quest for dresses.
“Oh, I know just the dress for you, Melodie,” I eagerly intervened.
“Where, Teddy?” Melodie asked. “Tell me about it.”
I was about to burst out with the answer, but I saw Mitzi looking at me, a weird smile appearing on her face that could only be taken for a smirk. Fortunately, neither Melodie or Heather saw her look.
“Oh,” I said, trying to be nonchalant. “It was in the window at Suzie’s Teen Fashions shop. I just noticed it as we walked by. I didn’t really look at, though, so maybe it’s not any good.”
“Not look at it, Theodore!” my sister thundered. “You examined it like a teen girl.”
“I did not.”
“You should have seen him,” Mitzi continued. “I had to drag him away.”
Heather leaned in and asked softly: “Is your dirty little brother getting hard over mannequins now?”
“Nah,” Mitzi said. “I think he wanted to wear it.”
“I did not,” I protested weakly.
“See, he does want to wear it,” Mitzi said triumphantly, sensing the tentative denial. “He’d be so pretty in it too.”
Melodie smiled at me and nodded her head. “I can imagine he would be the cutest girl.”
All three girls looked at me and I felt hot and flushed. I’m sure I must have blushed. I had never before felt so exposed and I knew the girls must been reading my mind. I have been imagining myself as a pretty girl more and more recently and the thoughts bothered me. I was supposed to be a boy, wasn’t I? I remembered the times when we were younger and Mitzi would talk me into wearing some of her dresses; she had stopped doing it when I turned eight years old. Mom caught me in one of her dresses then and said “no more.” She told both of us that perhaps I would be harmed by being in dresses and it was time for me to become a real boy.
I looked at my sister and stuck my tongue out at her. All it did was bring a giggle from the girls and Melodie, who was sitting next to me, reached over and grabbed my hand.
“You looked so cute doing that,” she said.
Suddenly, I realized I couldn’t deny it. I really wished I was a real girl at that moment so that I could giggle along with them, go shopping for pretty dresses and talk about boys. Right then I did something I knew was bound to give the wrong impression. I brushed back my longish hair with a light flourish of my hand; it was definitely a girlish maneuver.
Melodie looked at me and smiled.
“You’re really a lovely boy, Teddy,” she said. “You must stay as sweet as you are.”
I have to admit I’ve sort of fallen in love with Melodie, even I couldn’t imagine her being my girlfriend. After all, I was year behind her in school and I wasn’t particularly manly and doubted any girl would ever want a guy like me. It was strange, too, since Melodie was easily the least pretty of Mitzi’s many girlfriends. She was a bit overweight and her facial features were blunt, almost peasant-like. Melodie carried her weight well, however, and had become quite a star as a pitcher with a lightning fastball on the school’s girls’ softball team.
As the girls talked and giggled, I began day-dreaming, reflecting on how I’d look in the dress I’d seen in Suzie’s Teen Fashions window. The dream grew weird; I pictured Melodie in a tuxedo, looking handsome and masculine, escorting me looking lovely in the mint green gown from Suzie’s window. I wanted so much to be that girl. It excited me and the thought suddenly made me grow hard – painfully hard.
In desperation, I excused myself to go to the boy’s room; fortunately, there was a stall open and I sat down on the commode, dropped my pants, grabbed a wad of toilet paper and relieved myself, my teen boy semen overflowing the toilet paper and making my hands sticky.
I washed my hands and quickly looked into the mirror, plainly seeing a pretty face that could have been feminine. I was alone in the men’s room at the time and studied my features as I brushed the hair from my face, using a decidedly effeminate motion. Yes, I could be a pretty girl.
The door opened as I was admiring the girl in the mirror and two guys entered.
“Hey girl, this is the men’s room,” one of them said.
“Oh,” I said, quickly exiting the room, but not before I heard one of them say, “She was hot.”
I was getting mistaken for a girl more and more these days and I knew I should get my hair cut, as both mom and Mitzi had insisted I do. But, I probably wouldn’t get it cut. I returned to the table to find Mitzi and her two friends giggling as if they were scheming up some plot.
“Oh, here she comes,” I heard Heather say.
She? Did I hear that right?
Heather, apparently fearing I overheard her, recovered quickly, “Feel better, Teddy?”
I nodded that I was OK and sat down. I worried about what the girls were planning. I’m sure that whatever it was, it must involve me; I knew I shouldn’t have left them, but I had to. I was about to have an explosive ejaculation at the time. I didn’t have much choice.
*****
All three girls looked up at me and smiled as I returned to the table. I got the feeling they were up to something, but I didn’t think it’d be too bad. I didn’t think Mitzi would do anything too nasty. Nor would Melodie, I figured.
“Teddy, why don’t you show us where you saw that dress?” Melodie suggested. “You think it’d look OK on me? It’s hard for me to find something that works on me.”
Melodie had the sweetest smile and along with her bright blue eyes and pale complexion she truly captivated me. I hesitated in answering her since I wasn’t sure the dress would be appropriate for her large figure. The dress likely would expose too much of her husky thighs, I felt. It would look great on me.
“I’m not sure it’s really best for you, but I know the store could probably find a nice dress for you,” I said.
It was agreed, the next stop for the three girls and me would be Suzie’s Teens Fashions, but we dawdled a bit beginning to consider whether any boys would be asking them to the dance. I know Mitzi didn’t have a regular boyfriend and I suspected neither Heather nor Melodie did. All three were pretty enough to attract attention, though Melodie may have difficulty because of her large frame.
Melodie turned to Mitzi and said, “Leo’s got his eye on you.”
“You think so? He hasn’t said anything to me,” my sister replied.
“He sits next to me in French and the other day he asked me if you had a boyfriend,” Melodie said.
“Who’s Leo?” I asked.
Melodie said that Leo was “scrumptious” and that he was in their class and ran cross country and played the trumpet. I remembered seeing him in the school’s jazz band and thought his trumpet playing was exciting. Yes, he’d be a nice date for my sister, and I could see that Mitzi was excited for the prospect of going out with him.
I know Mitzi well enough to believe that she must have been bothered by the discussion about whether she’d get a boyfriend. I never thought she should worry because she was really a nice girl, pretty and smart; any guy should be proud to have her on his arm.
“We’re sophomores and none of us has a boyfriend and we’ve never ever been on a real date,” Heather commented.
“The boys are just too full of themselves these days, right Teddy?” Mitzi said, turning the conversation to me.
“How would I know? I’m only a freshman,” I replied, after a brief hesitation to consider my answer.
“Hi Heather,” a voice said behind me.
I looked up to see the two guys who saw me just moments before in the men’s room, wondering why a girl (me) was there. I quickly turned my face away from them, hoping they didn’t recognize me.
“Hey Curtis,” Heather said to the boy.
“You girls shopping or just talking about boys?” the boy named Curtis answered.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” my sister piped up.
“Must have been boys then,” Curtis quipped.
“Don’t flatter yourself. There’s more to talk about than a bunch of creepy boys,” Mitzi persisted. She has a sharp tongue and I enjoyed watching her use it on someone else than me.
“Such a mouthy girl. Who are your girlfriends, Heather?” he retorted.
Pointing at each of us one by one, Heather introduced us. “These are my best friends, beginning with Mitzi who always speaks her mind (Mitzi nodded with a smile) and this is Melodie who could probably beat you to a pulp if you wise-off too much and this cutie is Mitzi’s little sister, Theodora, and we call her Teddy.”
Theodora? Where did that come from? I blushed and looked down the partially eaten salad before me.
“Oh I’ve seen her before. That was the girl we saw in the men’s room just before,” the other boy said.
“You’re right, Barry, and she’s hot,” Curtis added. I kept my head down, fearing to look up to be exposed as a boy.
“Nice seeing you, Curtis,” Heather said, signaling that she wished he’d leave them.
Fortunately, Curtis took the hint. “Let’s go, Barry,” he said to his friend. Both boys mumbled “nice to meet you girls,” and headed off.
“Who’s that? He’s kind of yummy,” Mitzi said when the boys were gone.
“Oh, Curtis, I met him at church camp this summer. He’s been after me for a date,” Heather answered.
“I’ve never seen him at Madison,” Melodie said, referring to James Madison High School that we all attended.
“He goes to Kennedy High. He’s kind of a wise guy and I don’t like that,” Heather said, explaining the manner in which she treated the boy. It’s funny; I didn’t see that he was a “wise guy, but I guessed that Heather was trying to hide her true feelings that she truly liked Curtis and hoped he’d ask her out. Girls can be so foolish around boys, I was learning.
All the time the girls were discussing Curtis, I kept wondering why Heather had to introduced me as Mitzi’s little sister, as a girl. The two boys had called me a “hot” girl and the thought scared me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea of being a girl. Hadn’t I thought I looked pretty? I was fairly short, thin and not muscular; when I snuck into Mitzi’s room and wore her clothes I was astounded at how girlish I looked. It must have been my slender arms and pretty legs.
Mitzi finally asked Heather. “You told that boy that my brother was my little sister?”
“Well, he does look like one of us girls, right? It would have been too complicated to say he was your brother. I wanted to get rid of him.”
“Are you all right with that, Teddy?” my sister asked, turning to look at me.
“It’s alright,” I said, feeling rather strange. I was worried that Heather and Melodie, particularly Melodie, would be looking at me as being a disgusting, pathetic boy. Yet, I couldn’t help but be strangely flattered that I was accepted as a girl.
Melodie touched my hand, a soft gentle touch. “Would you like to join us in trying on dresses at Suzie’s, Theodora?” she asked, her tone signifying her understanding of my quandary.
“How could I? I’m a boy.”
“Well, today you look very much like a girl, if you don’t mind me saying that,” Melodie replied.
“No, it’s OK?”
*****
Instead of heading immediately to Suzie’s Teen Fashions, Mitzi got up and beckoned me to follow her while Heather and Melodie remained at food court.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Just follow me; we’ll just going to make you prettier,” she said.
“What are you going to do?”
She grabbed my hand and led me back to the restrooms and into the door marked “Women.” I resisted, but quickly gave up. “You better come with me. We must make you a bit more real, Theodora,” she said. I told Mitzi I had to pee and she directed me to an empty stall.
I sat down and relieved myself, hoping to soften my penis that had grown hard with the realization that I was to spend the rest of the time in the mall as a girl. I emerged to find Mitzi at the bank of wash bowls, some of her cosmetics spread out in front of her.
“Now, let’s do something about your hair, dear,” she said. She brought out a brush and proceeded to brush my light brown hair out so that it hung straight, reaching nearly to my shoulders. The brushing created a natural bob and she fashioned a short bang that drifted to the right across my forehead.
I glanced into the mirror as she finished, realizing that no one could possibly see me as anything but a girl. I liked what I saw.
I started to walk away, but Mitzi restrained me. “We’re not done here.”
She began to put a few brushes of blush to my face; she darkened my eyelashes a bit and was adding some gloss to my lips when the door opened and another teenage girl walked in. The girl stopped and starred at us.
“Can’t she do her own makeup?” the girl asked.
I wanted to hide, but Mitzi stayed cool. “Of course she can, but she’s not too good at it. My little sister’s always been such a tomboy.”
The girl smiled. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked. She’s got such a pretty face; it’s a shame to waste it.”
“See, how pretty you are Theodora,” Mitzi whispered as the girl entered an empty stall.
*****
As we approached Suzie’s Teen Fashions, I eagerly pointed out the dress in the window that I admired so much.
“What do you think, Melodie?” I asked.
She studied it for a moment. “Well, it’s a hot dress, but don’t think it’s right for me, but I know you’d look great in it.”
I couldn’t help but blush. I was thinking exactly the same thing. The dress was certainly meant for a girl who was much daintier than Melodie could ever be.
“I’m sorry, but maybe they have something you’d like,” I volunteered.
The store was teeming with teen girls, some accompanied by older adults who were probably their parents. Off to the left, I saw the sign “JUNIORS” and began heading toward the area, warding off other browsing teens and their adult followers. The other three girls followed me.
We were crunched nearly into inaction. Other girls were drawing dresses off the racks and holding them up before themselves or their friends, nodding either approval or disapproval. It was nearly impossible to move.
“There’s nothing here in my size,” Melodie said.
“Let’s get out of here,” Heather agreed.
They were right; it was too crowded to shop in the store. I was disappointed; there were many dresses and outfits that I liked. There were none in Melodie’s size.
Just then, I spied a sign in the rear of the store that said simply, “Special Sizes.”
I poked Melodie and pointed to the sign. “Maybe there’s something for you there,” I said.
She nodded and I led the four of us to the rear. It was a lot less crowded here; the area was reserved for girls who were unusually tall or husky. I smiled that the store didn’t label its clothes for larger girls as “Plus Size;” there were few teen girls, I supposed, who liked the term “plus size” to describe themselves.
“I’m Stephanie, your customer service representative. May I help you girls?” a husky but solidly built young woman spoke, addressing me as the apparent leader of the group.
*****
Stephanie was exceedingly pretty and stood nearly six feet tall. She was full-busted and heavy in the waist, but carried her weight well. She was walking testimony how larger girls can be very attractive. The woman’s dress enhanced the beauty of her large framed body; it was a skater dress that ended just above the knees and was made of bright blue floral lace. The wide straps of the dress exposed Stephanie’s heavy, but firm arms as well as much of her back.
I could see Melodie was awed by the woman. Perhaps she too could be made to look as pretty and attractive as Stephanie, I hoped.
“Do you have something for me?” Melodie said, stepping forward to address the representative.
“I’m sure we do, miss. May I ask your name?”
“I’m Melodie.”
“Melodie, you’re a lovely girl. What do you need it for? A school dance, perhaps?”
Melodie blushed. “Yes, the holiday dance at me school.”
“She’s been asked by a football star, too,” I lied. I don’t know where that came from, but I guess I wanted make Stephanie think that Melodie was a popular girl in school.
“Oh, honey, he’s a lucky boy to get to dance with you,” the salesperson gushed.
“But, I’m too fat,” Melodie replied bitterly, eyeing me with confusion, probably wondering why I had created a fictional date for her.
“Whoa, Melodie. Don’t think like that? You’ve got lots of charm,” Stephanie said.
“And I think she’s very pretty,” I said, wanting to support Melodie.
“She is, miss,” Stephanie said to me. I smiled, pleased to be accepted as just another teen girl.
*****
It wasn’t long before Melodie selected a shiny black swing style dress that was detailed with a damask pattern. The top had bow sleeves and a bodice that was detailed with a lace up front with a sheer lace inset neck. It was a size 14 and looked great on her.
“Now, can you pay for this now, Melodie?” the clerk asked her.
“No, I have to ask my mom and dad.”
“Do you think they will approve?”
“I think so. Maybe I’ll have to come back with mom,” she said.
Stephanie smiled. “I can see you really like this dress and you really do shine in it, my dear. Tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll put a ‘sold’ sign on it ‘til next Saturday and if you want it, it’s yours. OK?”
Melodie beamed. I was so happy for her.
“May I ask how you came to choose our store?” the clerk asked.
“My girlfriend Theodora suggested it,” Melodie answered, nodding her head toward me.
“Well, we’re glad you did, dear,” Stephanie said, addressing me. “Did you see anything in the store you liked?”
I hesitated, afraid to answer, but my sister was quick to jump in.
“Teddy is enthralled about the mint-colored party dress in the window,” Mitzi said.
“Would you like to try it on?”
“No that’s OK. We can’t buy anything today,” I said, hoping to avoid embarrassing myself.
“I think she’d like to try it on,” Melodie said quickly.
Stephanie smiled and look closely at me. “Let me see,” she said. “You’re such a dainty girl. You might fit in a six, I guess. Let me see what we have for you.”
“No that’s OK. Some other time. We should go.”
The other three girls agreed that they had time to wait for me to try on the dress. They seemed to be genuinely happy for me, just as if I was one of their real girlfriends. Still, I wasn’t sure that they weren’t playing with me and trying to make fun of me.
I imagined how I would look in the dress and my mind pictured a sweet-looking, but mischievous and dainty girl. The dress itself was strapless with a sweetheart neckline, lace-covered top and a beltless waist. Its skirt fluffed out with gathered material, ending at mid-thigh.
Stephanie needed a few minutes in the back storeroom, before emerging with the lovely dress I wanted so badly. She also had a box in her hands.
“I can see, Theodora, that you’re not too well developed on top, so I brought these along to help fill you out so the dress fits better,” she said.
I looked quizzically. Of course, I wasn’t “developed up top;” I’m a boy. I took the box which was labeled “Breast Forms. Size A.”
“I’ll help her dress,” Mitzi interceded, taking the box. “Yeah, she needs help. She’s just fourteen and slow to develop I guess.”
“You’ll need a bra; I’ll get one, maybe a 32 A.” A few minutes later, she returned with two bras, both lacy and dainty looking. I was growing excited at the lovely girl I was becoming.
“Don’t soil the bra or the forms, kids,” Stephanie warned. “They need to be put back in stock.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said. “And thank you.”
*****
I tried to talk Mitzi out of joining me in the changing room, but she would have none of it. She told me to strip down once we were in the room; I protested of course, but she reminded me she had seen all of me when we were younger.
“You really have a lovely body for a girl,” she said.
“I’m not a girl.”
“Except for those boy briefs, you could have fooled me,” she said, giggling. “And those boy briefs will have to go. Take ‘em off.”
“No, what’ll I wear?”
She smiled and picked up a shopping bag she was carrying. “Here, I got these for you while you were dealing with Melodie’s dress.”
Mitzi reached into the bag, extracting a three-pack of colorful satiny panties and tore it open. “Here put this on,” she said, handing me a bright-green panty.
I turned my back to her so as to hide my male part, even though it was true she probably had seen me nude probably as recently as four years ago. To be truthful, my appendage hadn’t grown much since I was ten years old, a fact that further shamed me in the locker room during school gym classes.
I slipped on the panty; I loved how it felt on my skin. Of course, it wasn’t the first time I had worn panties; when Mitzi began to refuse to lend me her panties, I had resorted to snitching some of Mitzi’s dirty panties from the hamper and wearing them before returning them to be washed. I was certain no one suspected. I often toyed with buying a set of my own, but was afraid to be seen purchasing girl stuff at a store.
Mitzi helped me put on the bra after stuffing it with the breast forms. She then held the dress open for me so that I could step into it. She pulled it up and fitted it so that my fake breasts held the dress up, once the zipper was pulled up on the back. She quickly ran her fingers through my hair to smooth it down.
“There I now have a beautiful little sister,” she said.
She led me out of the changing room where Heather and Melodie stood, obviously waiting to laugh at this boy in a dress. Instead, both let out a whoop. Melodie exclaimed, “Wow, she’s lovely.”
“The boys will go crazy over you,” Heather echoed.
“What? Let me see. Where’s the mirror?” I asked.
It was as they said: I was pretty. The girl in the mirror was slender, with a thin neck, lovely shoulders and smooth-looking skin.
“That dress was made for you, Teddy,” Mitzi said.
“I need to get a picture of this pretty girl in a pretty party dress,” Melodie said, pulling out her cell phone.
“No way, you know it’ll get on Facebook or something,” I protested.
“I wouldn’t do that. You know that Teddy. This is just for us,” Melodie assured me.
Soon they all took a picture of me and then I posed with each of them. Finally, Stephanie, the clerk, appeared and she took a picture of all four of us girls together. (I liked the thought of being one of the girls.)
“That dress is darling on you, dear,” Stephanie said.
Mitzi explained that they weren’t ready to buy that day. Stephanie offered to put it on layaway, but I discouraged it, saying that my mother might think the dress was too risqué for a fourteen-year-old girl.
“Well, dear, you’re such a sweetie that I’m going to hide it away for a week so if you want it, I’ll have it for you. You four girls are respectful and nice to deal with. I hope you’re able to buy these dresses and that you’ll all return.”
Stephanie gave me her card. It read, “Stephanie Usher, chief executive officer, Suzie’s Enterprises.”
“You’re Suzie?” I asked, puzzled that the store wasn’t named for Stephanie.
“Yes,” Stephanie smiled. “I named it for my little sister who was cute, like you my dear. She died at your age in a traffic accident.”
We all told Stephanie we were sorry; I began to tear up.
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
(It was just a dress I saw in a store window while on a Christmas shopping trip, but it helped me realize a truth about myself.)
CHAPTER TWO
Once we were out of Suzie’s Teen Fashions at the mall, Heather said to Mitzi and Melodie, “See, we were right. Teddy is a beautiful girl, isn’t she?”
“You were so lovely, Teddy,” Melodie said, hugging me as we stopped dead in the middle of the crowded hallway of the mall.
“You were a good sport to go along with it, little sister,” Mitzi added.
It dawned on me. The three of them cooked this whole idea up to dress me as a girl. They must have been scheming up the adventure while I was in the men’s room.
“What? You tricked me into this? How could you, Mitzi?” I screamed in my high voice, attracting attention of passing shoppers.
“You loved it, didn’t you, Theodora?” Mitzi retorted.
“Come on, Teddy, we love you,” Melodie said. “We don’t want to hurt you. You were courageous to go through with his.”
“Did I hear Miss Stephanie suggest she might want to consider you to model some clothes?” Heather asked me.
“Yeah, but I didn’t take it seriously,” I said.
“But you accepted her business card, little sister,” Mitzi reminded me.
I blushed.
The three of them grabbed me, creating a group hug that clogged up the busy corridor of the mall, attracting strange glances from the passing shoppers. I don’t remember when I last felt as happy as I did that day. The problem was: once we left the mall and returned home, I was no longer Theodora.
*****
Mitzi agreed not to tell mom about my Saturday as a girl, nor about the invitation that I should model dresses. “It’s our little secret, Teddy,” she said. I believed her; despite our occasional spats, I loved my sister; she really cared about me.
“You can wear my stuff whenever you like,” she suggested. “You can be Theodora when mom’s not home and I won’t tell.”
“Mitzi, I love being your little sister.”
I was in Mitzi’s room a couple of days after our shopping adventure where I was eagerly taking on a role of being a girl. Mitzi and I were seated together on her bed, our knees folded in front of us, with Mitzi’s laptop on her lap. I was cuddled close to her, examining a website that advertised teen girl fashions.
“I should be jealous of you, Teddy,” Mitzi said as we mulled over the various photos of dresses, skirts and blouses.
“Jealous of me?”
“Yes. You know those boys who met us at the mall? Well, Heather said that Curtis called her and he’d like to ask her to go to a movie and wondered whether that girl called Theodora would go with his friend Barry. You remember, he was the other boy?”
“Yeah, he seemed nice. But I can’t do that.”
“Don’t worry, Heather protected you and said you were too young to go out with boys.”
“Wow,” was all I could say. That was a relief.
“You weren’t even dressed then; just in all boy stuff, Teddy, yet that boy thought you were hot,” Mitzi said.
I guess I must have blushed. To be a girl wanted by a boy was intoxicating.
*****
A week later, Melodie asked me to join her when she went to the mall to pick up her dress. She would have to take the bus since her mother was working and her father was out of town. Both Mitzi and Heather were busy with after school activities.
Melodie lived close to the school; when school ended, we walked to her house together. I was worried about going into Suzie’s Teen Fashions in my male attire, but Melodie reminded me that when we were there before, I was also dressed as a boy.
“Yes, but you and Heather prettied me up then,” I said.
“I’ll pretty you up at my house and I have a pair of girl jeans that’ll probably fit you and you can also wear my pink sneakers. You’ll be fine.”
Of course, I was fully accepted as a girl as we entered the Suzie’s Teen Fashions. Stephanie spotted us immediately when we walked in and said how pleased she was to see us. She was disappointed when she learned I would not be buying the mint-colored dress.
“And you looked so pretty in it, Theodora,” she said. “But I understand when money’s tight.”
“Thank you,” I said smiling.
As she was carefully packing Melodie’s dress, Stephanie appeared to examine me, running her eyes up and down my body. Did she sense there was a boy underneath my girl jeans? I wondered.
“Have you ever considered my suggestion that you do some modeling, my dear?” Stephanie said, reminding me of her earlier comment that I model for her.
I was shocked. I shook my head.
“Well, you ought to. You’re a natural. You have my card, don’t you?”
“Yes ma’am,” I replied, still reeling with her request.
“I was impressed by the way you moved and posed in trying out the dress. I might like to hire you to model, but talk it over with your parents and if you’re interested, you’d earn good money. But it is hard work.”
“Thank you. I’ll talk to mom,” I lied.
*****
When we returned to Melodie’s house, I called mom and asked her if I could stay at Melodie’s.
“I’m going to be helping her with her French,” I said, realizing it was just partly true. I had become somewhat advanced in French thanks to an accelerated course I took in middle school, and Melodie was struggling with the language. We were going to study for a short while, but the real reason was that Melodie wanted to talk to me. Mom said she’d pick me up at eight o’clock.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked Melodie.
“Later,” she said. “Help me try on this dress again first.”
It was strange. Here I was a fourteen-year-old boy alone in a bedroom with a girl just a year older watching her strip down to her panties and bra. I marveled at her husky body, her full breasts that pressed against the cloth of her bra, the round tummy with its modest love handles and her firm thick thighs.
“I’m such a cow, Theodora,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” I protested. “You are just a big girl and you’re in great shape. I like looking at you.”
“You do?”
I smiled and she reached out to hug me. I embraced tentatively at first, but soon we moved into hard passion and we began kissing, tumbling together on the bed. My small penis began to grow hard and stiff. She felt all wet and sweaty and I buried my face into her bosom, licking the salt from her body.
“Take off your clothes, Teddy my dear girl,” she said.
I hastily took off my shirt and slid my jeans off. She looked at me and sighed, “Oh sweetie, you’re wearing panties.”
I slid down next to her and she caressed me all over, exclaiming over and over how soft and smooth I was. “We’re not going to do anything, Theodora,” she said. “Let’s just hug for a while. You feel so good.”
It was hard for me to restrain my sorry penis from wanting to spurt and eventually I gave in, sending my sperm all over her inner thigh. She comforted me, saying it’s OK.
Melodie finally released me, allowing me to separate from her. I laid on my side, looking at her as she looked back. She smiled.
“Do you wish you were a girl, Teddy?”
I looked at her, unsure what to say, and finally, I asked, “Was this want you wanted to talk about?”
“Yes, my sweet girl,” she said and we embraced again. “What do you think? It’s OK to tell me. It’s just between us.”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be a boy,” I blubbered.
“When are you the happiest?” she asked.
I instantly knew the answer, but dare I confess it? I just looked at Melodie and began to smile. She kissed me softly.
“I think you’re happiest as a girl,” she answered for me.
I guess my smile must have grown broader. It was true; seeing myself in the dress made me feel happy, even natural. Melodie hugged me again and I eagerly surrendered myself to her warm embrace.
“I like you as a girl,” she said.
It was nearly eight o’clock and I knew mom would be coming to pick me up. I hurriedly got up from the warm bed, cleaned myself up, put on my clothes and was still gathering my book bag when mom’s Chevy Malibu pulled up in front of Melodie’s house.
*****
I wasn’t planning on going to the Holiday Dance on the last Friday before the Christmas break, but Mitzi invited me to join them.
“Not many kids in our class are hooked up so we just go in groups and hangout. You’ll just be one of the kids,” Mitzi said.
“Won’t Heather and Melodie hate me tagging along?”
“Nah, Melodie’s the one who suggested it and you know Heather adores you,” my sister said.
When the four of us entered the gym, the three girls were wearing cute dresses that ended in mid-thigh, exposing their pretty legs in black tights. I wore tight, black pants and a white satiny shirt I borrowed from Mitzi. It was an androgynous shirt and the only thing that gave it away were how you hooked up the buttons. She also supplied a black string tie to embellish it.
“Teddy, we got to do something about your hair. It’s grown so long now. You look too girly in that outfit with your long hair.”
“Don’t cut it?” I said, alarmed.
“Mom wishes you’d get it cut,” she said.
In the end, she tied my hair into a ponytail that we both hoped would create a more masculine look.
“Your face needs a little color,” Mitzi said. “It’s so pale.
I looked into the mirror, and agreed. She applied a bit of blush, nothing too noticeable, thankfully, and then put on a bit of lip gloss and eye shadow.
“There,” she said, satisfied.
“Isn’t that a bit too girly?” I asked, examining myself in the mirror.
“It makes you handsome,” she said, smiling.
Nonetheless, I was uneasy. I looked far less a boy than I do on school days, when I let my hair hang straggly, as so many long-haired boys do, and kept my face empty of any makeup.
As is the case with so many school dances, there were few kids dancing at first and those usually were the kids who came with dates. Most of us, however, came in groups of boys or groups of girls and then gathered in bunches, all girls in one area and all boys in the other, each eyeing up the other and gossiping about who of the other gender might want to dance with them. Eventually, a few girls drifted on the floor to dance together while the boys sat on the sidelines, watching them, usually laughing when one of their mates criticized some girl who might be too tall, too fat or too outlandishly dressed.
Heather and Mitzi soon joined the growing throng of dancers and Melodie turned to me, “What say? Shall we?”
“No, I can’t dance,” I demurred.
“Yes, you can,” she said, dragging me onto the floor, joining the other dancers on the floor, most of whom were girls dancing together. Melodie and me were one of the few boy-girl couples on the floor. Why was it, I wondered, that boys were so reluctant to dance?
The DJ was playing a mixture of 1970’s cover tunes and hard rock, all of which I had little trouble bouncing to; I was impressed with how lightly Melodie was on her feet and her quick athletic moves inspired me so that after several moments we were attracting attention with our steps. “Wow, you girls can really dance,” one sandy-haired boy commented as the music paused and we stood panting with exhaustion.
I looked briefly at the boy, shocked to realize it was Ricky Pearson who was in my English class. “Let’s get a drink,” I suggested to Melodie after the song ended.
Without looking at Ricky, we retreated from the floor, Melodie gripping my arm as we walked off. “Who said you can’t dance?” she said.
“I never had been to a dance before.”
“Well, we dazzled them, Teddy,” she said.
We got our drinks and I led Melodie to an out-of-the-way corner with several empty chairs. I needed to rest after that vigorous dance though I doubt Melodie was hardly winded. I felt ashamed for my weak, unmuscular body.
“He thought I was a girl and he’s in my English class. He knows me since we sit fairly close to each other and we’ve talked a bit. What if he . . .?”
“I doubt he’ll notice anything, Teddy. It was too dark in there,” she reassured me.
I stayed nestled with the girls the rest of the dance, trying to hide myself as much as possible. I decided that I had no choice but to continue the charade that I was a girl for the period of the dance. I loosened my hair out of its ponytail so that it hung freely and made me look more convincingly feminine. I stayed off the dance floor, but began chatting with whoever was nearby if one of my companions were off dancing. I giggled with them and found myself having a great time. Most of the time, however, I spent talking with Melodie as both Mitzi and Heather had linked up with two boys they knew. She continued to snuggle close to me and we may have been an odd sight: she was a couple inches taller than I was and obviously much huskier. I was slender, almost dainty in contrast. I saw several girls eyeing us up critically during the evening, sometimes leaning to their friends to point us out. One girl shook her head in disgust, and several seemed to laugh.
“They think we’re lesbians, Teddy,” Melodie whispered.
“Lesbians?” I looked at her in shock.
“It’s kind of exciting,” she said, quickly reassuring me that it was nothing to worry about. No one would recognize me as the boy Theodore who would show up for class after the seasonal holiday break.
I began to wonder what was happening to me.
*****
The dance ended at nine-thirty, and the four of us stopped for pizza at Za-Za’s, a popular place for kids from Madison High. I suggested we go somewhere else, largely because I was afraid that I’d be recognized as Theodore the boy who was looking girlish. The girls would have none of it. “We gotta go there,” Mitzi persisted.
We were there only a few minutes when I noticed a group of boys come in. Among them was Leo Higgins, an older boy who Mitzi had danced and chatted with much of the evening. I hoped he didn’t see us; of course, he couldn’t miss us, since Mitzi stood up and waved to get his attention. He saw her, waved back and left the group of his friends and came to the table. It was obvious to me that Mitzi insisted on going to Za-Za’s since she’d probably set it up with Leo at the dance. I tried to hide my face by keeping my head down and looking into the menu. I hoped Mitzi would flirt with him enough to keep him from noticing me, and, of course, she did just that. It was almost embarrassing the way my sister gushed all over him, but I didn’t blame her. What’s not to gush over? Leo was tall, slender, dark haired and had an unshaven face, giving him a rugged, tough boy look. My, oh my, he looked hot!
Melodie had moved so that she sat tightly up against me as we shared one side of the booth at Za-Za’s. Our thighs touched and I saw her watch me closely.
Fortunately, I could see Leo was as infatuated with Mitzi as she was with him; he only perfunctorily noticed any of us. They chatted for a few minutes and then Mitzi took a pen she had in her small purse, tore off a bit of the paper placemat and scribbled what appeared to be her phone number. She gave it to him, he smiled and then left to join his friends.
“Wow, he’s hot, Mitzi. How did you snag him?” asked Heather, who with Mitzi shared the opposite seat in the booth.
“What a hunk!” I agreed.
The three girls looked at me in surprise. I blushed.
“You’re thinking like a girl,” Melodie responded.
“Oh my God,” I said, growing red in the face. I was thinking like a girl, wasn’t I?
*****
Mitzi and I got home that night after eleven o’clock, but thankfully mom wasn’t home. I had realized that even though the makeup on my face was modest, I had truly looked like a girl. Wearing Mitzi’s blouse didn’t help, of course.
“Guess mom’s out with the Perkins guy again,” Mitzi said.
“You think she’s in love with him, Mitzi?” I asked.
“Who knows? It’s her first serious boyfriend since dad died. Five years, that’s a long time.”
“But he’s kind of boring,” I ventured.
“Whatever, but let’s get that makeup off you before she does get home,” Mitzi said.
She was right, of course. Mom had been pushing me harder to get my hair cut and to try to get me more interested in acting like a boy.
The next morning mom quizzed us as to how we enjoyed the dance. “Did you meet up with any of your friends, Teddy?” mom asked me.
“Oh, she hung with us, mom,” Mitzi said, before I could answer.
“She? Who did? I was asking about Teddy, not some other girl,” mom said.
“Did I say she? I meant he, Teddy. He kinda stayed with us,” she said.
“How would you know? You were all hot over that Leo guy,” I retorted.
“I was not. I had to dance with him ‘cause he asked me and I was only being nice,” she said.
“Hah! You lie. You followed after him like a puppy dog. You were pathetic,” I said.
“Now, now, kids,” mom said. “Didn’t you meet up with anyone you like, Teddy?”
“I just stayed with Mitzi and her friends, but I did dance with Melodie,” I said, trying to give mom an answer that might please her.
“I wish you had some guy friends, Teddy,” mom said. “It’s just not normal to be around girls so much.”
“Well, we always seem to have fun,” I said.
“You’re spending too much time on your computer and it seems the only time you go out is with Mitzi and her friends. Half the time I think I’m raising two girls in this house,” she had complained recently.
“Don’t bug him, mom,” Mitzi said, defending me. “We had a good time last night, mom.”
“Did you, Theodore?” mom asked.
“Yeah.”
We were eating breakfast when the conversation began and I kept my head down, looking at the bowl of yogurt and granola before me. Recently I had quit eating Captain Crunch and began following Mitzi’s eating habits. Like most teen girls, she was worried about getting fat even though she had a trim figure, having shed nearly all of her baby fat. I had begun worrying about my weight too, though I was hardly overweight. I had noticed my tummy growing soft and flabby. When I sat, a little roll of fat developed and my mushy thighs spread out on the seat. A little strenuous exercise, I knew, would probably help.
The conversation was interrupted thankfully by a phone call. Mitzi picked up the wall phone receiver. “It’s for you mom,” she said with a wink. “It’s him.”
Mom gave her a sharp look. “Him is James. Mr. Perkins to you. I’ll take the call on the extension, and don’t you dare listen in.”
“Yes, mom.”
Mitzi had a devilish look on her face, thinking she could fake hanging up the phone without her mother realizing it.
“Don’t do it Mitzi. You don’t like it when mom listens in on your calls or tries to check your cell phone calls.”
Reluctantly, she hung up the phone. “You’re such a goody two-shoes, Theodora,” she said, using the girl’s name she and her friends had attached to me.
I stuck out my tongue at her and she giggled.
*****
After dad died, mom was able to get a job as a machine operator at the local tractor factory; it was a good-paying union job and many weeks of the year there was plenty of overtime. Mitzi and I knew we had to help mom out as much as we could, even though I was only nine at the time and Mitzi only twelve. Mom’s work was tiring, largely due to the pace of it, but if we were to stay in our house, she needed it to pay the mortgage. Dad had worked as an independent trucker and had been unable to provide much insurance protection for us.
One of our chores was to do the laundry on Saturday mornings.
As Mitzi was preparing the washer, I sorted the clothes in preparation. I held up one of mom’s slips, a particularly delicate lace-trimmed model; I’d always thought the slip to be especially pretty.
“I bet you’d like to wear it, Theodora,” Mitzi said, catching me admiring the piece of lingerie.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it. Bet James likes seeing mom in it,” I said.
“You think he has seen her in it? Yucky,” Mitzi said.
I scowled. The thought of mom being in her lingerie in front of a man other than our dad also bothered me.
“You’d look lovely in it Theodora,” Mitzi said.
I guess I must have blushed, because Mitzi giggled before turning her attention to the controls on the washing machine. “Hand me all the light stuff, Teddy.”
When she had loaded the machine, and turned it on, she took me to a corner of the basement where we had set up a table and chairs. We used to play in the area when we were younger, often playing house.
“Let me ask you something, Teddy, and be honest with me,” Mitzi said.
“What?” I asked, wary of the question.
“Well, don’t take this wrong, Teddy, but I’ve been seeing a lot on the Internet about guys who want to be girls. Are you like that?”
I didn’t want to answer that question. I really didn’t know what I wanted. I knew I liked being with girls and I liked how I looked in dresses. And, I knew I didn’t do really boy stuff, like playing sports, but maybe that was because I was so pathetic at those games.
“Come on Teddy, I want to help you,” she said. “I know we fight sometimes, but I love you whether you are my little brother or maybe even my little sister.”
“I dunno,” I mumbled.
“OK, Teddy, but just remember you can talk to me anytime and it’ll be just our secret, right?”
“OK, Mitty,” I said, using the name I called her when I was very young and had trouble pronouncing the “z” in her name.
“You’re so cute,” she said, hugging me.
I smiled at her. Cute? Did she mean that as in cute girl?
“Do you really think I’d look lovely in mom’s slip?” I blurted out without thinking.
It caught Mitzi by surprise, but she quickly recovered. “You’d be adorable, little sister,” she said smiling.
I responded with a little feminine twirl on the concrete floor and she grabbed me and hugged me.
*****
Three days later, Melodie caught me as I was leaving school; we both lived close enough that we could walk to and from school and she asked me if she could walk with me.
“Sure, but I thought you walked with Heather,” I said.
“She’s had to take a make-up test, and I just had to see you,” she said.
We walked down Maple Street, heading in the direction of both of our homes, before we’d have to split apart at 12th Avenue.
“That Stephanie from Suzie’s called me last night. Remember her?” she asked.
“Sure.” How could I forget her and how she gushed all over me in the mint green dress?
“Well, she wants me to try out to be a model,” Melodie said. “Isn’t that the craziest? Me as a model?”
“That’s great,” I said, a bit mystified that Melodie could be considered model material.
Melodie giggled. “Well, I’d be a model for their plus sizes.”
“Nothing wrong with that, Melodie, you are pretty, you know.”
“And, Theodora,” she said. “She wants you, too.”
“For what?”
“For modeling, you silly girl. What else? You remember she mentioned it to you, don’t you?”
“She did,” I said. I was elated and felt I should skip girlishly down the sidewalk waving my hands in glee. Quickly, however, reality set in.
“But, how can I? I’m a boy. And mom would have to know.”
“Stephanie didn’t have your phone number,” Melodie said. “That’s why she asked me to tell you to call her. You should have her number.”
I nodded that I had her number. For some weird reason, I had saved Stephanie’s card, even though the idea of me modeling girls’ outfit seem downright outlandish at the time. Well, a girl can dream, can’t she?
“Are you going to call her?” Melodie pressed. “I understand auditions won’t be until January, after the Christmas rush is over.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll have to tell mom everything, and what’ll happen when kids at school learn about it? I’ll get beat up or something.”
“Call Stephanie anyway and tell her that you’re thinking about it, OK?” she urged.
“I guess so,” was all I said as we split off at 12th Avenue, each heading to our own homes. I walked in a daydream, alternately drifting between images of Theodora, a lovely girl, walking down a runway in a strapless gown, and the anger of my mother when hearing that her son is to be a model for teen girl clothes. I reveled in the image of Theodora in a fashionable dress, drawing a chorus of “oohs” and “ahs” from young women gushing at the beautifully feminine model in a fashionable dress. It could become a reality, I thought. Yet, I hesitated. I didn’t call Stephanie that afternoon. I’d sleep on it.
After I finished my homework, I began searching on my computer, typing in the words, “Boys Modeling Girl Clothes.” I was astounded when the name, Andreij Pejic, popped up. He’s a guy, but you couldn’t tell from the pictures of him modeling new outfits at a Paris Fashion Show; from all I could see, he was just one of the pretty feminine models. A little further research found other pretty boys and young men posing as models. It got me to thinking. What if?
That night, I got a text from Melodie. It said simply, “DO IT.”
I tortured myself over my decision; Christmas was approaching. Maybe it was best that I decide this question after Christmas, I felt. I wanted to do it so badly, but I was afraid to admit it to anyone, even myself. I didn’t call Stephanie that day.
*****
Later, Mitzi and I worked together to prepare supper for mom; it had become routine for the two of us to fix the meal since mom rarely got home before six o’clock. Not only did she work lots of overtime at the plant, but she had been elected a steward and bargaining committee member for her union local that added to her time away from home.
Mom often lamented over having her teenage children prepare the meals, always apologizing about her failure to be home, but we both knew of her interest in her labor union and in Democratic politics. “I think it takes the sting out of her boring job in the plant,” Mitzi explained.
We both always told mom we didn’t resent the time spent doing housework, but I know Mitzi did sometimes grumble about it. I have to admit I liked doing it; usually by the time we had to get into the kitchen, I would have spent much of the after-school time doing homework and was ready for a break. Not having any friends – except for Mitzi, Heather and Melodie – I found meal-preparation a convenient time for the two of us to share about what was happening in our lives. Sometimes, we argued, but then, what brother and sister don’t?
“You don’t have to always be so fussy about how we set the table,” Mitzi complained. I had gone around the table placing the silverware in its proper position around our three plates. Mitzi had merely put the knives, forks and spoons in a clump on the table.
“I want to make it look nice for mom,” I protested.
“Gosh, you flit around like a girl,” she said derisively.
“I just want our table to be pretty.”
Mitzi put her hand on my arm, stopping my progress. “Speaking of being a girl, why don’t you try it out for real? You’re happiest when you’re with us. Melodie told me that Suzie’s still wants you as a model. You should do it.”
“What? You’re kidding, Mitzi. No way.”
“Sure, why not? It’s good money and we need it,” she said.
“You can’t be serious,” I said. “I just dressed up that way to please you and your friends. It was just for fun.”
“You loved it, Theordora. I never saw you so happy before.”
“No. Mom would have to approve and she’ll have a fit. I’m not a girl. I’m a boy.”
Mitzi smiled. “I’m not sure what you are, Teddy. But you know I care about you and I wouldn’t hurt you. All I know is that you seemed to enjoy every minute you spend as a girl.”
“I’ll think about it,” was all I said.
“Why don’t you call Stephanie after supper? The store stays open until nine.”
I turned my back on her and went to the refrigerator to get some lettuce. “I need to get the salad started,” I said.
As I assembled the lettuce, cut the green pepper, sliced the tomatoes and tossed it all in a bowl, I smiled to myself. Again, the image of lovely Theodora in her mint green dress flooded my mind.
*****
My heart raced as I held my cell phone in my hand. I debated with myself about dialing the number of Suzie’s Teen Fashions. My mind told me to forget it. No way could I model girl teen outfits. Yet, I knew I would eventually punch in the number.
My hands shook as I pecked out the seven digits. The phone rang for six times and I was considering hanging up when a rushed voice said, “Suzie’s Fashions. Can you hold for a minute?” Even before I could answer, I was put on hold and some scratchy jazz music entered my ear. It seemed an eternity and I again considered hanging up and forgetting the whole business.
“Yes, we’re sorry for the delay. How can I help you?” a heavy breathing female voice said.
“Ah . . . er . . .”
“Yes,” the voice said impatiently.
“Is . . . ah . . . Stephanie there?”
“Speaking.”
“Miss Stephanie,” I stammered. “This is . . . ah . . . Teddy . . . er . . . Theodora Rushing. Melodie said I should call you.”
“Theodora, yes. I’ve wanted to hear from you. I’m sorry if I sound rushed here, but you know it’s Christmas shopping season.”
“That’s alright, I’ll call be later,” I said, still worried that I was doing the right thing.
“No. No. No. I’ll take time for you, my dear. I’d really like to see you again, you know, for modeling. From what I saw of you that other day, you’re a natural for it, but of course we’d have to look at you more closely and to interview you. You understand.”
“Oh yes. I’m sure you have lots of other girls who are prettier than me.”
I could hear Stephanie laugh. “Well, I doubt that, from what I saw. You carried yourself so naturally in the green dress you liked so much.”
“Really? Thank you, Miss Stephanie.”
“Have you asked your parents yet? They need to give you permission and I should talk to them about your payment and all that.”
“No, and mom might not approve. I’m only fourteen. And there’s only mom; my dad died.”
“I’m sorry about that. Tell you what. You clear this with your mom. We’ll talk again on the week after Christmas. OK?”
“OK, I’ll talk to her.”
I no sooner had hung up than Mitzi barged into my room. I looked up. I felt so pleased with myself.
“Did you call her?” Mitzi asked excitedly.
“Yes and she said I was so pretty and there were few girls as pretty as I was,” I said, rising from my desk chair and doing a little girlish twirl.
“See? I told you so, little sister,” she said, grabbing me and hugging me hard.
We both began giggling. “This is so weird,” I said.
“You’re making me so jealous, my beautiful little brother who is prettier than all the girls in town.”
It was absurd, wasn’t it? A boy being so pretty?
CHAPTER THREE
With Christmas less than two weeks away, Mitzi and I agreed that we’d hold off telling mom about my invitation to become a teen girl model until after the glorious holiday. Mom’s union was into a heavy schedule of bargaining with the company to settle a contract that was ending on December 31. With the usual holiday preparations, we felt it better not to burden mom.
I tried mightily to be the dutiful son – at least when mom was around. I had taken to wearing panties under my male clothes on a daily basis, and since Mitzi and I did all of the laundry, it was no problem in keeping my lingerie clean without mom learning the truth. After school and before mom got home, of course, I’d change into one of the two skirts and three blouses I had inherited from those Mitzi was no longer interested in wearing. We were nearly the same size, except Mitzi was a bit huskier than I was.
Melodie and I seemed to grow tighter as friends, as I often stayed at her place to do my homework, until it was time to go home and prepare dinner. Often, since she was home alone (her mom and dad both worked until after five o’clock), she’d find an old dress or skirt and blouse combination that she had long since outgrown. I would change into the dress for the hour or so I was at her house, and we studied like two girls, frequently taking time off to gossip or giggle. Sometimes, we got together at the computer, checking out Facebook or combing the internet for teen girl fashions. Melodie seemed to be as enthusiastic about making me into a pretty girl as I was.
“Theodora, you’d look hot in this dress,” she’d gush upon seeing an outfit that would expose a bit more of skin.
Sometimes I’d agree with her; sometimes I’d argue it was too revealing. “You’re such a prude, Theodora,” she’d scold me.
Often I’d look again at the outfit, realizing she was probably correct: I’d truly be a hot girl. I hated myself for being so vain, but I must have known I was just naturally a lovely teen girl.
*****
One day as I left school, I saw Mitzi and Melodie arguing with each other; they stood in the cold winter afternoon, separated from the throngs of students rushing out of the school. As I approached, they both shut up, but I could hear Mitzi look at Melodie to say: “Don’t you dare hurt him, you hear?”
Mitzi turned to me and spoke, her voice stern and hard, “You’re coming home with me, Theodore.”
She almost yanked my arm out of its joint as she grabbed me and began to drag me down the sidewalk, away from Melodie.
‘You’re spending too much time with that girl,” Mitzi said once we were away from the others.
“We just study for a while and talk,” I protested.
“She’s a bad influence on you.”
“What way?”
“God, can’t you see it? The way she hangs on to you and caresses you. It’s sickening,” she said.
“I like her and she likes me. What’s wrong with that?”
“I tell you what’s wrong with that,” Mitzi said. “Oh, Teddy, I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt, but she’s just using you. She’s such a fat old pig who can’t find a boyfriend and she’d grabbed onto you and you’re to blind to see.”
“She’s not a fat old pig, Mitzi,” I argued.
“But you’ve become so girlish, I can’t even tell you’re a boy anymore. I blame myself for encouraging you.”
It was true. I had heard snickers and a few random comments about my appearance and mannerisms, but so far in the first semester of my high school years, I hadn’t been bullied or teased as I was in middle school. I enjoyed being with Melodie and the other girls; I wanted so badly to share in their activities that I had learned to ignore what others thought about me. I had become aware that I was acting more and more girlish, but I felt good about it. I felt free and happy.
I couldn’t figure out Mitzi’s reasoning. Hadn’t she also encouraged me to dress up like a girl? Didn’t she urge me to model at Suzie’s? If I was becoming more and more girlish, it was due as much to her and Heather as it was to Melodie. Finally, it dawned on me; my sister was jealous of my budding friendship with Melodie.
“Teddy,” my sister continued, “Melodie doesn’t want you as a boyfriend. She wants you as a girlfriend. Has she tried to hug you and kiss you already?”
I only blushed.
“See, she has,” Mitzi said triumphantly. “I bet she called you Theodora, too.”
“I guess. And you also call me Theodora, too. Right?” I replied.
“I hate to talk against a girl I’ve known all my life, but we think she doesn’t like boys. She lez.”
“Lez. Like a lesbian?”
“Yes, honey.”
It was true, she always treated me as a girl, telling me how soft and feminine I was. She enjoyed her caresses and yearned to have her hands on me. She was strong and protective.
For the next several days at school, Melodie didn’t speak to any of us, even me. She was alone most of the time and I felt sorry for her. Her friendship with me had caused her to become estranged from her long-standing girlfriends, Mitzi and Heather. I continued to eat at the lunch table with Mitzi, Heather and their other girlfriends, usually the only boy at the table of giggling and gossiping girls.
Three days later, my sadness had grown intense at seeing Melodie eating alone at a corner table, sharing a table with a few other known loners in the school. She looked unhappy. I sat down next to her. She was my friend and I didn’t care what anyone thought.
“Who asked you to sit here?” Melodie asked, her tone sharp and cold. “I didn’t invite you. Go sit with the other girls.”
“I want to sit with you, Melodie,” I said simply, setting my tray down and sitting on the bench.
“I don’t need you here.”
“OK, but I want to sit here and I’ll sit where I want to sit,” I said, asserting a firm strong voice.
The other kids at the table looked at the both of us, wondering what was going on. I knew several of them as kids who seemed to lack friends and tried to shy away from other kids, often because they had been perceived as being “different.” Nobody said anything, but kept looking down at their food, either eating it or toying with it.
Like the others at the table I pretended to concentrate on eating. I slowly ate my salad, sipped some fruit juice and then consumed a yogurt dessert. In anticipation of my potential modeling, I was making a serious effort to lose some weight, worried that my soft tummy might doom my chances.
“I should start eating that rabbit stuff,” said Albert Leerfeldt, a chuuby kid who was in my Social Studies class. “But you don’t need to lose weight, Teddy.”
I laughed, afraid to tell him why. “Eat what you like, Albert, but you know some of this rabbit stuff can taste pretty good. Try it.”
I felt sorry for Albert. He was a nice enough guy and at times could be kind of funny, especially when he made fun of himself and his stocky figure. I wanted to tell him to stop calling attention to his weight, but I guess it was a way he felt he could deal with his problem. I was pleased when he began asking me about the class session we had earlier in the day and we shared our thoughts on why we felt Mr. Hansing had such weird questions on a recent test.
When I was done eating, I got up, picked up my tray and addressed the entire table, “Thanks for letting me sit here.” I didn’t look at Melodie as I proceeded to deposit the tray onto the conveyor belt that would take it in to be washed.
That night Mitzi and I argued about me eating with Melodie. “Are you choosing that girl over your own sister, Teddy?”
“No, I just felt she needed a friend and you got all your girlfriends.”
“Are you hot for her or something? You don’t want her to get her hooks into you, Teddy. She’s eager for sex. I know her,” Mitzi said.
“I can think for myself, Mitzi, and I like her,” I replied.
“It looked like she wouldn’t talk to you today.”
“She will, Mitzi. She will. Just give it time.”
“I’m worried about you, Teddy. Really, I am.”
“I’ll be careful,” I said, giving Mitzi a sisterly kiss.
*****
That night, I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep.
Was Melodie really a lesbian as my sister suggested? My sister said that Heather told her that Melodie had come on to her, caressing her thigh when they happened sit together in the cafeteria. When we were studying at her house, she always treated me as a girl, didn’t she? It’s like she didn’t even want to think of me as a boy. I enjoyed it, too, and I got concerned as to why I did.
Now Melodie wouldn’t talk to me and I eventually came to the conclusion that perhaps Melodie had taken Mitzi’s warning to heart. Perhaps Melodie was distancing herself from me to protect me, to slow down my tendency to become more girlish. Also, she may have felt guilty over our intense hugging and cuddling. Whatever was causing her to reject my friendship, I was convinced that she was acting in my best interest. Melodie was a true friend, I believed.
The following day, I sat down next to her again; she said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge that I was there. Meanwhile, Albert and I talked about Mr. Hansing and were sometimes joined by Serena, a pimply-faced girl who often sat at this table of loners. I liked talking to her since she was always interesting; she talked about current issues and we agreed lots about the recently completed election. She was one of the few Muslim students at the school, which I guess was probably the reason for her unpopularity.
“We’re American citizens,” Serena said, as Albert and I began discussing the man who had just won the recent Presidential election. I said the President-elect was being racist in his questioning of the loyalty of Muslims in the U. S.
“I don’t think he was saying all Muslims were disloyal,” Albert said, somewhat in defense of that candidate.
“Well, he as much as said so,” interjected Melodie, who had been apparently been listening to our conversation.
Before I realized it, Melodie who had been trying to ignore us (especially me) was deeply engaged in our heated discussion about the election. I was pleased to see that Melodie had opened up, even if it was due to her passionate opposition to the next President.
As the lunch period was drawing to a close, I got up to return my tray and was surprised to see that Melodie had also gotten up and headed with me to the return belt. She continued alongside as we left the cafeteria. Just before we split up before to go to our respective classes, Melodie said, her voice somewhat tentative, “Thanks Teddy for sitting with me. Tell your sister she’s probably correct. Bye, see you tomorrow, OK?”
“OK,” I replied. I doubted that Melodie heard me. She had turned and left for her next class.
That night, Mitzi came into my room just as I was getting into my nightgown. “Don’t you ever wear your Green Bay Packer ‘jamas anymore?” she teased.
She knew full well I had ditched those in favor of dainty, silky nightgowns. I had several of them, including a cute pink baby doll, but I liked the bare-shouldered nightgowns that were held up only by thin straps and were mid-thigh in length.
“You look cute in that gown,” she said.
“Whadda ya’ want? Shouldn’t you knock first?” I said, annoyed by her newly acquired practice of entering my room without knocking.
“Sisters don’t need to hide anything,” she said teasingly.
“Still, you should knock.”
“Don’t get in such a huff, sis, I just wanted to tell you something.”
I continued to brush my hair as she talked.
“Anyway, Melodie texted me that I was right about her,” Mitzi continued. “That maybe she was perhaps spending too much time with you and that was hurting you.”
“What? It wasn’t her doing, Mitzi. I wanted to be with her. I like her.”
“Oh Teddy. Don’t you see? I saw how she was hanging around you all the time. She’s just a lonely fat girl and . . .”
“She’s not fat,” I said angered. “She’s just a big strong girl and I think she’s pretty.”
Mitzi was taken aback by my defense of Melodie. She held up her hand and said, “Whoa there. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s been my girlfriend forever and I love her, but she has trouble getting a boyfriend and she’s now looking for girlfriends. I just know she’s treating you like you’re a cute girl.”
“Well, I’m fourteen and I can think for myself. I don’t need you thinking for me.”
“Oh Theodora, I just don’t want you getting hurt, my darling little sister.”
Mitzi hugged me. She smelled good, having just washed herself and I hugged her back. We had never hugged when I was in my boy mode. Now, it seemed, we were huggy-huggy all the time, just like sisters should be.
The next day, Melodie and I rejoined the other girls at their table in the cafeteria. I was happy to see all us together again. It was great being a girl.
*****
Since dad died five years ago, Christmas was always a difficult time at our house. Until then, it had been a truly joyous event, even with the hustle and bustle of the season. Dad was a long-distance over-the-road trucker who was often gone weeks at a time, but he always managed to be home for the holidays. He spoiled both Mitzi and me rotten, not so much with gifts but rather with his joyful, playful demeanor. He let us get away with almost anything, leaving the disciplining to mom, a situation that sometimes saw them at odds with each other. Yet, mom and dad’s occasional differences in child-rearing never seemed to cause any permanent rift between the two; they were truly in love.
In past years, I had strong suspicions as to what Santa Claus would be leaving under the tree; this year, however, I didn’t have a clue. I had lost my interest in video games and I had long ago given up collecting baseball cards. My interests truly had shifted; I wished for a makeup kit, a hair curler and perhaps a nice nightgown. I obviously kept those wishes to myself, knowing mom would be shocked if she realized what I wanted. I probed Mitzi as to what she thought mom was giving us, but she pleaded ignorance.
I was truly clueless as a padded out of my bedroom on Christmas morning, wiping sleep from my eyes. I had quickly changed out of my lovely nightgown and slipped on sweat pants and an old, ragged sweatshirt with a Green Bay Packers logo. I sat down in front of the tree. It was a real one, though smaller than the ones dad bought each year. Mitzi and I had taken great care in decorating it and I smiled as I turned on the lights.
Hanging in the middle of the tree was a neckless with a silvery St. Christopher’s medal; it was the medal my dad wore when driving. Next to it was a picture of dad standing in front of his shiny Peterbilt tractor, his beguiling smile so reminiscent of the look he bestowed on us every time he returned from his travels. These two items were always hung last upon the tree in the years since dad’s death; mom always joined us as we hung them and we never failed to tear up. I think I sobbed the loudest of all, I sorely missed him, even now five years later.
It was seven in the morning when I sat down, cross-legged before the tree, examining the wrapped gifts. There were several for me, I had noticed: two flat boxes, looking as if they might contain clothes and a couple of shoebox-sized containers that could have held almost anything. I was mulling over what was in the shoeboxes when I spied a tiny box containing a pink bow; that one really mystified me.
I didn’t have long to ponder the mysteries before mom and Mitzi appeared. Mitzi sat down next to me and we jointly began speculating what we’d find when we finally ripped the colored paper off the gifts. We had to wait patiently while mom fixed herself coffee. In the meantime, mom had given both of us a glass of milk and piece of grandma’s strudel that we consumed as we sat before the tree, both nervously awaiting the big moment. We were both teenagers, but we seemed to be acting like five-year-olds. It was fun.
“Mom, hurry up,” Mitzi whined after a while.
“Be patient, kids. You know your mother needs her coffee,” she said.
Mom finally joined us, holding her cup of coffee carefully as she also sat cross-legged. She was amazingly agile for a middle-aged woman, I thought. She had regained her trim figure recently, having joined a gym club where she worked out regularly. After dad died, she had let herself grow fatter and failed to groom herself very well. Her recent interest in her appearance seemed to coincide with the appearance of a new boyfriend on the scene.
As was the custom, we would each open our gifts one at a time, starting with me, since I was the youngest. I picked out one of the shoeboxes, ripping off the white and gold wrapping paper to find, to my astonishment, a pair of girl’s shoes.
I didn’t know what to say; I could hardly wait to put them on. But why these shoes? Why for me?
“Aren’t these meant for Mitzi?” I asked. I was so confused.
“Don’t you like them, dear? We can take them back and get you something else,” mom said, smiling.
I ran my hand over the shoes, held them up in front of my face. “These are for me?” I said still not sure how to react.
“They’re called Mary Janes and they’re for you,” Mitzi said.
“But . . .” I began to protest.
Mom interrupted me. “Theodora. That’s your name, right?”
I was shocked. Mom knew about Theodora, even after Mitzi and I had been so careful to hide my crossdressing. How could she know?
“I’ve been wondering about you for some time now, dear,” mother continued. She moved close to me and began to hug me. I began to cry and sobbed, my tears soaking up the robe she wore. She patted my head.
“How did you know?”
“Well, your grandmother clued me in, and then I began to look a little closer at you, and it became obvious to me that something was going on,” she said.
“Grandma Jean?” I replied, puzzled. Grandma Jean was mom’s mother and I always liked her. She was always interested in what I was doing. Grandma Jean was still a fashionable lady despite being well into her seventies. I liked my other grandparents, too, but after dad’s death, we rarely saw them since they had moved to Arizona.
“Yes, Grandma Jean. After she was here for Thanksgiving she said you had changed a lot since she last saw you in summer. She asked me what happened to my son and that you looked and acted more like a girl than a boy.”
“How could she tell, mom?” Mitzi asked.
“Yeah. Wasn’t I the same Teddy?”
Mom smiled. She hugged me. “No darling, you weren’t,” she explained. “It dawned on me that I saw you every day so that it was hard to see the changes and besides I was so busy due to all the overtime and now the union stuff that I guess I never really looked at you. I’m afraid I was a bad mother, because I just left the two of you on your own, but you are such good kids I just never worried like a mother should.”
“No mom, you’re a good mom, and Teddy and I understood. It’s been so tough on you since dad died,” Mitzi interrupted.
Mom started to tear up, I could see. “You’re the best, you two,” she said her voice now thick as she apparently was fighting back sobs. Soon the three of us were hugging together, all of us near to joining in a crying jag. Before that happened, we all began giggling and soon we had trouble stopping our laughter, breaking apart and trying not to look at each other for fear we’d start to giggle all over again.
“The clincher came, Teddy,” mom said once our giggles had stopped, “when I got a phone call from a place called Suzie’s at the mall, asking for Theodora. I told the woman on the phone she must have had the wrong number, but then she insisted, asking if I was Patricia Rushing, and I said yes. Then she asked if I was the mother of Theodora Rushing and had she (apparently my ‘daughter Theodora’) talked to me about modeling for her.”
“Oh mother, I’m sorry,” I said, horrified that Stephanie had called the house. I wondered how she got our phone number and then I remembered when she had put the dress aside for me, I had given her my name as Theodora Rushing.
“Well, then she said that my ‘daughter’ was particularly pretty and already had the poise that would make for a great model. I hung up after telling her that ‘she’ hadn’t mentioned it before and that I didn’t think I’d approve of such a thing, but that I’d talk to ‘her.’” Mom used a sarcastic tone in words that referred to me as a female. I figured that after she must have called the house before I had called her. Miss Stephanie seemed most determined to have me as a model.
Mitzi picked up the story. “Teddy, then mom grilled me that evening when you were baby-sitting at the McConigals and at first I played dumb, but mom is too smart and so I told her everything. And I said, I thought you made a lovely girl and most importantly that you seemed to love being a girl.”
I didn’t know whether to be mad at Mitzi or not; after all Theodora was supposed to be just the secret of us four girls. Mitzi looked at me and shrugged as if to say that mom had forced the truth out of her.
“Teddy, or shall I say, Theodora?” mom said.
“Teddy’s fine,” I mumbled, though in my heart I thought I should have embraced “Theodora.”
*****
Mom explained that she got the call from Stephanie about a week before Christmas and got to wondering if perhaps her son was one of those strange boys who’d prefer being girls. She and Mitzi began doing some quick research on transgendered girls. Both had even taken time to search out and visit the local LGBT organization where a counselor had discussed the whole process.
“We both came to realize that you, dear Teddy, may be a transgender girl,” mom explained. “I thought back to what Grandma said to be that you had seemed to act more and more like a girl and to even look like a girl. I began to look more closely at my son and came to the conclusion that we had to find out whether you’re transgender or not.”
I continued to hold and look at the Mary Janes, listening to mom while at the same time wondering how the shoes would fit and what other lovely items were in the boxes still be unwrapped.
“Teddy, are you listening to me?”
“Yes, mother,” I said, raising my head to look at her. I was growing dizzy with what was happening.
“Now, dear,” she continued. “You will learn as you open the rest of your gifts that they’re all for a girl, not a boy. It’s important to tell you that we can return all of them in case they don’t fit or if you’re not interested in being a girl and want some boy things. You understand, Teddy?”
“Yes, mother, I do.”
“Another thing, Teddy, I thought seriously about encouraging you in this, but after my consultations with the folks the LGBT center and with psychologist they recommended, I felt that it was best to test how serious you are about this. They suggested we give you plenty of opportunities to live as a girl whenever you can. Again, but only if you want that.”
“And the other gifts are more stuff for a girl?” I probed.
She nodded. I looked at mom and Mitzi, my eyes filling up with tears. I didn’t answer at first, knowing my answer was important. Finally, I said, “I’m sure I’ll want to keep my gifts. I love you so much, and Mitzi, I love being your little sister. I never thought you’d understand mom. You’re the best mother.”
I scrunched over to kiss mom and she gathered me in her arms and we hugged for the longest time. Then I return to Mitzi and did the same. I was so grateful to her for letting me into her circle of girlfriends.
Mom broke up our hugfest and said, “Now, let’s return to opening our gifts, taking turns as we always have done. After all, this is also Mitzi’s Christmas.”
*****
Mitzi and mom thought of every need that a girl could have. My gifts included a selection of panties, bras and camisoles, sandals with short heels, a denim miniskirt, a full flowing print skirt, a pleated plaid skirt, several blouses, two sweaters, nylons and socks. There were the necessary accessories, like a make-up kit specially for teens, a hair brush and hair clips. We all giggled as I opened the other shoebox to find two breast forms, size 32 A.
Mitzi hugged me tightly when she opened up the gifts I had gotten for her, using my baby-sitting money. “Ooooh, I love this,” she cooed when she unwrapped the baby doll dress that I had seen her admire in one of our shopping trips.
“You have such lovely taste, Theodora,” mom said of the sweater and blouse combination I got for her.
I never loved my mother and my sister as much as I did that morning; they had both made me so happy, recognizing that this strange boy in their family may not have been a boy after all.
“I have a surprise for both of you,” I said, after we had finished opening our gifts and had even tried on some of the outfits.
Both looked at me quizzically, and I smiled. “Let me prepare brunch,” I said. “I found a great recipe for a Christmas quiche and I want to fix it for us, just to show you, mom, and Mitzi how much I love being your daughter and sister.”
My quiche was a big hit; Mitzi and mom cleaned up the kitchen afterward after telling me to dress in one of my gift outfits. I gladly accepted the offer and ran off to pick out one of the outfits from under the tree. I chose a plaid, pleated skirt, a white blouse and red vest; the combination of colors made for a truly Christmassy sight.
The doorbell rang, just as I was finishing brushing my hair into a nice bob.
“Can you get that Theodora?” mom yelled from the kitchen.
“Do you think I should? The way I’m dressed?” I asked, worried since few knew of my crossdressing practices.
“I’m sure you look lovely, dear. Just answer the door.”
Reluctantly and with my heart beating rapidly, I walked to the door, trying to think of a lie to tell whoever was at the door as to why a young girl answered. Perhaps I could say I was a friend of Mitzi’s, I thought.
With trepidation, I opened the door. Standing before me in the cold was Grandma Jean. I was surprised since she wasn’t expected to come for Christmas; instead we were planning to drive to her place – about thirty miles away – later in the day.
*****
“I have some special gifts for all of you,” Grandma Jean explained. “And I couldn’t wait to give them to you.”
She announced that it might be good to reverse the family practice to open gifts in an order that started with the youngest – me. She said that in all fairness, the oldest should go first. That made my gift the last to open. In truth, the gifts she brought for both mom and Mitzi were nice, though I didn’t think they were particularly special.
“Now it’s your turn,” my grandma said, a sly smile on her face. She truly was a lovely woman, even with her wrinkly face.
My gift was in a flat box, and I speculated that it must be clothing of some sort. I feared she might have brought me another Green Bay Packer sweatshirt – seemingly Packer stuff had been her favorite through the years, perhaps in the hope that I might eventually become a real boy.
All eyes were on me as I began to untie the pink bow around the box; I always was slow in unwrapping my gifts, worried about ruining the pretty bows and paper that adorned them. Finally, I got the box open and pulled apart the tissue paper. It was the mint-colored dress from Suzie’s Teen Fashions.
“Oh Grandma, how did you know?”
“That’s our secret,” she said, laughing. “Now go try it on.”
Mitzi joined me in my bedroom to help me on with the dress. She fussed with me, even helping me with my makeup and fixing my hair. She then helped me with the Mary Janes.
“There, you’re all fixed, ready to go to the ball,” Mitzi said. “Let’s show you off to mom and grandma, OK?”
Grandma Jean beamed as Mitzi and I walked into the living room.
“Patricia,” she said, addressing mom. “Don’t I have the loveliest of granddaughters?”
“Yes, you do,” mom agreed.
I looked at Mitzi and we hugged, as sisters. I couldn’t be happier; yet, I wondered what would happen next.
By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2016)
(When I saw the mint-colored dress in the shop window during a pre-Christmas shopping spree, I knew I wanted it. Little did I know where that dress might lead me. In this concluding chapter, I approach the New Year with both hope and fear.)
CHAPTER FOUR
We four girls (yes, I seemed to have banished any thought that I was a boy) gathered at Melodie’s house on the day after Christmas. Her parents were hosting a “Boxing Day” celebration; her parents were first generation Irish and carried on the old British and Irish tradition of celebrating the day after Christmas holiday with a feast. In the tradition of the O’Donnell family, various relatives and friends would stop by for baked ham, mincemeat pie and a concoction called Brandy Butter that is composed of brandy, butter, and sugar.
There were so many people milling about the house that I was accepted as just one of Melodie’s girlfriends. Melodie eventually moved the four of us into her room for a “girls only” party where we gossiped, giggled and told of our Christmas gifts. The other three girls were particularly excited about my gifts and I had to describe each of them with great detail.
“You’ve got to come in for the model audition with me, Teddy,” Melodie pleaded. “I don’t wanna go alone. Come with me, girl. I know Stephanie wants you.”
“I’m still kind of scared to try out, you know,” I replied.
“We know, but you ought to,” Heather said. “I just know you’ll get it.”
I looked at Mitzi, who smiled and nodded her head, as if to encourage me. “Well, mom is going to call Stephanie tomorrow to set up an appointment. Then she wants to tell her the truth about me and see if she still wants me,” I said.
“She shouldn’t do that, Theodora. No one would ever mistake you for a boy,” Melodie said.
“Mom says we should be honest about this,” Mitzi explained. “Besides Theodora still has to return to school in a few days as a boy.”
“Do you want to model, Teddy,” Heather asked.
“Yes, if Stephanie still wants me,” I said, less than enthusiastically. The prospect of parading in front of camera crew in girl clothes excited me but I was scared that I’d be found out.
“Cool,” Heather said.
It was sweet that the other girls took such great joy in me being chosen over them as a potential model. They were all my BFFs.
*****
In the two short years since Stephanie Usher had founded Suzie’s Teen Fashions the store had become a thriving enterprise with growing online trade; Ms. Usher had linked her store with a major online provider and was able to market her goods using “Suzie’s Teens” as a trade name. In setting up the appointment with Ms. Usher, mom had learned that the store’s new online opportunities made the use of models even more important.
“Your daughter appears to have a natural look that the camera might really like, Mrs. Rushing,” Stephanie had told mom when mom called her on the day after Christmas.
Mom told the store owner that she was reluctant to have her daughter model, explaining that I was a good student and still pretty young. “I don’t want to have anything interfere with her studies,” mom explained.
After Stephanie assured her that she would schedule the modeling assignments with a full understanding of my schoolwork needs, mom agreed to schedule the interview for the third day after Christmas to discuss my modeling possibilities.
Mom and I argued over how I should be dressed for the interview with mom insisting I should be dressed as a boy; I thought I should be dressed as a girl, in the more casual skirt and blouse outfit that I had received at Christmas. I felt so soft and feminine in that outfit, like a typical teen schoolgirl. In the end, mom agreed, realizing that if I were to come in for the interview as a boy it might be cause Stephanie Usher to dismiss me without any further discussion.
I put on the skirt and blouse combination topping it off with a cardigan sweater. Because of the cold, I had to borrow one of Mitzi’s older coats; it was a blue-gray model with a hood.
“You’re so adorable in that, Teddy,” my sister Mitzi said.
I was shivering as mom and I drove to the mall for our interview with Stephanie Usher. It was a frigid morning with near zero temperature readings, but my shivers were likely due more to my apprehension to the coming interview. Mom was going to tell Ms. Usher that I was a boy. The other woman’s reactions, I’m sure, would be sheer anger, coupled with disgust and perhaps even violence. She was a large, strong woman, I knew.
I was somewhat reassured since I knew Melodie and her mother were scheduled to meet with Stephanie shortly before our interview. Melodie had gotten over her first embarrassment at being told she’d be an ideal candidate to model plus sizes. I had noticed in my continual browsing of fashions on the internet that the young ladies who modeled the plus sizes were rarely obese; most were large framed girls who were in top physical shape with lovely faces.
“You should be flattered to be asked,” I told Melodie one day after school, having shown her pages and pages of plus size models. I think that helped her to take a more positive view of the prospect.
Mom and I got to the store about five minutes before the appointment time and we were surprised that the store was already crowded with teen girls and a few adults checking out post-Christmas sales. Others, we noticed, were returning clothes they’d obviously gotten for gifts and didn’t fit. We knew Stephanie Usher was busy in her office interviewing Melodie and her mom and we waited patiently. As we waited, I checked out some of the offerings on the racks. A girl has to shop, doesn’t she?
Melodie was all smiles when she and her mother left Stephanie’s office. She spied me immediately and rushed over, hugging me, almost lifting me off my feet in her enthusiasm. “I’m a model. Can you believe it? Fat ol’ me,” she gushed.
“I told you, Melodie, didn’t I? You’re perfect for it,” I told her, giving her a congratulatory kiss on the cheek.
Melodie’s mom was smiling, too. I liked Mrs. Kersten and she always treated me warmly; besides, she usually had a plate of freshly baked cookies awaiting my visits. Her specialty was chocolate chip oatmeal cookies; lots of people made them, but for some reason Mrs. Kersten’s were special. I’ve been meaning to ask about her secret so I could try to make them. Melodie’s mom was a social worker and she knew that I had dressed occasionally in girl’s clothes. In fact, I learned that mom had also called her when she discovered my crossdressing habit. Mrs. Kersten never encouraged me to dress, but I think she understood. She, of course, didn’t know about the times Melodie and I hugged, kissed and made awkward attempts at lesbian love-making.
“Now it’s your turn, Theodora. Good luck. It’d be great to have both you and Melodie modeling,” Mrs. Kersten said.
*****
Stephanie Usher was all smiles when mom and I entered her office.
“Thank you for coming, Theodora and Mrs. Rushing,” she said upon greeting us. “I was worried because I thought that you, Theodora, wasn’t too excited about modeling clothes. Guess that’s natural for a tomboy.”
I suppressed a giggle. I was hardly a tomboy, but then Stephanie had seen me in boy clothes when I first entered the store on that eventful Saturday several weeks earlier.
“Teddy is hardly a tomboy, Miss Usher,” mom said immediately.
“Well, whatever, I’m just glad she’s willing to try. She’s lovely and I think she’s photogenic, too, but we will audition her with our photographer and marketing professionals for final approval. Now I need to go over some specifics with you, Mrs. Rushing, since Theodora is a minor. I want to assure you that we will follow all the rules affecting the employment of teens and we want you to fully understand what Theodora’s responsibilities are.”
Mom held up her hand, stopping Stephanie from going on with what appeared to be a long litany involving the details of the modeling work.
“Wait, before you go any further, Miss Usher, I need to make you aware of something,” mom said firmly.
“Oh?” Stephanie asked, puzzled.
Mom hesitated before she continued, probably reframing the words she was going to use. Finally, she said, “First of all, his name is Theodore Michael Rushing and he is a boy.” She emphasized the words “his” and “he.”
Stephanie looked at me and shook her head. “No, no, no. It can’t be, but she . . . oh my God . . . she seems so naturally feminine?”
I looked down at the floor, unwilling to meet her eyes. I waited for Stephanie to shout out in rage, to accuse me of lying and making a fool of her. But no explosion came.
“You should understand now why Teddy can’t model for you, Miss Usher. He had no right to accept your invitation.”
But Stephanie just laughed, a joyous, almost raucous laugh.
“What’s so funny?” mom asked. We were both mystified by Stephanie’s strange reaction.
I looked up. Stephanie was all smiles.
“Let me show you something,” she said, turning in her chair. She leaned down toward the credenza behind her and pulled something out of a drawer.
She handed mom a framed color photograph. I only got a glimpse of it and it appeared to be a picture of a young man in a football uniform. Mom looked puzzled and handed it to me. The young man stood straight and tall, cradling a football helmet in his right arm. He had long blonde hair and the young man looked unhappy. His green, gold and white uniform had the words “NDSU” with the number “53” emblazoned underneath.
I looked from the picture to see Stephanie watching me closely. “You?” I asked.
Stephanie smiled, “Yes, me.”
“But, but . . .” I mumbled, incredulous that the strikingly beautiful lady before me was the young man in the photograph.
“Yes, I’m a transgendered woman, Theodora, and Mrs. Rushing, I think I can understand what your son . . . or shall we say for now, anyway, your daughter . . . is going through,” she said.
She explained she was born Steven Usher Horning in a small North Dakota town that was a breeding ground for top football players; her dad, a former football star, had groomed young Steven to follow in his footsteps. “He had me up an hour early every morning to put me through fitness programs. Because I was always a big girl . . .” she paused, smiling.
“Anyway, to make a long story short, I became quite good as a linebacker, making all-state in both my junior and senior years and winning a full-ride at North Dakota State to play for the Bison.”
“I’ve heard of the Bison,” I said. “They’re usually pretty good, aren’t they?”
“You bet, and I made all-conference in my freshmen year and my dad saw fat NFL contracts coming, but I hated it. I didn’t like hitting people, though I had fooled myself for a long time. I quit football, lost my scholarship and moved to Minneapolis and eventually here.”
“So you gave up a lot to transition, Miss Usher?” mom asked.
She nodded. “Mainly I lost my family. Dad still won’t talk to me, though mom calls me when she can and one of my two sisters lives nearby and we see each other.”
“Would you do it again?” mom asked.
“It’s been difficult and I wouldn’t urge any young man to consider doing it, but I had to do it, or else face terrible unhappiness, and no, I will not encourage Theodore to follow in my footsteps. I’ll be hiring him to model for me, period. He’ll be paid well and we’ll make sure it does not screw up his schoolwork.”
Mom was silent for a moment; she looked at me and smiled. She reached over and touched my arm. “You know, Teddy, I really don’t want to hurt you, but I’m beginning to think this is not such a good idea.”
“But mom, you got me all those clothes,” I protested.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” mom said, now looking at Stephanie. “It’s so hard to know what to do. I wish my Stanley was here now.”
I began to cry. Mom, of course, was referring to dad; I knew she continued to miss him, even though he had been gone for five years.
“Look, Mrs. Rushing, I do not want to press you now,” Stephanie said. “I too want to make sure that Theodore, or if you wish, Theodora, does what is best. So, if you’re not ready for him . . . or her . . . to model now, that’s fine. Do you want a few days more to consider?”
“Give me a few minutes with Teddy, would you please?” mom asked, suggesting that Stephanie leave us in private.
Stephanie smiled and got up from her chair. “I’ve got to check up front anyway,” she said, indicating the retail store.
Mom’s basic questions involved whether I truly wanted to model girls’ clothes. “It just exposes you to all sorts of problems, mainly your safety, Teddy,” mom said.
“I know, mom, and I’m scared, too.”
“You know how you got teased and bullied in middle school,” she reminded me.
“Yes, mom, but no one’s bothered me at Madison high,” I said.
“You know they’ll soon find out your modeling as a girl, and you know how some teens can be.”
“But look at Stephanie, she seemed to go through transition OK,” I said.
“Yes, look at her, dear,” mom began. “She was a star football player, big and strong, and she could defend herself. You’re not very strong, honey.”
I nodded. Mom was correct.
Finally, mom asked the ultimate question. “Do you want to be a girl, Teddy? To live your whole life as a girl and then a woman? It won’t be easy.”
“I don’t know, mom. I don’t really know, but I keep thinking I already am a girl,” I said.
“You’re only fourteen, so maybe we don’t need to answer that question yet.”
I smiled at mom. I had decided about modeling. “Mom, let me model, please.”
Mom leaned over and kissed me. “OK, my darling, if that’s what you want, I’ll say OK for you to model. Let’s call Stephanie back in and we’ll sign the papers.”
*****
Stephanie handed a sheet of paper to mom, explaining it was a permission slip needed by the state to hire children.
“Here, I have signed it already, and Mrs. Rushing you’ll have to sign and date the bottom,” she explained.
Mom looked at the paper, taking time to read it and then nodded her head. “I see it uses Teddy’s boy’s name,” mom said.
“Of course, Mrs. Rushing. That’s his legal name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.”
I felt mom was about to balk at signing the paper, but to my surprise she went ahead and signed it, using her precise writing style. Mom was one of those few people whose signature on checks and other items was totally legible, “Patricia J. Rushing.”
“I sure hope I’m doing the right thing,” she said, handing the paper back to Stephanie.
“Oh mom, you are, and I love you so.”
Stephanie was smiling broadly, obviously warmed by the atmosphere of love exhibited between mom and myself. She said, “Mrs. Rushing, I know there may be some difficulties ahead for her, but your Theodora seems like a strong and determined young lady. And, believe me, I’ll make sure she’s not going to be embarrassed or hurt in every way I can.”
“I know you will Miss Usher, but I know there’ll be other girls modeling, too, and there’ll be other parents there, too,” mom said.
“Yes, of course, we’ll be picking five girls out of ten, and I can almost guarantee that your daughter will be one of the five,” Stephanie said. “And your friend Melodie almost assured to be one of the girls modeling our special styles. It’s hard to find big girls who can successfully model these clothes, but Melodie seems perfect.”
“Will they know about Teddy’s situation?” mom asked. “And how will she be able to change outfits without being betrayed as to her gender?”
In my joy of being told I’d likely be able to model, I had forgotten about the obvious complications that might arise due to me gender. While my penis shamed me because it was tiny compared to other boys, I knew it might bulge out a bit, particularly if it was stimulated. And then, I was worried about how I could change without exposing my boyhood.
“I see no reason to inform the others about Theodora’s situation,” Stephanie replied. “You know our models are always identified only by their first names and we have little cubicles for the girls to change in.”
I could tell mom was a bit skeptical.
“Maybe there’ll be girls from her school and they might recognize her,” she said.
“None of the other girls are from Madison or from Hudson Middle School, where your daughter attended. Except of course, your friend Melodie, but then she knows about you, right Theodora?”
“Yes, and she wanted me to model,” I nodded.
“Besides the furthest the girls will be exposed is to their panties and bras and your daughter has such a soft and naturally feminine body I can’t imagine anyone seeing any ‘boy’ in her.”
Being called naturally feminine and soft excited me. If I were a real boy, I should have been hurt to be regarded for my lack of masculinity. I felt my penis growing hard at the realization that I was almost a natural female. I tried to withstand the excitement running through me, fearful that I might suddenly have to ejaculate. I began to rock back and forth, trying desperately to keep it in check so that neither mom nor Stephanie noticed.
“And I’ve got a little aid for you, Theodora, just in case,” Stephanie said.
“What’s that?” I said, thankful that my feeling of excitement was ebbing and my penis was softening.
“It’s called a gaff. I’ve got some in stock for our special girls and I’ll give you a couple before you leave today,” she said, smiling.
“A gaff? What’s that? It sounds ominous,” Mom asked.
“It’s like a string bikini bottom except it’s made of sterner material and is used to hide the male appendage for special girls like Theodora here,” she explained.
“Will it hurt?” I asked.
“It might be a little uncomfortable at first, but you’ll get used to it,” Stephanie said. “I used gaffs to hide mine until I had my surgery. Best of all, you’ll have a nice, girlish flat front, which is needed for some of the tighter-fitting garments.”
I could see mom growing a bit more satisfied with the situation, even though I knew she would continue worry about my safety.
Stephanie explained that my next step would be to visit the studio of the photographer where I’d meet the head seamstress for measurements and the art director for the photo shoot. The three of them would have the final say about whether I was fit to audition for the shoot, she said.
“Now before I direct you to the photo studio, let me ask you one more question,” she said.
“What’s that?” mom asked.
“How committed are to the name Theodora?” Stephanie turned to look directly at me.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s an awkward name to use should we put on a runway show, which we’re planning in March. I like something a little shorter, that’s all. It’s not important if it bothers you to change.”
I looked at mom and she muttered, “It’s up to you, dear.”
“It was just a name my friends gave me at the spur of the moment. I didn’t really choose Theodora,” I said.
“Have you had any ideas about another name?” she asked.
I thought for a moment. I had always admired Emma Watson who played Hermione in the Harry Potter series; in fact, I had sometimes fantasized that if I was a girl I wanted to be like her.
“Emma?” I said, not certain that was an ideal name for a fashion model.
“Perfect,” Stephanie said with a smile.
I was almost giddy with excitement as mom and I left Stephanie’s office, carrying a package with several gaffs. I spied Melodie and her mother, still in the store; they were awaiting us, since the both of us were scheduled to go to the photo studio for our final approvals.
“You’re in?” Melodie asked, coming up to hug me.
“Yes, I think so,” I said as she again lifted me partly off the floor. She’s strong, that girl is!
“And, I said, call me Emma.”
*****
We spent the rest of the morning in the studio, first being measured by the head seamstress, who muttered the word “lovely” as she ran the tape on my body, covering virtually every possible angle. She otherwise said nothing as she worked. Each of us were asked to try on two outfits and then we stood to pose for several shots. The photographer, a long-haired, goateed young man, seemed particularly enamored as I posed, so much so that he asked if her could take a few “glamour” shots of me. He promised to send me some prints.
The art director was more critical, however, and yelled harshly that I should reposition my head or to take what she called my “sickly smirk” off my face. I found it impossible to please the woman who was most unpleasant, even though she was not too old and truly quite attractive. I feared I might be cut.
Melodie also agreed that the art director was mean, going even to the point of saying she looked like a cow waiting to be milked. “I wanted to belt her one,” Melodie said. “But the others seemed to like me.”
The following day, Melodie and I both received calls from Stephanie telling us we were accepted as models and that our first assignment would be soon.
*****
The local Lions Club, along with several of the city’s banks, sponsored an annual New Year’s Eve party specifically for teens. For entry, kids were supposed to bring a piece of clean clothing as a donation to homeless children in the area. After that, everything was free, the soda and punch, hot dogs, pizza and a cake that was to be ignited at ten o’clock, two hours before the midnight time of the Central Time Zone. It was a necessity due to the city’s curfew for teens sixteen and under. As was the custom, a giant screen was set up to view a network television broadcast of the midnight celebration of the New Year in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
To keep the party alcohol and drug free, Lions Club volunteers policed the dance heavily. They’d beefed up security after the 1999 party in which a half gallon of vodka was dumped surreptitiously into the fruit punch. The prank almost caused the Lions to consider ending the event.
Since then, there’d been no major incidents and for the most part bored the senses of the juniors and seniors. The Lions tried to entice the older students by booking top local entertainers, but the event now was attended almost exclusively by freshman and sophomore high schoolers.
As Theodore Rushing, I would never have attempted to attend such a social event; I knew I was too wimpy a boy and that no girl would look twice at me. Plus, I had no boys who would want to go with me. “I just wasn’t cool enough,” I figured.
It was Heather who suggested that we go to the New Year’s Party when us four girls got together at our house on the day after Melodie and I had both been accepted to model for Suzie’s Teen Fashions. My sister Mitzi was just ecstatic over the fact that her little sister had been fully accepted by the three final judges as a girl; they had not been informed that pretty little Emma Rushing was in fact a boy.
“That photographer called Emma the daintiest girl of the ten who auditioned,” Melodie gushed. “He said little Emma would sell lots of clothes for Suzie’s.”
We spent much of the afternoon in Mitzi’s bedroom giggling about their new girlfriend, Emma. They forced me to try on all sorts of outfits and then do a mock runway showing; I think I did a pretty good imitation of models strutting their stuff. Heather made much of my new breasts, smallish and perfect for a late developing fourteen-year-old girl. She was small-breasted as well and was somewhat shamed to be in the company of the more buxom Melodie and my amply endowed sister.
“You don’t seem to have any trouble attracting boys, Heather,” Melodie said. “That Barry guy seems enamored with you.”
Heather blushed. “He asked if we were going to the Lions Club party. I said I wasn’t sure. It depends on my girlfriends, I told him.”
“We should go girls,” My sister said enthusiastically. I giggled at the suggestion and they all looked at me.
“She thinks that Leo will be there,” I tattled on her. Mitzi stuck her tongue out at me as if to show she was mad, but I knew secretly she liked being sought-after by the tall, slender boy.
“Oh, he’s cute,” Heather gushed.
“That’s such a boring party,” Melodie said, obviously hoping to stifle the enthusiasm of the other girls, largely because she feared no boy would seek her out.
“Maybe Jeremy will be there,” I volunteered.
“Why would he? He’s a junior and juniors don’t show up at such a boring party with us kids,” she retorted.
“Some juniors do show up,” I said. Jeremy Sparks was a husky kid who played on the offensive line of the football team; despite his formidable size and athletic ability, Jeremy was painfully shy around girls. He and Melodie had been longtime neighborhood chums, having attended grade school, middle school and now high school together. The two had never dated formally, but Melodie had confessed to me that she would be open to doing so.
“He’ll show up if he knows you’ll be there, Melodie,” my sister added.
We finally convinced Melodie to text Jeremy, indicating she might be at the Lions Club party. We forced her to do it while we were still there. Almost instantly, she burst into a smile; she passed her phone around for all to see the words, “If u there, I will be 2 – Jere”
“Jere? You two must be chummy,” Heather said, laughing. We all hugged Melodie and a lot of giggles followed.
“Aren’t we forgetting Emma?” Melodie said finally.
“Oh, she won’t have any trouble attracting a boy,” Mitzi said.
It was then I realized the absurdity of me going to the party as a girl. A lot of kids who knew me as Ted Rushing at school would certainly figure out my charade.
“I can’t go, somebody recognize me,” I protested.
“No don’t worry, you can go as my cousin Emma from Grover Cleveland High across town,” Mitzi suggested.
I smiled at the prospect, but still didn’t think it was a good idea. “You girls can go. I’ll stay home and watch the ball come down on Times Square with mom.”
“Mom won’t be home on New Year’s Eve. She’ll be out with her new boyfriend,” Mitzi said.
“No, you’re coming with us, Emma,” Heather pressed. “Barry texted me and said he’d be there. And, Emma, his friend Curtis will be coming, too. He really wants to hook up with you.”
Now I knew why Heather wanted us to go to the party so badly; she was eager to link up with her Barry.
“How about it, sis?” Mitzi asked.
“Come on, Emma. The future Miss America can’t stay at home on New Years’ Eve,” Heather added.
How could a girl refuse such an invitation? I was going to the party, regardless of the consequences. I couldn’t disappoint Curtis, could I?
*****
About 10 a.m. on the morning of December 31, I got a call from Stephanie Usher, telling me to plan on doing a photo shoot on the second weekend in January. “Plan to work a full eight hours on Saturday, beginning at 9 a.m.,” she said. “You’ll be modeling at least 20 different outfits and it’ll be exhausting so make sure you get lots of sleep the night before. And, if we don’t finish, we’ll have to work Sunday afternoon.”
“Wheeee!,” I exclaimed, pleased that I’d actually be modeling.
“Don’t get too excited, Emma. You’ll be worn out at the end of the day and sometimes our photographer and art director can get pretty nasty if you’re not at the top of your form.”
“OK, thanks for warning me, Stephanie.”
I hung up the phone, truly anxious to begin my modeling career. Ever since being accepted a few days earlier, I had been rehearsing how I’d walk, pose and smile before the camera, using the full-length mirror in mom’s bedroom. Of course, I had practiced poses in each one of my outfits and a few of Mitzi’s as well.
When Mitzi or mom were around, they helped coach me. I couldn’t help but be impressed with how girlish I had become.
*****
Mitzi fussed over what I was to wear for the Lions Club party, almost to neglecting her own preparation.
“I want my little sister to be the prettiest girl at the party,” she said.
“Mitzi,” I protested. “You’re prettier than me. Really, you are.”
“False modesty, my dear. Now, let’s try on that gypsy skirt of yours,” she said, holding up a multi-colored fluffy skirt that ended in mid-thigh.
I was already in my navy-blue tights; they were of a heavy material necessary to protect my legs against the frigid temperatures of the mid-winter evening.
“Oh, those tights are adorable on you, Emma. They show off your legs,” Mitzi said.
“You like it, Mitzi?”
“Definitely, Emma. I’m really jealous of those legs of yours. Mine are too muscular and yours are so soft and slender.”
It’s true. My arms and legs showed no definition, while Mitzi, largely because she played lots of sports (she was on the school’s volleyball team), seemed to have developed firm, sinewy arms and legs. She rarely wore sleeveless dresses because she was embarrassed by her muscles.
After some debate, we chose a peach-colored blouse and a colorful vest for me. Mitzi kept my makeup light (after all I was only fourteen) and brushed my hair so that it hung straight with a bob. She had the hair frame my face. I borrowed one of her beige sandals with a two-inch heel to wear for the party. Because there was fresh snow on the ground, I knew I’d have to wear boots to get to and from the car and then change into the sandals that I carried in a tote bag. Ah, the life of a girl!
When I looked at the mirror, I wasn’t sure I liked it. “I look too showy,” I told my sister.
“Maybe a bit, but you are a vibrant girl,” Mitzi said. “It fits your character.”
“Shouldn’t I be a little less noticeable?” I asked. I truly didn’t want to draw attention to myself for obvious reasons.
“Truly, Emma, I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re anything but a cute girl. Remember, that Pearson boy who saw you at the dance? He had no idea you were Teddy.”
“But it was dark in there that night.”
“And it’ll be dark at the Lions Club party, too, sister.”
In the end, I went along with Mitzi’s suggestion and wore the outfit to the dance. I have to admit that while I flitted about the house in the hour or so before we were to go I grew to like the outfit. I felt like a giddy, happy little girl as the skirt swished about over my legs in their black tights. I found myself examining my image in every single mirror in the house, partly to convince myself that there was no sign of a boy and also to admire how truly cute and lovely I was.
*****
The Lions Club Teen New Year’s Eve Party was held in the aging municipal arena; it was a huge structure that had been recently remodeled, even though it no longer housed the area’s professional basketball and hockey teams. Now it was used for special occasions, such as this one. Students from all of the area’s high schools were welcome to the event; entrants had to show their student IDs while students from out of the city would have to show their own school IDs and register.
Mrs. Kersten, Melodie’s mom, drove all four of us to the event, joining a long line of cars containing parents who were dropping their kids off. I saw school buses that apparently brought groups of kids from places like the Boys and Girls Clubs and the YWCA. The place would be mobbed.
“I’ll pick you all up here at 10:30 when it’s over. Just be patient, since there’ll be a line of cars,” Mrs. Kersten said.
We all joined together in saying, “Thank you, Mrs. Kersten,” acting like a class of first graders. We giggled as we stepped out of the car.
Mrs. Kersten laughed and said, “You girls have fun, but behave, all of you.”
I was pleased to be included in the words, “You girls.”
It took nearly ten minutes to get into the event, since we all had to go through checkpoints where our ID was checked with school roles by computers; then we all had to walked through metal detectors. We were permitted to keep our cellphones.
I frankly was worried about getting into the event, since my ID signified I was “Theodore” and “male.” As my friends kept assuring me, I certainly didn’t look to be male. In anticipation of such obstacles, mom had me see the psychologist two days earlier to begin discussing whether I was possibly transgender. After a forty-five-minute interview, the psychologist said she considered me a potential candidate for transgender status and recommended I dress as often as I could as a girl to test whether I in fact felt I was truly female. She also gave me a letter, attesting to the fact that “Theodore Rushing” occasionally dressed in female clothes as part of “his treatment protocol.”
Two security guards shunted me off to a side room. Mitzi attempted to go with me, telling the security guards that she was my sister, but she was told to “mind her own business.” I was greeted by stern-looking man in a business suit and a woman in a security guard’s uniform with sergeant stripes on her sleeve. They had me sit down in front of her desk, while the man stood behind her, arms folded, looking incredulously at me. She looked at my ID and at the psychologist’s letter, shook her head and handed it to the man.
“Looks like we got a sissy boy here, sergeant,” he said, shaking his head to signify his disgust.
I wanted to cry. I was scared stiff and wanted to turn and run outside and never come back. How humiliated I felt. I sat stiffly in the chair, hands folded on my lap, with my legs together and feet planted flat on the floor. I must have looked like a frightened little girl.
“I guess he or she . . . whatever . . . is one of those trannies, or something,” she said.
“I’m not sure this boy or girl or it should go into the dance. Sets a bad example for other kids,” he said, his look of disgust deepening on his face.
Just then there was a knock, followed by the door springing open and the appearance of a tall, older man who seemed to exude authority. “Let me talk to you, Walter,” the man addressed the man who was mocking me. There followed some whispers between the two, with the man who had been belittling me nodding his head in agreement.
“You’re free to go, young lady,” the man who had been called Walter said. He didn’t seem happy about it.
Just then I burst into tears; I rushed out of the room into the arms of Melodie who gathered me into her. Soon, Mitzi and Heather gathered with us creating a joyful group hug.
“You should have seen Melodie,” my sister said. “She was furious when they carted you away and wouldn’t let me explain things.”
“Yeah, she demanded to see the guy in charge, threatening to go to the ACLU or ‘Contact 12’ to sue them for discrimination,” Heather explained further. Contact 12 was a project of Television Station WOMW (Channel 12) in which people call in to complain against unfair treatment by businesses or the government. It was quite popular and had shamed many arbitrary or dishonest persons for such transgressions.
I looked at Melodie, astonished. She had gotten to the “top guy” who must have been the man who entered the room and brought about my release.
“Thank you, Melodie,” I said, hugging her even harder.
“Your makeup has run,” Melodie said. “Let’s go to the girls’ room to fix it up.”
*****
Barry and his friend, Curtis, had no trouble locating Heather; she had texted him to inform him where to look for her in the massive crowd of teenagers. I noticed Curtis right away; he hung back behind his friend as Barry and Heather greeted each other. The two did not touch, but merely stood awkwardly, both apparently not sure what to say. Heather had told us that the two of them had met at a church camp where they kept the boys and girls strictly segregated, except for group sessions and a staid party on the last day. It was then she got to talk to Barry for the first time.
Heather introduced the rest of us and the two boys nodded. Curtis was a slender, tussle-haired boy a few inches taller than myself. He was not anything special to look at, but her looked sort of cute with a cowlick spoiling his otherwise well-combed blonde hair. Curtis was more neatly dressed than most of the boys in the room; obviously, his mother probably had taken extra care so that he was presentable.
“Hi,” I said, as Curtis moved close to me. It appeared I had to break the silence, since he obviously was too tongue-tied to do so.
“Hi,” he said.
For a moment, I stood there, speechless. How is a girl supposed to speak to a boy she never met before? We looked at each other and I could see Curtis was puzzled over what he was supposed to say to a girl. I relished the moment, knowing that it should be up to the boy to open the conversation. Never had I felt better about being a girl, since I no longer had to lead in a relationship. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for poor Curtis and if the place hadn’t been so dark, I’m sure I would have seen him blush.
“Nice of you to come,” I said, realizing immediately how stupid the remark was.
“I wanted to see you again after that morning at the mall,” he said. “But, I thought your name was Theodora.”
“Oh that. That was just Heather clowning around. My girlfriends call me that sometimes, just teasing, I guess. It’s my middle name.”
“Emma’s a nice name. It was my great-grandma’s name,” he blurted out.
“Thank you, and Curtis is a nice name, too,” I replied.
The boy seemed flustered. “I shouldn’t have said that. Y’know, about being my grant-grandma’s name.”
“Why not?” I asked, smiling back at him. “Nothing wrong with an old-fashioned name, though lots of girls are Emma these days.”
“I go to Grover Cleveland,” he said, trying to salvage the conversation.
“I go to Madison, just a freshman.”
“Oh, I’m sophomore.”
Curtis never left my side the rest of the evening. We didn’t dance much, largely because neither one of us felt comfortable on the dance floor. Our first dance together had been somewhat of a disaster; it was a slow one and he seemed afraid to get too intimate with me, holding me at almost arm’s length as we stumbled together on the floor, bumping into other people with Curtis always being apologetic. After a couple of bumbling dances, I took command of the situation and drew him closer to me so that our bodies touched and soon we began dancing more smoothly together, both gathering confidence on the dance floor.
“That’s the first time I ever danced with a girl, except when we had to in 6th Grade,” Curtis said.
“I never danced much, either, but I think we both did OK after a while,” I said.
“I guess, but I’m sorry I hit your toes so often.”
“You’re sweet. Do you want to sit the next one out?”
Curtis was obviously pleased by my suggestion. I was exhausted from all the exercise. He smiled and took my hand and led me off the floor. For some reason, feeling my small right hand wrapped in his slender but firm hand was intoxicating; we found a spot on the second level balcony where it was quiet and we could look out upon the arena floor to watch the others dance.
“Oh, there’s Melodie,” I observed. She was hard to miss since her partner was Jeremy. He was a mountain of a boy who towered over the rest. I was so happy for her that Jeremy had shown up.
“And look at Barry with your friend Heather,” Curtis said. The two of them were exhibiting some creative moves on the floor; they appeared to be natural partners.
I saw my sister, Mitzi, standing next to Leo Higgins at the corner of the dance floor; the two seemed to be in a most intimate conversation. It tickled me that Leo showed up and the two were able to link up. I marveled at the thought that all four of us girls had partners for the night.
Once we were settled in the balcony, Curtis began talking, quickly losing the awkwardness that had featured our first hour together. He admitted to never having had a girlfriend, but I told him that wasn’t weird, as he seemed to think it was.
“After all, you’re just fifteen, right?” I asked.
“Yes, and you, fourteen?”
“Mom doesn’t want me to date yet. In fact, if my cousin Mitzi hadn’t insisted on having me come I wouldn’t be here. She’s supposed to keep an eye on me.”
“She’s not doing a very good job of that,” Curtis laughed, looking down on the floor in the direction of where Mitzi and Leo were chatting.
“I’m not going to do anything bad,” I volunteered, followed by giggle.
*****
I felt bad as the conversation continued, since I had to lie to Curtis. He was a sincere, caring boy who deserved the truth about me, but I couldn’t dare tell him the truth. Since he went to a different school there’s a good chance I’d never see him again; I figured I’d let him enjoy the experience of having a girlfriend, even if it was for one night.
Though slim, Curtis was a strong young man. I could feel his sinewy arms as we danced. He had long fingers that were well-manicured, rare among boys his age. His name was Curtis Ericsson and he told me he lived with his single mother and a younger sister; he ran cross country and played the piano in the school orchestra.
After probing, he admitted to taking lessons at the Conservatory in classical piano and that he was to be a featured soloist in the City-wide Youth Orchestra’s concert in February.
“Tell me when. I want to hear you,” I gushed.
“Nah, don’t come. You’ll be bored.”
“I won’t be. I like some classical,” I said truthfully.
“Really? Not many girls I know care much for it,” he said smiling. “Do you have any favorite performers?”
I hesitated. I really did like classical music but I certainly wasn’t an expert on it. Finally, I blurted out, “Vladimir Horowitz.” It was a name I remembered seeing when Grandma Jean pulled out her old vinyl records. She used to play Horowitz a lot and I liked the excitement of his playing.
“Oh, he’s great, maybe the greatest,” Curtis said. When I told him about grandma’s collection of old Deutsche Gramophone albums, he grew excited.
Without thinking, I offered, “Maybe sometime my grandma would invite you and me over to hear some of them.”
“Would she?”
I nodded, knowing that Grandma Jean usually could be counted upon to accede to most of our requests. She spoiled Mitzi and me both rotten; we were her only grandchildren.
“I’ll get tickets for you for our concert,” he said.
“Can I bring my grandma?” I asked, knowing she’d love it.
I expected the Youth Orchestra would have a website and I knew I’d be looking it up when I got home. Curtis was a remarkable young man. Could I be in love?
We returned to the dance floor as the clock neared ten o’clock when the Lions Club Party would celebrate the coming New Year as we watched the New Years Eve revelers in San Juan, Puerto Rico on the two large screens.
“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Happy New Year.”
The band on stage broke into “Auld Lang Syne.” Curtis looked down at me, unsure what to do. I grabbed him in a hug and felt his arms surround me. It was an awkward hug at first, but soon Curtis had me engulfed in his long arms. I looked up at him and he down at me. We kissed, my first kiss with a boy. He was delicious.
“Did you make a wish?” Curtis asked me when we finally broke apart.
“Yes. Did you?”
“Of course, I’d like to tell you my wish, but I can’t or else it won’t come true,” he said. “It involves you, Emma.”
“You shouldn’t have, Curtis. I don’t know if we’ll ever see each other again.”
“Don’t say that? You’re special, Emma, really special.”
“Don’t push it Curtis. Please don’t count on me.”
He seemed mystified, but I knew I couldn’t promise him anything. After all I wasn’t real, was I?
“Please,” he pleaded.
“Well, if my wish comes true, maybe we’ll be together some day.”
“Happy New Year,” he said, kissing me again.
At that moment, as we celebrated the start of a brand-new year, something told me that I would be starting a brand-new life, a life that might include the shy, tousle-haired boy who held me in his arms.
When our kiss ended, I yelled out for all to hear, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”