Gene or Jean? - Part 7 - Conclusions

Classes were over, and I maintained a respectable grade point. The girls had gone their separate ways and I had moved into their apartment for the summer. I found out that Frank had pulled himself out of academic probation and was eligible to play football. Sylvia had a summer job at her Dad’s company, which meant that she had to work on Monday and Tuesday, the only days I had off. I would really miss her.

Before we all went our ways for the summer, Sylvia had an astute observation, “You’re going to be dressed for five of the seven evenings of the week, so why not make if full time until college starts in the fall?”

“That’s a good idea,” I responded, “that way I can have my hair done in a really feminine style, and maybe have some highlights. That way I won’t have to change the style all summer.”

“So you’ll be Jean the whole summer?” Sylvia wanted to know.

Gene or Jean? - Part 6 - How I got a job wearing a dress

The college sponsored a Winter Carnival every year near the end of January to give everyone a chance to blow off a little steam. There were all sorts of activities such as figure skating contests, snow man building, and even sleigh rides. Some of the frats and sororities had booths with food, hot cider and cocoa. Others set up carnival type of games. The college even cancelled classes for Friday. Naturally, my presence, as the SRS Halloqueen, was requested, and because of my position, RLE didn’t object.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I lamented to Sylvia.

“Said just like a woman,” she responded.

Gene or Jean? - Part 5 - The Halloqueen

At last I graduated, and was heading off to college, to major in French Literature with a minor in Business. I figured that I would not be cross-dressing while in college, so I left all of my feminine attire at home. I figured wrong.

Gene or Jean? - Part 4 - Looking for Answers

As a result of dressing as a girl for my French class project, I was spending more and more time as a girl. While Sandy had been enthusiastic about my cross-dressing at the start, she seemed less and less in favor of it as time progressed and I spent more time en femme. She wanted a boyfriend.

My Father just didn’t like it. He was reluctant to discuss my cross-dressing; he left it to my Mother to tell me of his concerns. “Your Father had hoped that your cross-dressing was a phase and that you would grow out of it.” she said, “Now he thinks that you might be turning into a girl. He thinks that you are more girl than boy, and he wants you to go to counseling.”

Sandy shared my Dad’s concerns. Therefore, I agreed to go to counseling.

Gene or Jean? - Part 3 - Consequences of Chanson Francaise.

Well, I had admitted that I liked being a girl at times, but that I liked being a boy when I was with Sandy. My project, or maybe my performance was no secret, and most of my friends and acquaintances thought it was funny. On the other hand, a few people thought it was perverted, and made no secret of that.

I was even hit on by a few boys who admitted that they were gay, as if my cross dressing in some way made me gay. I gently corrected their misapprehensions. What was more interesting were the number of girls who hit on me. They made it clear that they wanted me as a girlfriend, since I looked sexy as a girl, and I had my male parts. I told them that I already had a girlfriend.

To everyone, I made it plain that my motivation to wear a dress had nothing to do with sex or my gender; I was motivated by getting an ‘A’ on my project.

“Yeah, but you seemed to be enjoying wearing a dress and acting like a girl. Way too much for just an ‘A’ it seems to me,” one of my male friends said.

“Well,” I responded, “I thought it best to act the part as well as I could. I always want to do my best.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “but you make one sexy chick. If I didn’t know better, I’d ask you out.”

Gene or Jean? - Part 2 - French Class

“So you’re going to sing a girl’s song?” Gloria asked with a snicker.

“It’s not a girl song or a boy song,” I instructed her, “both females and males have recorded it.”

“But are you going to sing it as a girl?” Gloria asked, ignoring what I previously said.

I just gave her a dirty look in response.

However, Sandy picked up on this exchange. “Didn’t Mlle. Vert suggest that you dress up like Lucienne Boyer when you sing it?” she interjected. Now my sisters were as interested in my project as a bunch of vultures looking at a fresh kill. This conversation was quickly getting out of control.

Gene or Jean? - Part 1.

Chapter 1 - It All Started in the Bathroom.

My name is Eugene, ‘Gene’ for short. I have three sisters who, when it all started, were 19 and 17, and 13. I was 15. I am the only boy. Mom and Dad must have had some kind of routine, since all of our birthdays are in August. I always view the Thanksgiving turkey with some suspicion - you do the math; how many months from Thanksgiving to August.

There are never enough bathrooms or hot water in a house occupied by three teenaged girls. Accordingly, I plan my bathroom visits with care around their expected bathroom use. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.

The Potty Policy

Sarah Daniels could not be considered beautiful, or even cute. She was larger than most girls in her class, and did not have the curves associated with eighth grade girls. She looked a lot like a boy. She was physically strong and enjoyed sports.

On a warm spring afternoon after school, Sarah walked into the kitchen of her family home and dumped her book bag on the floor. “How was your day, honey?” her Mother asked.

“Okay,” Sarah replied as she walked over to the refrigerator.

“Learn anything interesting?”

“No.” she started. “Wait, Yes, In health class they talked about boys who think they are girls, and girls who think they are boys, or something like that. It got me thinking. I am more boy than girl.”

It Started On A Rainy Afternoon - Part 4 - Conclusion

Steve’s breaking up with me was an emotional disaster. Luckily I had my family. My Dad even let me cry on his shoulder while I was wearing this smashing looking dress. “My dear,” he said, “you have us, and believe me, this is not the end of the world, even if it seems that way to you. While I now know how wrong Steve’s parents are, it appears that he will not stand up to them like you did to me. Most important, we all love you.”

He handed me a tissue to wipe away my tears. “By the way, that’s a very pretty dress, and you don’t want to get tear stains on it,” he said with a smile.

It Started On A Rainy Afternoon - Part 3

I wore a dark-green cocktail dress which emphasized the feminine curves which I was developing. My father wore an angry expression; angry that my Mother and Emma had practically forced him to be there, angry at me for the way I looked and acted, angry at Gloria, who he didn’t like, and otherwise just plain angry.

It Started On A Rainy Afternoon


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It started on a rainy summer afternoon when I was seven. My sister Emma is two years older than I am and she and I get along. After lunch we had started playing board games, as we often did when we could not play outside. It was about two in the afternoon when my sister stood up and declared, “I’ve had enough of these board games. Let’s do something fun and different.”

It Started On
A Rainy Afternoon

It Started On A Rainy Afternoon - Part 2

I was enjoying my new situation. The food at my Aunt’s house was a lot better than at home, and under my Aunt’s supervision I was becoming a quite good cook. The parties my Aunt threw, about one every two months, were spectacular. Aunt Beth hired kitchen staff and maids for the occasion, but still there was a lot for me to do, not that I minded it, since a side benefit was that Aunt Beth wanted me to have a new party dresses or cocktail dresses for each occasion.

My Aunt was a supporter of the arts, and there were concerts and plays to attend, along with art gallery showings. Some times I was even able to get an invitation to bring Steve along. While invitations were extended to Emma she mostly declined, because she had no interest in serious drama or classical music. Even with the social events, my Aunt made sure that I had time to study, so I kept up my grade point average. This meant that there was talk of academic scholarships, which would be necessary if I even hoped to go to college.

Finally my seventeenth birthday was just around the corner. Unfortunately for me, I share a birthday with Adolf Hitler. This caused great merriment among my classmates, who began calling me ‘Adolf’ and ‘der Fuhrer’ much to my chagrin.

It Started On A Rainy Afternoon - Part 1

It started on a rainy summer afternoon when I was seven. My sister Emma is two years older than I am and she and I get along. After lunch we had started playing board games, as we often did when we could not play outside. It was about two in the afternoon when my sister stood up and declared, “I’ve had enough of these board games. Let’s do something fun and different.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“You know, people say we look alike. Let’s see if that is true. Come on up to my room. I’ve got an idea.” I knew that I had a ‘pretty’ face, and had been mistaken for a girl on numerous occasions.

Stories have a mind of their own - my word processor is possessed

I started a new story last week. Before I started, I had prepared an outline in my mind, and then I started writing. Somehow, halfway down the first page my outline went out the window, and the story itself took over. I wrote and I wrote. I tried to keep a central theme, and had to go back and excise parts that strayed too far from the theme.

The Babysitter - Part 5 - Conclusion

After the incidents with Tom and his friend Fred, I decided that I had to be careful. I had acquired a girlfriend and, other than babysitting jobs, I did not appear outside in feminine attire. This was protective camouflage; to the outside world I was just a regular teenage boy.

The Babysitter - Part 2

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of The Babysitter. All of the people who commented wanted me to continue the story. This part starts where The Babysitter ended, so you might want to read that first.

I looked for somewhere to sit, and saw a straight backed chair. I walked over to the chair, and instinctively smoothed out the shorts as if they were a skirt before sitting on the front edge of the chair, my back straight, my knees together, and my legs crossed at the ankles, exactly as my Mother had instructed me to do. This was not lost on Tom’s mother, who was closely watching me. I saw her stare, and gave her a small smile. She smiled in return, but it looked like there was a question in the smile, like why did I sit like that?

The Babysitter - Part 1

“Young lady, you aren’t allowed in the pool without something on top,” commanded the life guard at our community pool. I looked around to see to whom he was talking. “You, yes you,” he added, pointing at me.

“But I’m a boy, not a girl, so I don’t have to wear a top,” I complained.

“Are you sure? Isn’t your name Emily?” he asked.

“No, she’s my sister. We sorta look alike,” I answered.

How Romeo and Juliet Changed My Life - Part I

Steve and Dave have jobs at an amusement park for the summer, which go up in smoke when the park is destroyed by fire. Instead, they end up going to the Laughton Academic Achievement Camp for the summer. Both sign up for drama class not having the faintest idea what it was about, except that it wasn’t PE.

Plus Sizes

Inspired by a comment submitted by TMI Fairy on Wed, 2017/06/28 - 11:57pm:
“Are there fics where the T-girl starts out at 6'3 and 250 lbs? With big feet and a hairy back?”
Well, here it is TMI - my apologies to everyone else

The Jon Boat

A transitioning story as told by a friend

“I don’t like the lightning and thunder,” Carl said in a frightened voice. He moved closer to me, as if I could protect him. His T-shirt was so soaked, it clung to him and was practically transparent. It was then that I noticed what looked like straps over his shoulders. I had no idea what they were.

“Hey, whatca wearing under there?” I asked, pointing to his shoulders. It was too hot to wear even a T-shirt, but wearing something under it made even less sense.

His face began to redden. “Nothing,” he replied.

“No, there’s something,” I persisted.

He just stood there, looking at me. His face was even more red. “If I tell you, you’ve got to keep it a secret. Will you do that?”

“Of course,” I said. Now I was really interested.

He pulled off his T-shirt, and there was some kind of garment there. Not having any sisters, and being rather naive about girls, I had no idea what it was. “What is that?” I asked.

“A camisole,” was his reply. I could see that it looked like something a girl would wear, but the word “camisole” meant nothing to me.

The Chorister Part 3 - Conclusion

Jenny (Jeff) and Amy explore consequences and look for compromies.
The final part in the Chorister story (unless you want more, and I can figure out how to make it flow.

The Chorister Part 2

Jeff, as Jenny, auditions, and has to buy a gown for the performance. It needs to be altered, and Jenny and Amy asks Jenny's mother for help.

Author’s note. I enjoyed writing The Chorister, and because of the favorable comments, I decided to write a sequel. You may want to read The Chorister, but it is not absolutely necessary

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