The Chorister - Part 2
Let me start off by saying that my name is Jeff, but sometimes I go by the name of Jenny. Yes, I’m a transvestite. Last Christmas my girl friend, Amy, had a solo in ‘The Messiah,’ and I was helping her rehearse. I have music degrees and teach music at a local high school. Well, when Amy was at my apartment for rehearsals, she discovered my girl’s clothes and insisted that I wear them, not only for rehearsals, but also when I attended the performance.
On the day of the performance, the chorus call was two hours before the performance, and since I drove to the hall with Amy, I was standing around wearing a rather fetching emerald green dress. Since I knew The Messiah, one of the choral directors roped me into singing, and that evening asked if I would be willing to join the chorus, and maybe do some other singing and perhaps a solo.
A week or so later, Amy and I were at my apartment. At Amy’s insistence, I was wearing a gray woolen skirt that came to about three inches above my knees, along with a gray sweater and gray panty hose. Oh, of course, gray 4 inch heels. Amy turned to me and asked, “Have you thought about joining the chorus?”
“Maybe,” I replied. “I noticed in the program that the chorus has open auditions coming up after the first of the year. Maybe I’ll try out.”
“For what part? Alto or tenor? As Jeff or as Jenny?” she asked.
I have a high tenor voice. “As a tenor, and as Jeff,” was my answer.
Amy frowned at my answer. “I’m not sure I like that answer. You could handle both alto and tenor, and if you auditioned as Jenny, you would be available for both parts. Anyway, I like you as Jenny.”
I just grunted.
“Guys grunt, girls don’t,” she exclaimed.
“But I’m a guy.”
“Said the boy in the skirt and heels,” she rejoined, and laughed at her own cleverness. “You don’t look a lot like boy right now.”
I stood up and smoothed down my skirt. Amy leaned forward and slapped me hard on my behind. “You’ve got a nice big butt, and it really fills out that skirt. It would be a shame to waste it in a pair of men’s slacks.”
I do have a rather large butt. While I stopped growing taller during my sophomore year in high school, my butt didn’t stop its growing. I am 5 feet 8 inches, 135 pounds, with a big butt. “With your long hair and a big ass, you look a lot like a girl from behind,” Amy commented.
“Yeah, I heard that more than once when I was going to school,” I replied.
“Too bad you didn’t grow boobs, too,” she added. I just gave her a dirty look in response. “Look, I’m not complaining,” she explained, “in fact, I rather like you, just the way you are.”
“How much do you like me this way?” I asked. She responded by taking my hand and leading me into the bedroom.
On the day of the audition, Amy came over to help me get ready. I really think that she wanted to make sure that I looked as girly as possible. “So, whatcha going to wear?” she asked.
“Slacks and a sweater,” I replied.
“Which slacks and which sweater?” she asked in a menacing tone. In response I pulled out a pair of black slacks with a side zipper from my girl clothes closet, and a sweater with a scoop neck.
“Okay,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t try for a Jeff look.”
“Perish the thought,” I replied sarcastically.
“Then get dressed, girl,” she said.
When we got to the auditions, I noticed that the woman with whom I had talked on the night of the performance was there, with her ever present clip board. There were about a dozen girls there and two boys. “What’s her name?” I whispered to Amy.
“Mrs. Benson.” she whispered back.
Mrs. Benson walked over to us. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked. I gave her my Jenny name, my address and email. “Oh,” she added, “I spoke with you when we did The Messiah, and I heard you sing. Alto or tenor, right?”
“Either,” I replied.
“Well, having heard you sing, I don’t think you really need to audition, but, since you’re here, we may as well. Anyway, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m showing any favoritism.”
Mrs. Benson then turned around and announced, “We’ll take everyone in the order they signed in.” Since I was the last to show up, I would get to hear everyone else sing.
The first girl to audition was pretty bad. The other girls ranged from “fair” to “really good.” The two boys appeared really nervous, and it showed during their auditions. Mrs. Benson grimaced, but I am sure that the boys made the grade, if for no other reason there were not that many boys who would volunteer to sing.
At last it was my turn. “What are you going to sing, honey?” Mrs. Benson asked. I wasn’t so sure about the “honey” part, but let it go.
“‘Plaisir d’amour,’ by Martini,” I responded.
“Nice one,” commented Mrs. Benson. “Did you bring the music?”
“I have it for the accompanist. I don’t need a score.” I had studied french in high school and college, and was very familiar with the song.
“Okay, go ahead.”
Plaisir d’amour is an old french art song from the late 18th century. It is a song about the pleasures of love being fleeting, followed by pain. It is a song where you can really turn on the emotions. I gave it my all, singing it directly to Mrs. Benson. I saw her blush slightly, and I knew that I had her. When I finished, I just stood there. No one made a sound for quite a while.
“Oh my God!” Mrs. Benson finally said in a hushed voice. “That was wonderful,” she said after another pause.
“What other musical tricks do you have up your sleeve?” she added.
“I teach music at a high school.” I added, intentionally omitting the name of the school. I was afraid that she would check up on it, and find that there was no Jenny on the music faculty of the school. “I can accompany on the piano, and conduct a choir or an orchestra.”
“I can certainly use you here. I might want you as a soloist, too,” she said. “I work with other groups, and there might be a place for you in one or more of them. By the way, do you have a demo?”
I did, but it was Jeff’s demo, not Jenny’s.
“I can make up a CD with some songs. Any in particular you want?”
“Definitely what you sang today. I’ll let you pick out what ever you want, but please include some alto and some tenor songs. By the way, do you need an accompanist?
“No, I do my own accompaniment. I record my voice first, and then dub in the accompaniment,” I responded.
“You must be pretty sure that you will stay on pitch, if you do it that way,” she commented with a smile.
On the ride back to my apartment, Amy turned to me and said, “You really flirted with poor Mrs. Benson, you vixen.”
“Who me? Flirting?”
“Shamelessly. If you came as Jeff, she probably would want to seduce you,” Amy added.
“How about me as Jenny? After all, we don’t know what turns her crank,” I added.
“I’ll tell you this. You turn my crank both as Jenny and as Jeff. I don’t want you turning anyone else’s crank.” she warned me.
A few weeks later, I received an email from Mrs. Benson, offering me a part in a concert performance of some arias, duets and trios from various operas. I accepted.
“Too bad I can’t put this on my resume,” I mentioned to Amy.
“You could if you became Jenny full time,” she replied with a smirk. I decided to let that drop.
“Hey, I’m going to need a formal gown for the performances. Will you help me?” I asked.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, “how about we go shopping on Saturday. I’ll come by about 10 to help you get dressed.”
“Do I need help?”
“I don’t know, but I really like doing it.”
So, that Saturday Amy came by my apartment, carrying a bag. “Did you shower and shave everything?” she asked. I nodded my head.
“Good,” she said, “we need to pick out some nice looking clothes, including underwear.” With that she grabbed my hand and pulled me into my room where I kept my Jenny clothes. “Strip,” she commanded.
“Oh, I bought you a present in honor of the occasion,” she said and handed me a bag. I looked inside and saw some hosiery, a black garter belt, and some other things, all in black.
“There’s no panty hose in here. What’s wrong with pantyhose?” was my question.
“The garter belt will make you feel more girly and sexy,” was her answer.
“I don’t think I need to feel sexy to just pick out a dress,” I commented.
“Maybe not, but it helps,” she rejoined. “Put the garter belt and hose on first, and then your gaff and panties over the straps. It makes it easier when you have to pee. You don’t have to mess with your garter belt and hose.”
I did as I was told. Amy handed me a pair of brief black panties, with lace on the waist and leg holes, and lace in the front. Just holding them, started getting me aroused.
“Looks like I’ll have to do something about that,” she said pointing at my cock. Sufficient to say, she did.
After I put on the gaff and panties, she handed me a black bra with lace around the cups. “Here, this ought to do the trick,” she said. I put it on and slipped the forms in the cups. “When you perform you might want to use the adhesive, so nothing comes loose when you are singing,” she added. I just nodded in consent.
“We might look for a bra that will lift you up and give you some cleavage,” she said.
I gave her a frown. I didn’t know if I wanted cleavage, or at least visible cleavage. She just shrugged her shoulders and handed me my black waist nipper. “You want to have a good figure when you try on clothes,” she said. I put it on.
“What slip?” I then asked.
“Let’s try a full slip,” she answered, “and see how it looks. She handed me a black full slip with lace on the hem and the top. I pulled the slip over my head, and smoothed it over my body. I looked in the mirror. With the waist nipper and my fat butt, I had a pretty good figure.
“You look great!” Amy said, “if we didn’t have to go shopping, it would give me other ideas.”
I just gave her a disappointed look. “Later,” she said.
“I think that a dress with buttons in front would be a good idea. It’ll be easier to get on and off when you are trying on gowns,” she said. “By the way, what shoes will you be wearing for the performance? You need to be wearing those shoes when you try on long gowns.”
“How about the black patent leather, with the three inch heels?”
“Well, maybe, but you might want to think about getting a new pair. A girl just can’t have too many shoes. I’m thinking about something open toed, strappy and sexy. If you do wear them, we’ll have to polish your toe nails.”
We finally settled on a dark blue shirt dress with buttons on the front. I put in on and started with the buttons. Before I got all the way to the top, Amy said, “Leave the top two unbuttoned. Show off your body.” I gave her a dirty look. I didn’t want to show off my body and have men leering at my chest.
I then looked at her with a question on my face. “But you can see the top of my bra!” I exclaimed.
“Darn right,” she said, “it looks sexy and you need to look sexy.”
I just shrugged. It appeared we were going to do things Amy’s way.
“Okay. Hair and make-up.”
I sat down at my makeshift vanity and started with my make-up while Amy fiddled with my hair. When we were done, I stood up and checked my appearance in the mirror.
“You’re looking hot, girl,” Amy said approvingly, “just don’t try to pick up any men, or for that matter, any women. Especially no women, ‘cause you’ve got me.” I just pouted my lipsticked lips. “Oh, you vixen!” was her reaction, “I’ll have to keep a close eye on you.
At first, I was nervous walking out of my apartment in broad daylight, but no one seemed to notice. I liked the feeling of my nylon clad legs and the hem of the skirt rubbing my legs. The cool breeze on my legs and under my skirt reminded me how I was dressed. I actually liked it; I liked it a lot.
The ride to the mall was filled with girly chatter. “You seem to be picking up the girl part,” Amy commented. I did notice that when we stopped for a light, guys in the cars next to us were checking both of us out. I kind of gave me a thrill.
We parked the car, and I demurely swung my legs out first, with my knees together. Amy smiled approvingly, and we went into the mall.
At our first stop they had THE dress. It was a Halston Heritage Faille structured gown, in black with a fitted bodice, cap sleeves and a full skirt. It was made of silk and cotton, and the lining was polyester There were two problems, however. First, the v-neck showed a lot more cleavage than I had or wanted. Second, it was $725. Oh well.
After many stops, Amy found a dress which we believed might fit the bill. It was a cap-sleeve beaded-waist formal gown with rhinestone details and made of a stretch crepe fabric of polyester and spandex. It had a jewel neckline and was lined. It was $104. There was a small problem, it was 60" long from the shoulder to the hem. Being 68 inches, myself, I would need some really high heels or it would have to be hemmed.
It needed a short jacket with long sleeves, which we found and it was not overly expensive. I bought the dress and the jacket. “I think that we should try to move up the hem,” Amy said. “The problem is that I don’t have a sewing machine, otherwise I could easily do it.”
“Well, my mother does, and she is pretty good at using it,” I volunteered.
“You told me that your parents just tolerated your dressing. Do they tolerate it enough for us to go over there and hem you ball gown?” Amy asked.
“Why don’t I call my mom, and find out,” I concluded.
So, when we returned to my apartment, I called my mon. After the usual, like why haven’t you called before, and are you still trying on girl’s clothes, I got down to the problem at hand.
“Yes, I still do, and that is part of why I’m calling you.”
“Well, I have some solo and duet work at a concert staging of parts of operas. It’s a paying job,” I added.
“That’s wonderful. Are you calling to invite your dad and me to the performance?”
“Well, sure, but I need a favor from you. Amy and I need to come by the house and hem a ball gown.”
“Whose ball gown?”
There was a dead silence on the line.
“Mom?” I asked.
“I’m still trying to digest what you said,” my mom answered.
“You never had a problem with it before.”
“Your dad and I tolerated it, we just didn’t like it or want to see it.”
“So, I guess the answer is ‘no’,” I said resignedly.
“I didn’t say that,” my mother countered.
“While I really don’t like it, why don’t you come over on Sunday afternoon. Your father will be visiting this Aunt Emily at the retirement home, and he should be gone for a few hours. Come over about one o’clock.”
“Okay, mom,” I finally said, “Love you.”
“Your dad and I love you, too. We just wish you would get over this skirt and dress stuff.”
I didn’t want to talk about my dressing, so I just said, “Okay, see you Sunday. Bye.”
After hanging up the phone, I turned to Amy and said, “It’s all set. We can go over on Sunday, and hem the dress while my dad’s away visiting his aunt.”
“Are you going there as Jenny or Jeff?” She asked.
“Jeff. But I’ll bring all my stuff and change there, after dad leaves.”
So, on Sunday, Amy and I loaded the ball gown, some of my Jenny clothes, shoes and make-up in the car and headed to my parents’ house. I was wearing panties, a garter belt, and nylons under my Jeff clothes and wore regular boy’s socks over the nylons, figuring I could get away with that. When we got there, I saw dad’s car in the driveway. “Oh oh, we better leave the stuff in the car. Dad’s still here. We’ll bring it in after he leaves.”
Amy and I visited with both of my parents until dad left to visit his aunt. When he pulled out of the driveway, Amy and I went out to my car and brought in all my stuff. I took it to my old room, and changed into my Jenny clothes and the ball gown and four inch heels. I very carefully walked down the stairs and into the living room, where my mom and Amy were talking and having a coffee.
When I entered the living room, my mother heard the rustle of fabric, and turned to look at me. “Oh my!” was her only comment.
She left the room but came back a minute later with a stool. “You’ll need to stand on this stool while Amy and I mark the hem.” With that, I stood on the stool while my mother and Amy got down on their knees and pinned up the hem. “Okay, you can step down and take off your dress,” she said.
“I want you to know that you look absolutely fabulous in that gown. If I had a daughter, that’s what I’d want her to look like.”
“You do have a part time daughter who happens to also be your son,” Amy suggested.
I could see the grimace on my mother’s face, but she said nothing. She stood up, and picked up the gown. “Let’s go up to my sewing room and get this done.”
She looked directly at me and said, “I don’t think it is a good idea to be standing around in just your undies and a slip. Let me get you a robe or something” she said. “I’d suggest that you change back into your male clothes, but we’ll have to put this back on you to make sure it is right, so you better keep on what you are wearing.”
My mother walked out of the room and came back with a pink robe. “Here, put this on,” she said.
I sat in a chair, and crossed my legs in a feminine manner, while mom attacked the hem. Amy had suggested that she do the sewing, but my mother dismissed it with a wave of her hand and said, “It’s the least I can do for her, I mean him. Amy and I got a chuckle out of her use of pronouns.
When she was done, she handed the gown to me, and said, “Put it on, and let’s make sure it is right. We walked back downstairs, and again I stepped on the stool while my mother pulled at the skirt and made little approval sounds. Finally, she said, “It looks good to me, what do you think Amy?”
“It looks great. Thank you for doing this.” She could see that I really liked this.
I stepped off of the stool, and saw that my mother was examining my made-up face. “You really look great. I see that you had your ears pierced. Wait here for a minute.”
My mother went back up stairs, and returned a few minutes later with a small box. She handed it to me, and said, “These earrings were your grandmother’s. I never had my ears pierced, so I could not wear them. I want you to have them and think of your grandmother whenever you wear them.”
I could see that both she and I were starting to tear up, and I moved to her and wrapped her in my arms. Amy came over and joined the hug.
“Thank you, mom. This means a great deal to me. This is the nicest gift I ever received.”
My mother dabbed the tears from her eyes, and said, “Why don’t you take off the gown, so we can hang it up, but don’t put on your Jeff clothes. Put your skirt and blouse back on, and put the earrings in your ears. I want to enjoy my part time daughter.
“What about dad,” I asked.
“Maybe it’s time for him to come to grips that he has a daughter, who also happens to be his son,” she answered.
We sat in the living room sipping tea until I heard my father’s car in the driveway. I stood up and said, “I don’t know if I can go through with this. I’m afraid of disappointing dad.”
“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of your father’s feelings,” she responded.
When my father walked in the door, my mother said, “Frank, this is your daughter Jenny, who also happens to be your son. We’ve talked and it doesn’t seem likely that he’ll change. It is best we accept him for who she is, and love him, or her. She smiled at her use of pronouns.
“You’re not going to change?” he asked me.
“No,” my mother answered for me, “I want us to accept and love her, I don’t want her to feel that she is not a part of this family. I want her part of our lives.”
My father slumped down in a chair, and continued to stare at me. “It’s not easy, but I don’t want you to feel alienated.” After a minute, he held out his arms, and said, “Come here and give your dad a hug, Jenny.”
I went over to him, and we gave each other a big hug. I could feel tears starting in my eyes. Tears of happiness. My mascara started to run and streak down my face, but I just didn’t care.
If you liked this post, you can leave a comment and/or a kudos!
Click the Thumbs Up! button below to leave the author a kudos:
And please, remember to comment, too! Thanks.