What would you do if were a sixteen year-old boy and you woke up one morning with makeup that just won’t come off? That is the dilemma that Landon Parker is facing. And that is only the beginning
Shauna
Mom gives me a really funny look as I come into the kitchen, my eyes still full of sleep, for breakfast. It is a typical Monday and I don’t want to go to school. I had slept as late as I knew I could get away with, jumped out of bed, and thrown on some clothes. I know I am sloppy-looking…my hair probably needs combing, too…but that is all nothing new for a Monday.
I look at Mom in exasperation and ask, “What? It’s Monday…” She just looks at me and shakes her head as she asks, “What have you done to your eyes? It looks like you have…eyeliner…on. Is this some sort of phase? A bet?” Now it is my turn to have the funny look on my face. I shake my head and ask, “What are you talking about?” I grab a donut and take a bite as I go to the downstairs bathroom to look in the mirror. I gasp…dumbfounded. Mom is right, I look like I have heavy eyeliner on…complete with little ‘cat-eye wisps’ at the edges of my eyes. You know, like when girls extend the lines to make it look like they have longer eyelashes.
I try rubbing the lines off…no dice. I rush back to Mom and say, “I have NO idea what this is…honestly! Get it off, PLEASE! I can’t go to school looking like this. Everyone will laugh at me!” Mom shakes her head and takes me upstairs to her bathroom and pulls out a disposable cloth from a dispenser. I know it is a makeup remover cloth, having seen her use them to take off her makeup with them before. She rubs my left eye with it. Looks…then rubs harder. I protest, “Hey! Take it easy! Leave me some skin?” She moves to the other eye and rubs just as hard. Finally, she says, “I give up! I have NO idea what you have done…but it is NOT coming off. If I did not know better, I would say you had this TATTOOED on! Wait! You didn’t lose some stupid bet, did you? You are nowhere near old enough to be tattooed…and permanent makeup is nothing but that… I will have that person’s license…and more!”
I look in the mirror. Nothing has changed. It is still there. I shake my head and whine, “No, Mom! I don’t know what this is! HONEST!” She says, “Well, we will sort it out AFTER school. You will be late. Into the car. NOW!” I whine louder, “But, MOM! I can’t go like this!” She just shakes her head and says, “Well, at least it is well-done… Any GIRL would kill to have that look…” I continue to protest all the way to the car…to no avail; fifteen minutes later, she drops me off at school...
“Parker? What the HELL, Dude?” I look over at Lewis, my best friend since Kindergarten and shrug at his question… I sigh, knowing what he is asking, and say, “I don’t KNOW! I just woke up this way…and it won’t come off!” Lewis looks at me and says, “Well, it is kind of pretty…for a GIRL! Seriously, you need to figure this out, Landon. Maybe Bethany can help you hide it? Here she comes!” He waves at his girlfriend and I want to shrink into the floor as he says, “Hey, Babe! You have any advice for Parker? He seems to have grown…well, I don’t know what!?”
Bethany, Lewis’s beautiful girlfriend, and co-captain of the cheerleaders comes over…curious. She takes one look at me and says, “Wow! Those are some AWESOME cat-eye lines! Who did them? And…more importantly…why? I mean…on you…” I shrug and, once again, proclaim ignorance…and innocence…
She shakes her head and takes me to a secluded spot in back of the school. She pulls out a small bag from her purse and says, “It is a shame to hide such beautiful work… “She pulls out a tube of something. It looks like a large lipstick, but it is skin-toned. She uncaps it and turns the bottom to extend the stick from the tube. She starts applying the stick to the outer edges of my eyes and says, “The tone is not perfect, it is a bit too light for your skin…” She smudges it and continues, “You are lucky that girls carry emergency concealer with them…” She finishes and takes out a compact. She puts some of the powder on the applicator and dusts over the concealer, then hands me the compact to look at myself in the mirror.
I gaze into the small mirror. She is right, the color is slightly off, but better than the black lines extending from my eyes. The concealer and powder cover the lines completely—well, except AROUND my eyes. I still have heavy black lines along the edges of my upper and lower lids… She says, “There is nothing I can do about the lines on your lids. Oh, and that is not waterproof makeup by any means… Be careful not to get it too wet or it will come off… Meet me here at lunch and I will see about fixing it, if it needs it. You are going to have to find a better solution for the long term, though. Your mother can probably get you some better concealer/foundation that will last longer.”
I thank Bethany and we hurry off to class, since the first bell had already rung. I find my seat in class and sit with my head down, sure that everyone is going to notice. By the time class is over, no one has said anything and I am feeling better. I do get a few double-takes between classes, but no one seems to be able to really put their finger on what is different and I escape being found out through lunch.
After lunch, I meet Bethany at the same spot and she touches me up with a little more powder and proclaims me to be ready. I make it through the afternoon unscathed, as well, and hurry home as soon as the last bell rings.
I am scrubbing my face when Mom gets home and still not having any luck. The black will not come off, no matter what I do. She shakes her head again and comes over to examine…and interrogate me. After a fruitless thirty minutes of the Spanish Inquisition, she sighs and gives up. She asks, “So Bethany used concealer on it? That is not a bad idea… I don’t have anything in your skin tone either, although mine is probably closer to yours than hers… Come with me to the drugstore and we will get something that will be sure to last and match your skin better…”
She takes me to the makeup section in the store where I am quickly lost in all the different bottles and tubs of ‘foundation’, ‘concealer’, ‘foundation/concealer’, and other cosmetics. Then there are a hundred shades of each kind and brand. She looks through a bunch of the bottles, holding them up to my face until she finds exactly what she is looking for. She picks up a few more things, pays, and we go home. Once we are there, she says, “Pay attention to what I am doing, you are going to have to do this yourself from now on.” She dabs a bit of the foundation/concealer from the bottle on her finger and then gently dabs that onto my skin. Then she takes a little wedge-shaped sponge and moistens it. She gently wipes the stuff on my face in roundish strokes away from my eyes and blends it in to my skin. In no time, the lines extending from my eyes disappear. She waits a bit, then ‘sets’ it with powder (her words, not mine).
I sigh and look at the heavy lines around my eyes that are still very visible and ask, “Can’t we put this on my eyelids, as well?” She smiles and shakes her head, “It would not hide the lines. They are not near as noticeable as you think, now. You are just focused on them. Now, let me show you how to remove the makeup…and moisturize. You will need to do that at the end of the day, after each application…always. Do you understand? If you don’t remove it correctly EVERY NIGHT you will break out. If you don’t moisturize, your skin will dry completely out…”
She takes a towelette from the package she had bought with the foundation and the powder and shows me how to clean and wash my face. Then she takes some moisturizer, that she had also bought for me and shows me how to dab it on my face and spread it in circular motions. My skin sort of glows when she is done. I sigh and grab the bottle with the intent of reapplying the stuff. She tells me to not waste the expensive makeup, since no one is going to see me here at home. I sigh and put the bottle back on the counter by my sink…then go to do my homework.
The next couple of days are strange, but also normal. I guess you could say they are strangely normal. The strange part is that I am becoming adept at hiding the ‘extensions’ with the foundation/concealer, as well as removing the makeup, washing and moisturizing. They are normal, in that the makeup seems to be working. No one has mentioned anything, since Lewis saw me and Bethany helped me on Monday morning.
Unfortunately, it does not last. I get up Thursday morning and sleepily make my way to the bathroom. I jump in the shower, like normal. After washing myself, I get out, dry off and wipe the steam off the mirror…and gasp… I blink, thinking I must still be dreaming. I look again. Nope! Still there! My eyelashes have grown really long and thick. They have that ‘butterfly’ look that you see advertised on TV all the time—only, I don’t have mascara on. They almost look like I have those fake eyelashes on you see in the stores.
I look again and blink. I can see my lashes as I blink. They get longer towards the outer edges of my eyes. I can feel them touching above my eyes as I blink. They are also really dark…
I yell for Mom. She comes running and almost slips on the wet tiles in the bathroom. She exclaims. “I swear, this is the last time I let your Father go on a long trip… What is wro…” She sees my eyes and gasps, “Landon James Parker! False eyelashes? Really? What on earth? You are a sixteen year-old BOY! What is this all about?” I give her a ‘REALLY?’ look and say, “Mom, you saw me before I went to bed last night. Did I look like this? Do you REALLY think I could have done something like this MYSELF?” She gives me a strange look and says, “No, I suppose not…” She checks the makeup and moisturizer. She gives me an exasperated look and says, “Nothing in here that should cause that…heck, if there was it would be some miracle makeup that would cost a fortune!” She tugs on my lashes just to be sure they are ‘mine’ and shrugs when it is clear that they really are.
She turns to leave and says, “You better hurry up! You don’t want to be late. There is not much sense in putting on the concealer with THOSE lashes, the lines blend in, like they are designed to do…just giving the appearance of longer lashes. You would probably look funnier without them now than with…”
I groan and get dressed. I look in the mirror again. My eyes just scream, “LOOK AT ME!” If I were a girl, I would be in heaven, I think. As a boy, I am in…well, NOT heaven…
Of course I catch heck that day at school…and the next. All I can say is TGIF. I still have NO idea what caused this. I have even less of an idea of how to fix it. I just keep thinking that if I were a girl, it would look awesome; several of the girls at school have even said so, including Bethany. Since I am NOT a girl, though, this is a disaster. I toy with the idea of trimming my lashes, but Mom vetoes that, saying that I would look even more ridiculous if I tried and messed it up than I do now (Gee, thanks, Mom!)
I get home after school and go back to my room. I get on my computer and search the internet, again, for anything to help explain this. I have several sites bookmarked on eye makeup, by now, and I study them, trying to figure anything out that makes sense. The ‘eyeliner’ that is now on me perfectly matches the eyes on one of my favorite female actresses—and her picture is on one of the sites. I actually remember seeing the same picture, not cropped to show off her eyes, on another site several days back and thinking about how pretty her eyes were. I study the picture a little closer and see that her eyelashes are very similar to mine now, as well. The difference is that you can tell she is using mascara…
I subconsciously finger the heavy metal chain around my neck as I think about this. I had gotten the chain at the flea market last weekend from a really pretty lady at a stand full of old jewelry. She had practically given it to me, telling me that she just was not able to sell it and it was perfect for me. Right now, I am not thinking about the chain, though, even though my fingers are sort of hooked on playing with it while I think.
I look at the picture again and wonder if my eyelashes would look like hers if I had mascara on like she obviously does in the picture. I study the picture some more. The more I look, the less sense it makes. Her face is beautiful…and her eyes are captivating, especially with her eyebrows carefully shaped the way they are and the perfectly applied eyeshadow. But, why would my eyes suddenly take on some of her look? I love it, yes…but on a beautiful sixteen year-old girl—not on a sixteen year-old boy that has already gone through puberty…
I sigh… Of course, I can’t tell anyone that I secretly LOVE the look…that *I* want to be that girl that can wear this look… Maybe I have completely lost it and really AM crazy… Or, I am dreaming…that has to be it… This can’t be real. Things like this don’t happen without an explanation…
I wake up with the computer still on my lap; the picture of a beautiful up-and-coming model showing off her cute foot in a strappy, high-heeled sandal. The picture shows one foot stuck out from underneath her long, flowing evening gown, her toenails painted a sparkly bright pink, and a cute little blue and green butterfly tattooed on the top of her foot. A video of her sexily walking in heels down the runway is playing in a continuous loop next to the picture.
I shake my head and groggily get up to go to the bathroom. I almost fall over from the severe leg cramps I get as I stand up. I sort of hop to the bathroom on the balls of my feet cursing the cramps. They get better as I stand in front of the toilet, relieving myself. Slowly I can let my feet down and back almost flat on the floor, although, it is still really uncomfortable. It just feels MUCH better if I am up on my toes.
I run my hands through my hair and turn on the shower. That is when I look over in the mirror and nearly faint. I hobble over to the mirror and look at myself hard as it begins to steam up from the shower. My eyebrows are perfectly shaped, and well-defined—just like in Jayda’s picture (my favorite actress). There is no denying them—they are dark and just shout out to the world to draw attention to my eyes. They are VERY feminine and go perfectly with my eyeliner and lashes—just not with the rest of my face.
I really do feel faint at that sight and drop the lid on the toilet and sit down. That is when I look down at my feet…and nearly fall off of the toilet.
Aside from my feet seeming really small, my toenails are a sparkly pink…and I have a blue and green butterfly on the top of my left foot. Something tells me that neither will come off. The hair that had been growing on the top of my foot was nowhere to be seen. I am suddenly wide awake, without the shower, so I turn it off. I hobble downstairs, still not sure why I am having these leg cramps, only to find a note from Mom that says that she has gone to the mall for the day.
I groan and hobble back upstairs to my room. I put on some jeans and a t-shirt, then get some socks to cover up the pink sparkle and butterfly on my toes and foot. The socks are way too big on my feet. With a sudden bad feeling, I pick up my sports shoes and try one on. It is several sizes too big. Somehow my feet, normally a size ten (men’s), have severely shrunken in size.
I groan. Not knowing what else to do, I hobble into my parent’s room and into Mom’s closet. I pick up the first pair of flat shoes I find. They look like ballet slippers. I look at the label inside and see that they are a size six and a half. They look TINY. I sit down and try one on, without any socks…and it fits perfectly. I sit there dumbfounded. I had gone from a perfect men’s ten to a perfect woman’s six and a half. And I still am having trouble standing flatfooted.
Then I have another idea. One that really makes me weak in the knees as I think about it. I hobble back into Mom’s closet and pick up a pair of her heels. They look really high to me, but she has higher ones. These are probably three inches, or so. I take off the slippers and slide into the heels. Not only do they fit perfectly, but, I feel at home in them…a little higher would be even better, but these feel like heaven to my feet. I slide out of them and into ones that are more like four inches and actually moan with pleasure at how good it feels.
I feel the blood drain from my face as I realize what I am feeling. I walk over to the mirror in her room and see myself automatically placing one foot in front of the other, slightly crossed over to the other side, and swinging my arms and hips in the stereotypical model’s walk—it is like I have walked this way my whole life.
I sit in my room for a long time, not knowing what to do. I just stare down at my feet, in the toeless black heels that are showing off my pink, sparkly nails and the realistic-looking blue and green butterfly on my left foot. Again, if I were a GIRL, I would be really proud of the way it looks. I WANT to be proud…but, I am not a girl…and I am not sure what to do…
Finally, I pick up my phone and text Lewis.
Hey, Bro. Are you with Bethany? Can the two of you come over? I need help…really bad…
A minute later, I get a response.
Yes, she is with me. We will be over in ten minutes.
I open the door as soon as the doorbell rings and rush them inside. Lewis looks at me and asks, “Woe! Bro, what is the ru…” He trails off as he gets a look at my face and notices my feet. Bethany giggles and asks, “Landon, is there something you are not telling us? Those are really nice eyebrows. And you have DEFINITELY been practicing walking in heels.”
I pull them to my room and lay out what has happened—and my suspicions. I show them Jayda’s picture and the picture and video of Christy Marquis (the model). They both give me funny looks; but Bethany slowly comes over to my side of thinking.
She gets her purse and says, “Come over here, Landon. I want to try something.” She pulls out her makeup bag and looks at Jayda’s picture again. She puts eyeshadow on me just like in the picture. Then she uses mascara and an eyelash curler on me. Lewis gasps when she is done, “Dude! Your eyes look JUST like hers in the picture! Except for the color.” Bethany nods and I go look in the mirror in my bathroom.
I walk back in and say, “That settles it. As far as I am concerned, that is where the look came from. That does not explain the how or why, though. The same is true for my feet…and the way I now walk.” Bethany nods and says, “You are…designed…for lack of a better word…to wear shoes like that…and to walk that way. I think if you start doing yoga with me, we can get you stretched out enough that you will be able to stand flat-footed without pain again—although, I bet you will always be more comfortable in heels. I can’t explain WHY, though…”
I shake my head and ask, “What do I do? I can’t walk around in heels… And my eyes…” I shudder… Bethany comes over and gives me a hug. She asks, “So, what size shoes are those? Do they fit well?” I nod and say, “Yes, they fit perfectly. They are a women’s size six and a half… Just last night I was a man’s size ten…”
Bethany nods her head and says, “Well, we need to find you some wedges. That way, your heel can be up and comfortable, but, if you buy wedges where the sole blends in with the shoe, the heel—or wedge—won’t be as noticeable. We can disguise the rest with your pants…we will have to get the right ones for that, too. You are going to have start dressing better, though. We won’t be able to pull it off with most jeans, unless you maybe wear bell-bottoms. I can also help you disguise your eyebrows. People already know about your lashes and liner, so we won’t worry about that…”
An hour later, Bethany comes back from her house with a backpack. She comes into my room and pulls out a pair of black three and half inch shorty, lace-up boot wedges and a pair of dressy black pants. She says, “Luckily we still have these from my younger sister from when she still wore a size six and a half. These are a pair of my older sister’s pants from before she lost her weight. I think they should fit. Let’s see…”
I pale when I notice the pants are GIRL’S pants. Bethany just hands them to me and tells me to put them on…that she will be right back in, as soon as I have changed into them. She leaves the room with Lewis and I sigh. I take off the heels, then my jeans, and pick up the black pants. They feel funny as I pull them up my legs. They are much softer, and stretchier, that anything that I have worn before. They make the hair on my legs itch. I stand up and they seem too long…and they are sort of tight up top around my thighs, but looser towards the bottoms… I struggle, but finally get them zipped and buttoned. It is hard, since the buttons are on the wrong side—like most dress pants, there is an inside flap and button and the normal outside one. The zipper flap is on the wrong side because of this, so zipping them is backwards, too…
Lewis pokes his head in and opens the door wider for Bethany to come in when he sees I have them on. She smiles and says, “Perfect! They fit. You, my friend, are a girl’s size twelve, long.” I shake my head and say, “This will never work! It looks too girly…and they are too long.” Bethany gives me a harsh look and says, “Oh Yea of little faith! Let me do my work! Now, put on the booties.”
I sit back down and put on some thin, short socks that Bethany gives me and then pull on the wedge-shaped short boots. I tie them and stand up. I feel pretty good in them and look in the mirror. The pants fall perfectly to the tops of the boots in front. The length also makes them fall down over the wedge in back and further disguise the fact they are over three inches high.
Bethany goes to my closet and finds my black dress belt and has me feed it through the loops in the pants. Once I buckle it, you can’t really tell they are not guy’s pants, since the button is covered up. If you looked really hard, you might see that the zipper flap is backwards, but that is unlikely for anyone to do. The only other problem is that the back ‘pockets’ are way too small to really put anything in. Heck, the front pockets will barely hold a quarter.
Bethany smiles as I complain. She shrugs and says, “Girls use purses. So, sue us. We will figure something out... Now, let’s see… She goes back into my closet and takes out a polo shirt. She tells me to put it on, but not to tuck it in. I do and look in the mirror…and smile… I say, “This could work… You said you can fix my eyebrows, too?”
Bethany first cleans off the eyeshadow from my eyelids and the mascara from my lashes. Then she takes out some dark eyeshadow and a makeup brush, along with a brown eyebrow pencil and a stencil of some sort. She puts the stencil over my left eyebrow and fills it in with the pencil; then she repeats that on the right. She takes the brush and eyeshadow and works on each brow a bit. Finally, she is satisfied and says, “Take a look.”
I go back into my bathroom and flip on the light. My eyebrows do not look completely natural, they are still too neat, but they look MUCH better for a guy…and could pass as just having been professionally ‘cleaned up’ a bit… I go back in and hug Bethany. She then spends the next hour showing me how to do it…
When I feel confident enough that I can do that, I say, “Well, the only major thing left is this walk of mine. I can’t seem to NOT walk like a model. What do I do?” No matter what I do, as soon as I quit completely concentrating on walking ‘like a guy’, I revert to my new ‘natural’ style of walking like a super model on a catwalk runway. Bethany says, “I don’t know Landon…I guess people are just going to have to get over that…like your eyes… They may think you are a bit…girly…or gay. Maybe it will get better if we get you stretched back out with some yoga…”
Bethany is just packing up her stuff when Mom comes home. She gives me a funny look and asks, “What is going on, Honey? Why are you dressed like that? And what is up with your eyebrows?”
Lewis and Bethany leave and I spend the next half hour explaining to Mom what is going on. I show her my feet…and how I now can’t help but walk. I use a makeup remover cloth and show her my brows. She gets a little paler with each revelation. I don’t go into my suspicions of where the looks come from; and I couldn’t tell her why at any rate.
When I am done, she sighs and says, “Well, come on, Hon. Let’s go back to the mall. Bethany is on target with the clothes. We need to get you some more pants that you can wear. You will also need at least one more pair of shoes…”
I sigh and pile into the car with her after I fix my eyebrows back. I am not fond of going out in public, but I am going to have to get out at some point—Monday at the latest. We get out at the mall and Mom takes me into a women’s clothing store and picks out several pair of pants, in black and khaki. She also finds some in denim that will work. We go to the shoe department and she picks out some wedges with ‘camouflaged’ heels. She pays and we go into a men’s store where she gets me some more nice polos. Then we head back home.
On the way, she stops at a restaurant and we go in to eat supper. I feel like everyone is staring at me with every step I take, but, in reality, no one pays me the least attention—anymore than they had at the mall.
Now, if it will only work out so well at school on Monday…
I am in my room, contemplating whether to put my theories to the test. So far, I have completely avoided my computer. I look at the clock; it is nearly midnight. I can sleep in, since tomorrow is Sunday, so I am not worried about the hour. I am more worried that my theory will prove itself to be right.
I think about today. On the one hand, I am ecstatic that I am ‘forced’ to do some of the things that I have longed to do for so long. I have dreamed about wearing makeup for as long as I can remember. I have never been into the typical ‘boy’ things, which has driven Dad crazy over the years. Mom has never minded, though… Come to think of it, she has been as shocked about some of this as *I* have, but she has been supportive… I shudder to think how Dad will react, though.
Don’t get me wrong, Dad loves me. There is no doubt about that. He just wants the stereotypical ‘son’. You know, all macho and stuff… I have done the best I can; to appease him. I am actually even really good at sports, especially the less aggressive team sports. I just can’t get into some of the fiercely competitive spirit that he wants me to… I just want to get along and have fun…
I look back at the blank screen on my computer. I ask myself, “What I can do to test this out?” I sigh and say quietly to myself, “Well, if I have beautiful feet…why not the legs to go with them?” I turn on my computer and open my browser. I type “Images of Women in Garter Belts and Stockings” into the search bar, thinking that would give me the best choices for leg models. I scroll down through the images looking for absolute beauty and not slutty and find one image that particularly appeals to me.
I look at the image and let it sink into my mind. I soak in the long, smooth legs. The garter holds up the stocking around the perfectly shaped thighs; the heels she is wearing are showing off her perfect calves. If I were thinking like a guy, I would probably be panting (or more) right now. I, however, am only thinking like a girl; desperately wanting that look for myself.
I fall asleep looking at the image. The last thing I remember is looking at the garter belt and the really pretty panties she has on…and the sheer stockings. Almost subconsciously, I switch back to my favorite picture of Christy and wish her a goodnight as I dreamily smile…and fall asleep.
I wake up and see the computer next to me on the bed; the image of Christy still on the screen. I rub my eyes, stick a leg out from under the covers, and pull up my pajama leg. My foot is still tiny and cute. My leg is now smooth and shapely and just begging to be clad in silky stockings.
I groan to myself, “You stupid idiot! What have you done?” I sit up in bed, throw back the covers, and pull up both pajama legs. I have AWESOME legs…for a GIRL. I shiver at the thought; but then reality hits me. Dad is going to be back next weekend and there is NO way I can explain any of this to him. Something is making me act out my innermost desires; desires that he will not understand…nor the majority of the people around me in this town; especially in school.
I subconsciously finger the chain, not even realizing that it is not quite as heavy; somewhat finer than it was yesterday.
At any rate, it seems it is too late to change it now; I do, however, resolve myself not to look at anything on the internet that could even remotely trigger a change anymore. It will be hard to not look and dream, but I have to stop this… I shake my head and ask myself, “Right?”
I get up and go into the bathroom to wash up for the day. I slip on my wedges as I get up to make walking more comfortable and glide into the bathroom. I check out my legs in the mirror attached to the back of my opened closet door. I can’t really tell anything with my pajama pants on. I think, “Well, that is a good sign. At least I can hide them.” I go to my sink and turn on the water. I look up into the mirror and gasp again. I groan to myself, “But, I won’t be able to hide THOSE as easily!” I have full, sensuous, pouty lips that look just like those that made Christy so famous. And they are a bright, light pink that can’t be ignored. They look like they have been perfectly outlined and plumped. They are also really soft and moist looking…like they have heavy gloss on them…and are just waiting to be kissed…
I take my washcloth and try to wash the color off. Of course, as expected, there is no way it is coming off. I groan again. They look AWESOME! But, well, you know…NOT for a boy… It is getting harder and harder for me to deny that I LIKE this look, though. It is also getting harder and harder to figure out what to do. Pretty soon, I am going to have to wear full makeup just to make me look normal… Well, what other people think of as normal for me…
I go back to my closet and pull of my pajama pants. I stand there and look at my perfect legs. They are silky smooth and supermodel-beautiful. There is not a hair or blemish in sight and the skin has a shiny glow to it.
I sigh. It is a shame to have to cover them up. I have this urge to put on a garter and stockings and proudly show them off to the world. I shake my head to clear it and grab a pair of underwear and pull them on. They are my regular white cotton briefs, the ones I wear every day but they feel like steel wool on me. They itch and feel rough and I don’t know why. They are driving me nuts and I have only just put them on. I try on a different pair, thinking Mom forgot the fabric softener, or something. I sigh and resolve myself to endure it when there is no difference. I don’t have a choice, right?
I put on a pair of the thin, girl’s socks that I now own a drawer full of and pull on a pair of my new pants. I marvel at the luxurious feel of them as they slide up my now smooth, hairless legs. I struggle a bit and get them buttoned and zipped, then put on a belt and a polo shirt. Finally, I tie my wedges and check myself in the mirror. I look…different…but OK, I guess. The polo disguises the pants and the pants disguise the heels. Of, course, my face really screams weirdo, since my eyebrows are still in full fem-mode, along with my lashes; and my ‘new’ lips are all glisteny-pink and pouty. That mixed in with my strongly masculine features and sprouting dark beard stubble.
I hang my head and shake it. I groan, “I am SO doomed!”
I slip downstairs, dreading what Mom will say when she sees my lips. She smiles when she sees me. I expect her to make a big deal of how I look. She doesn’t say a word; only asks what I want for breakfast. I eat some frozen waffles in a confused daze. I squirm the whole time at my uncomfortable undies and the urge to ask her why she is not SAYING anything. Finally, I tell her that I am going over to Bethany’s to meet up with her and Lewis.
I quickly walk the three blocks to Bethany’s house, expecting to be ridiculed at any time. I make it, unscathed, and Bethany answers the door. She exclaims, “Landon! Awesome lips!” She blushes and says, “Well, you know what I mean…”
I nod and follow her in. I look around and ask, “Where is Lewis?” The house appears to be totally empty except for the two of us.
Bethany smiles and says, “He can’t make it today. I thought the two of us could talk, though. Is that alright?”
I nod and say, “I…I suppose so. About what?” I feel a bit uncomfortable being here without Lewis—only because I am afraid of what he may say, or think, about me being alone with his girlfriend. The fact that no one else seems to be here, either, only compounds that feeling.
She notices my discomfort and says, “Don’t worry, Landon. Lewis is completely fine with this being her alone. I told him that I needed to talk to you. After I explained, he was totally fine with it. My parents are out, so we are alone and it is safe for you to be honest. I won’t tell anyone that you don’t want me to… Well, except, we will have to be honest with Lewis.”
I give her a funny look and say, “OK, I am not following… What in the world are you talking about?”
She smiles and takes my hands and looks in my eyes. She says, “Landon, I know that YOU are driving this change. I don’t know how…but I DO know why… You really want to be a girl, don’t you? No, that is wrong…you ARE a girl, aren’t you?”
I pale…then blush… I try and come up with a plausible denial. I try and come up with anything… Finally, I ask in defeat and shame, “How did you know?”
She squeezes my hands and says, “I could just feel it… Especially as this has happened. I also think your Mom knows…or, at least, strongly suspects. You are going to have to talk to her, you know? And your Dad…”
I shiver and say, “No… I…can’t… Not my Dad… Mom…maybe…” I shrug.
She shakes her head and says, “OK. One step at a time… So, are there any other changes that I should know about? Other than the lips, I mean?”
I sigh and nod. I don’t tell her about my experiment, just yet. I do tell her about my legs…then, hesitantly, about my gnawing desire to show them off in garters and stockings… And, finally, my extreme discomfort with my underwear.
She giggles and says, “So, THAT is why you are squirming like that! I wondered what was up. So, tell me; if looking at certain things on the internet drove the previous changes, what do you think drove the change in your legs?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I tell her about my experiment.
She looks at me in deep thought for a minute, then asks, “So, you specifically searched for models that were wearing garters? Why?”
I shrug and say, “I was just looking for images of great legs. That seemed like a good search parameter…”
She thoughtfully nods and says, “OK, I guess that makes some sense. So, can you show me the picture you settled on?” She slides her laptop over to me.
I quickly enter in my search term and scroll through the images until I find the one that spoke to me so strongly last night.
She looks at it and giggles. I give her a ‘what-the-hell’ look and she says, “Well, it is obvious that this image is supposed to be provocative…but that the girl LIKES that…that she ENJOYS wearing the pretty garters, and stockings, … AND pretty panties…”
She lets that sink in…until the light bulb goes off in my head. I blush and say, “You mean that somehow, the desire portrayed by the model in the image has been transferred to ME? That is why I want to wear garters… AND that I really want to wear PANTIES and THAT is why my undies are chaffing me?”
She smiles smugly and nods. She says, “There is one easy way to find out…”
I am staring at myself in her mirror. Dumbfounded.
She had taken me to her room and convinced me to put on a pair of her ‘pretty’ panties. The heavily-laced, satiny-microfiber, thongs had felt like HEAVEN sliding up my legs. The ‘floss’ snugly hidden in my butt-crack did not bother me in the least. She had then helped my put on the garter belt and shown me how to make sure the straps went INSIDE the panties. She helped roll on the stockings and clip them to the belt. I had then put on a pair of her sisters old heels and stood in front of the mirror.
I look at her and ask, “Do ALL girls have garters and stockings?”
She giggles and says, “No. I am sure not. But many do for special occasions. They make you feel sexy…and special. They are really for YOU, never for anyone else—although, most guys think they are for them.”
I sigh and say, “This feels so RIGHT. But, is that me? Or is it whatever is driving me to do this?”
Bethany looks at me and says, “YOU are driving you to do this. I am fully convinced of that. And it is not turning you on… So, THAT means you ARE a girl. Let’s complete the outfit, shall we?”
She helps me put on a mid-calf length dress that shows off my legs. Then, she helps me do a full makeover…fixing what has NOT been already changed… I look in the mirror and see perfect legs. I see the beginnings of a beautiful face. I also see a flat chest, disproportionally large hands, and hairy arms. I see the overly masculine features of my face… I see all that is WRONG and it completely ruins what has started to be right.
I sob and cover my face.
Bethany comes over and drapes her arms around me. She asks, “What is wrong, Landon? Is this not what you want?”
I shake my head and sniffle. I say, “Yes, but look at me. I went into puberty at an early age. I was barely thirteen. I am already too masculine to ever be pretty… And…even if I could be…nobody would ever accept me…”
Bethany just quietly says, “I would…”
I look at Bethany in confusion and say, “You know, I believe that. But…why? I mean…”
She puts a finger on my lips and says, “Look, you know that I just moved here last year. One of my best friends back home was severely bullied at school because she was transgendered. I still Skype with her at least weekly. Anyway, I am an active member of the LGBT group at school here. Not because I am any of the above, but just because I believe everyone should be able to follow their heart without persecution.”
I look at her, stunned. I let that sink in and say, “So, you too think that if I came out that I would be bullied here. I mean, it is to be expected, right?”
She nods and says, “Unfortunately, yes. There are certain…elements…at school that would go after you. There is a larger group of LGBT individuals and supporters at school than you probably think; and it is always pretty predictable who the agitators will be. That being said, what have you got to lose? You are already well on your way.”
I shake my head and say, “I am not ready… I don’t know if I will ever have the courage. Maybe I could try at home; when nobody is around…”
Bethany says, “Well, you are always welcome to be yourself around here—even when my parents are home. They will be completely discrete…and they will welcome you either way. They fully support Clarissa, my friend back home…and they support my activities here at school.”
I shake my head and say, “I had no idea…” I look at her and say sincerely, “Thank you, Bethany.”
She hugs me and says, “The LGBT society at school has to keep a low profile to be allowed to ‘officially’ exist. The school officials are as supportive as the law forces them be. There are members of the faculty that are fully supportive, though. Mostly, we work in the underground to keep change moving in the right direction…one slow step at a time. As you know, this is not the most progressive town—BUT, people are generally willing to let live your life in peace as long as you don’t force your views on THEM… Sort of ‘leave me alone and I’ll leave you alone…’”
She gets up and gets out some yoga clothes and hands them to me. She asks, “So, shall we start some yoga and see if we can get you stretched out a bit. And…what shall I call you?”
I take the girl’s exercise outfit and smile—then give her a shy look. I say, “You know, I have never let myself dream that far…but, I think maybe…Layla?”
An hour later, I am putting my own clothes back on to go back home. I am just not ready to be ‘Layla’ more openly than outside of Bethany, for now—not even her parents.
Bethany hugs me as I get ready to go out the door. I still have her panties on, but not the stockings. She smiles, gives me a hug, and says, “Layla, keep the panties—they were never worn, so you don’t have to worry.” She hands me a plastic shopping bag and says, “These are brand new, as well. There are enough to get you through the week. Just bring them over to me to wash them. That way, your mother doesn’t have to know…”
I blush and give her a big hug, then hurry home. Mom is in the kitchen when I come in and asks, “Did you have fun, Hon? What’s in the bag?”
I stutter, “Oh…this? Just some stuff Lewis had borrowed and returned. Let me put it upstairs and I will be right back down.” I take the panties upstairs and hide them where I know Mom won’t find them, feeling guilty about not telling her. I resolve myself to tell before the week is out, though. I don’t want Bethany doing my laundry. I could probably find a time that I could wash them myself, but I am aware that they have to air dry—at least Mom always does HERS that way—and I don’t know how I could keep them hidden long enough to get them dry.
I go back downstairs and Mom asks what I feel like for supper. I shrug and say, “Umm…a salad with crispy chicken sounds really good.” She nods and I ask, “So, I can’t stand it… You have not said anything about my lips…”
Mom looks at me and asks, “Did you want me to? They are gorgeous. I assumed that they just ‘appeared’ like the rest and you were embarrassed by them. Was I wrong?”
I shake my head and say, “No. You were right, I just woke up with them this morning. Mom, what am I going to do at school tomorrow? I have decided to let my beard grow out to try and offset some of this, but there are some kids at school that I know will not let this go without…comment.”
Mom comes over and hugs me. She says, “Landon, I can take you over to a friend of mine that does professional makeup and we can probably hide most of this. Do you want me to? I have no idea what is causing this—or why. I don’t even know who to take you to, to try and find out… They would declare BOTH of us crazy…”
I nod and say, “Yes, I know… Ummm, that would be great Mom, hiding it, I mean. I just hope whatever it is has run its course.”
Mom picks up her phone and sends a text. A minute later, she gets a response and says, “OK, come on then, Hon. Sheila is waiting for us.”
Thirty minutes later, we are sitting in Sheila’s kitchen. It turns out that she works in the theater department at the local university. She and Mom seem to be really good friends and Mom had already let her know that we might need her help.
Sheila is examining my face and says, “So, this just appeared? No, I don’t think you are crazy; I can’t explain it, though. You may think that *I* am crazy, but I believe in magic…and curses… This could be either… Have you done something to someone that might warrant them wanting some sort of revenge on you?”
I look at her stunned. I think, “Magic? Really? Maybe a little too much of that recreational weed?” I say, “Errr… No… Not that I can think of…”
She just nods, but lets it drop. She asks, “So, you want to look more like your normal self? Do you have a picture of him with that look, Mary?” Mom nods and pulls up a picture on her phone. Sheila looks at it and says, “Yes, we can easily get that look back, but it is going to take some pretty heavy makeup. From far away, no one will know. But, if anyone looks too closely, well…”
I sigh and say, “Can we see?”
She nods and starts to work. She glues on false eyebrows, after trimming them to shape. She trims my eyelashes and applies some carefully-matched flesh-toned makeup around my eyes. She says, “A little powder…and voila!”
She hands me a mirror and I look at my eyes. Aside from my eyelashes being heavier and thicker, something she can’t really do anything about, my eyes look basically ‘normal’. I say, “Sheila, that is great! You can barely tell anything is different.”
She nods and says, “The lips are going to be more of a challenge. Like your lashes, there are aspects I can disguise. Your lash length could be trimmed, but I couldn’t really thin them out. Well, I could, but I doubt you would like that…nor would it really be worth the effort, I think. With your lips, there is really nothing I can do about the fact that they seem to be permanently plumped. Also, I can’t explain the glossiness…”
She takes out a case that has lip colors of every shade you can think of in little pallets. She picks up a brush and a pallet of ‘natural’ colors. She loads the brush with some of the lip color and starts applying it to my lips. She says, “Hmmm… That is really INTERESTING! Mary, look. His lips take on the color that I am applying, but they stay glossy.”
Mom has a funny look on her face as she watches Sheila. After a few minutes, Sheila hands me the mirror again and I see lips that are close to my ‘normal’ color, but still really pouty and soft-looking…and still REALLY glossy… I sigh and say, “Well, at least they are not pink, anymore.”
I take the little pots of makeup to my bathroom. Sheila had explained that I have to remove everything, but the glued-on brows, every night, just like any other makeup. She had showed me how to reapply the rest, which was not that difficult. I would have to take off the eyebrows every few days and reapply them, though. She had shown Mom how to glue them on.
I help Mom fix the salad for our late supper and feel much better about school tomorrow. The only real challenge, now, is my walk and making sure that no one notices my shoes… I gasp and Mom looks at me and asks, “What’s wrong, Hon?”
I look at my shoes and say, “P.E.! I have gym tomorrow…” P.E., unlike in many schools across the nation, is still available in our school as an elective. I take it to appease my Dad… I say, “What am I going to do?”
Mom says, “I will write you an excuse for this week. That will buy us some time until we can figure something else out. Can you maybe transfer into something else? The year just started, I think you can still transfer, right?”
I slowly nod and say, “Yes, we still have this week… You will have to write me a permission slip to do so, though, since it is already this late. I have no idea what other electives are available during that period, though… Oh well, ANYTHING is better at this point…”
I get up an hour early to make sure that I have time to put on the new makeup. It does not take long, since it is basically just making sure that everything is covered up and even. I am so relieved by the fact that eyes are normal and my lips are not bright pink, that I don’t even notice that my face is completely smooth…no sign of my beard in sight. I go downstairs and am eating a bowl of cereal when Mom comes down.
She gives me a hard look, then puts on a smile as she says, “Are you ready for the day?” I nod as she hands me two envelopes. She says, “One is an excuse to get you out of P.E. for ‘foot’ problems—which, ironically, is true—a stretch, but true. The other is a permission slip to transfer into another class, assuming one is available.”
I hug Mom and go to brush my teeth while she finishes her breakfast. I check my makeup and am satisfied that it looks OK. I grab my stuff and then it hits me that I don’t have anywhere to put my keys or my wallet. I had forgotten about the lack of pockets in these pants…
Fortunately, Mom reminds me that I have my old messenger bag that I have not used in ages. I stick my stuff in it and Mom drops me off at school half an hour early, so I have time to go to the front office.
I enter the registration office and see Miss Thornton. I smile at her and say, “Good morning, Miss Thornton, I need to be excused from P.E. this week. Actually, I need to transfer out, if possible.”
She looks at me and asks, “Landon, right? Do you have signed slips?”
I nod and hand her the sealed envelopes. She opens them and reads them, then types on her computer. She looks at me and smiles. She says, “Well, I DO have ONE opening that you can transfer into… It is Home Ec with Mrs. Van Buren, though.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. I think to myself, “Did I really say ANYTHING would be better?” Mrs. Van Buren is known to be one of the toughest teachers in school…and a perfectionist to no end. She was a professional costumer for the local ballet until it closed down…and her home ec classes are ALWAYS heavy on sewing…
I nod and say, “That will be fine, Miss Thornton. I don’t really have much choice…”
She gives me a strange look and asks, “Are you alright, Landon? You will be the only boy in that class… Do you want to wait and see if your medical problem gets better? You still have all week to switch…”
I sigh and shake my head. I say, “No, someone else might take the last slot…and I think my foot issues are going to be longer-term…”
She shakes her head and types into her computer. After a minute, she says, “OK, you now have Home Ec for your third period, instead of P.E. Good luck and I hope your health issues get resolved. Are you seeing a doctor about them?”
I shake my head and say, “I am trying yoga as therapy, first. My hope is that will resolve the issue. If not, I will see a specialist. Thank you, Miss Thornton, have a great day!” I take the slip that she gives me to certify that I have transferred and hurry out into the hall before she asks any more questions.
I run into Lewis on the way to my first class, algebra; he is in the same class. I almost LITERALLY run into him, since I am concentrating so hard on NOT walking like a female supermodel. He says, “Earth to Landon! You are going to have to look where you are going, dude! Wow! Your face looks much better! You can’t really tell anything…except it looks like a bee stung your lips and you have some sort of ointment on them…”
I look at him and smile. I say, “Brilliant, Bro! That explanation will work for a while, if anyone asks…”
We sit down in our normal seats and he says, “So, Bethany says that you two had a good talk. Care to share?”
I look around and say, “Later… Not here. I promise I will, though…”
The first two periods pass by quickly, especially since I am in the same room for both classes. Not having to walk around helps my confidence a lot. But, then third period arrives. Lewis heads off for P.E. and shakes his head as I tell him that I had to switch to home ec…
I walk down the steps to the basement room that houses all of the home ec equipment. You know, fully equipped and stocked kitchens, sewing centers, and such. I am, once again, trying to not walk like a model as I enter the room.
There is a group of girls all huddled together and giggling. I immediately feel like some alien from outer space—until I see Bethany look up. She sees me and smiles. She waves and asks, “Landon, are you lost, or something? Don’t you have P.E. with Lewis, right now?”
I sigh and start to say something when Mrs. Van Buren waltzes in and claps her hands. She says, “Quiet, girls, we have a lot of work to do today. Oh, I see our new student found his way down here.” She looks at me and says, “I don’t understand what could possess you to want to be in this class, but I expect FULL participation—and don’t expect any leniency because you are a boy. Some of the best cooks and costumers I know are men!”
The gaggle of girls giggle and Mrs. Van Buren glares at them. They immediately quiet down. Mrs. Van Buren says, “Landon, you have missed the first important planning classes and will have to catch up. Girls, will anyone here volunteer to pair up with Landon and get him caught up?”
To my immense relief, Bethany speaks up, “I will, Mrs. Van Buren. I am happy to.”
When class is over, I sigh. There is the distinct possibility that I am totally screwed in this third period. Since, it started out with only girls, the semester project is to design and sew a fancy dress that is worthy of a classical ballet, or opera… Every detail must be paid attention to. The time I have missed has been spent by the other girls researching the style of dress they want to sew…and thinking up how they want theirs to look. Mrs. Van Buren is not just satisfied with teaching sewing, she is teaching design, as well. Ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine percent of students taking her class are always girls…and always girls that have a propensity for fashion design. Some have even gone on to high-paying jobs in that industry.
I am walking up the steps to the main floor after class, talking to Bethany, not paying any attention to my walk. Bethany is promising to help me in my research and we are making plans for me to come by her house after school when I am suddenly pushed from behind.
I nearly fall on my face, and turn around to see Edward Scranton. He sneers and says, “Well. What do we have here? A little fag? Just look at that walk… And in home ec with the girly-girls? Queenies are not welcome in our school!”
Bethany holds on to my arm to steady me and says, “Get lost, Edward! Bigots are not welcome in our school! Just because Landon has some medical issues and has to take the only class available outside of P.E. does not give you license to shove him. Not that ANYTHING does, for that matter!”
Edward gives both of us a look of pure hatred and spits out, “Look Bethany, I know the crowd you hang out with. THAT is ALL I need to know to judge this little fag…”
The group of girls in class with us all surround Bethany and me and Edward snarls, but turns and leaves us. I am shaking when it is all over with. Bethany sighs and thanks the girls, who are looking at me in a thoughtful way. We quietly move on to our next class, which we also happen to have together…
The rest of the day is progressively intensified pure hell. Edward bullies me every chance he gets and is getting his little group in on the whole thing. Bethany tells me that he is the ringleader and heart and soul of the ‘anti-gay league’. She tells me that he is the one that keeps them riled up. After one particularly nasty ‘run-by’ shove that I get from one of his disciples, she says, “I swear, Joey was a nice kid until Edward starting poisoning him! I don’t think he, or most of Edward’s gang really believe in what he preaches. They only go along with it to be in his ‘cool’ gang…”
I sigh and say, “Well, that doesn’t stop them from doing his bidding, though.
I am praying for the day to end. Finally, the last period ends and I hurry out the front door. Unfortunately, I am alone and Edward is there with his group. They grab me and pull me to the side of the school. A small group of students gather around to see what is happening. Two of Edward’s thugs hold me, my arms pinned behind me. Edward punches me in the stomach, hard. I double over and the two let go of me. My face smashes into Edward’s shirt…and my makeup smears…
Edward sees my face and snarls, “Look, the little fag is wearing MAKEUP!” The other two grab me again and Edward wipes at my face, revealing the pink of my lips and the ‘eyeliner’. I guess the edge of one of the eyebrows had come loose, too. He notices and rips them both off, revealing my heavily sculptured brows.
He jumps up and down pointing me out to the crowd with glee, “See! I KNEW it! He IS a fag!!!” To put the final nail in my coffin, one of his thugs notices my shoes and says, “And, look! He is wearing HEELS!”
At that moment, Bethany shows up with Mrs. Van Buren and Mr. Thompson. I later learn that both of these teachers are fully supportive of the LGBT communuty. Unfortunately, the thugs are only taunting me at the moment, and no one will stand up and be a witness to them hitting me for fear of their retaliation. The teachers break up the crowd and Mrs. Van Buren asks if I will be alright. I nod and Bethany escorts me to her Mom’s car announcing that there is no way I am walking home.
I slide into the back seat of the car, embarrassed at what happened, of the way I look, and that I am now ‘outed’… Well, of sorts. I never admitted to wanting to be a girl…but, there is no sense trying to hide the changes anymore. THOSE are outed.
Mrs. Braun, Bethany’s mom, sees Bethany rushing me into the car and is alarmed. She asks, “Bethany, Landon what is going on? Landon, what happened to your face?”
Bethany says, “Can you drive us home, Mom? We will tell you there. Landon, you need to let your Mom know you are at our house. You need to TELL her, as well. Maybe it would be easier if she comes over? That is OK, right, Mom?”
Mrs. Braun looks in the mirror and nods, trusting her daughter. I sigh and try to hold my phone still in my shaking hand. Bethany gently takes it and texts my Mom, who is still at work.
Mrs. Simpson, this is Bethany. My mom is driving us to our house. Landon has been involved in some bullying at school. Don’t worry, he is OK. Can you come to our house when you can?
A few seconds later, my phone beeps in response. Bethany looks at the response and says, “She says she will be right there. She is leaving right now.”
We get to Bethany’s house and her Mom, a nurse, sits me down in the kitchen. First, she checks my stomach, where I was punched. She says, “Hon, I know that hurts. You will have a nasty bruise, but, fortunately, he did not break any ribs. You are lucky they did not start kicking you. Now, let’s get your face cleaned up. By then, your Mom should be here and you can both explain what is going on?”
I nod and Bethany takes me up to her bathroom where she hands me a couple of makeup remover towelettes. I remove the remaining makeup, fully revealing my ‘now’ face. It is the first time that I notice how smooth my face is. I groan and Bethany gives me a worried look. She asks, “What’s the matter? Did they hit you in the face? Is something hurt?”
I shake my head and say, “Feel my face.”
She reaches over and gently touches my cheek. She gives me a questioning look and I say, “Last night there was stubble there. I was going to let my beard grow out…”
It takes a second, but I see understanding flash in her eyes and she just says, “Oh…”
The doorbell rings downstairs and I hear my Mom and Bethany’s talking—Mrs. Braun assuring my Mom that I am not severely hurt. I look at Bethany and sigh. She takes my hand and holds it while we go downstairs.
Mrs. Braun has a bit of a startled look on her face when she sees my makeup-free face; then she has that same flash of understanding in her eyes that I had just seen in Bethany’s.
Mom rushes over to me and hugs me. I wince a bit and she quickly lets go and asks, “Are you sure you are OK, Sweetie? Do we need to go to the hospital?”
I shake my head and say, “They can’t do anything for it. Mrs. Braun has already checked me out. I…I…I guess I need to tell you something, now. It seems that the fates are conspiring against me…not allowing me to keep it a secret anymore…”
Mom gives me a funny look and we all sit down at the Braun’s kitchen table. Bethany holds my hand and nods in encouragement. Mrs. Braun busies herself making some tea. She pours us all a cup and I start my story, laying out my longtime dream. I explain what is affecting the changes—at least what I KNOW is. I finish up by telling them about the attacks throughout the day.
To my amazement, Mom does not seem that surprised about the fact that I see myself as a girl. She is furious about the bullying, though. She is ranting and I just come out and ask, “Mom… What am I going to tell Dad?”
She looks at me and asks, “What do you mean, Honey? Is that why you have never said anything? Because of your Father?”
I bite my lower lip and nod.
She comes over and hugs me and says, “We will tell your Father together. He will not understand. He will accept it, though, I promise.”
I feel further embarrassed as Mr. Braun comes in. He sees the group and asks what is going on. I blush and Bethany gives him the quick version. He looks at me and my Mom and says, “Welcome to our home, Layla. Now, you know that I am an attorney, Mary. I will give the school a call and we will get this straightened out.”
He looks at me and asks, “Landon, do you want to go to school as Layla? It is a bold step, but now may be the best time for you to take it. I can ensure you have the protections afforded you by law at school. I can’t, however, guarantee that there won’t be further incidents. Those will likely happen either way, if they are going to, though. We will have to take appropriate actions at that time.”
I feel tears coming to my eyes. I say, “I don’t know. I didn’t ask for this to come out. I just wanted to peacefully be a girl… You know, wait until after highschool where I could do it on my own terms…and quietly.”
I look at Mom and she says, “It is up to you, Hon. But, I think Mr. Braun is right. You really have nothing to lose, at this point. You have everything to gain, though. And don’t worry about your Father. I will take care of him.”
I sit quietly; thinking, “My dream could come true…but at what price? Am I strong enough to do this? Can I muster up the strength?”
Bethany seems to sense my thoughts. She squeezes my hand and says, “Layla, you know Lewis and I will be there for you. Yes, he knows. He was surprised, but not really. It seems you were not as good at hiding EVERYTHING as you thought you were.” Mom smiles at that. Bethany continues, “The LGBT group will be there for you. My Mom, Dad, and sisters will be there for you. There are lots of faculty at school that will be there for you. We will be your strength…you just have to accept it.”
I let the tears run down my face, unabashedly. I nod and say, “OK. I don’t know what has forced me down this road. But, it seems I can’t turn back now… So, I might as well go forward and enjoy the ride, right?”
Bethany hugs me and her Dad takes his phone and goes into his office.
I am sitting in my bathroom with Mom, washing and moisturizing my face. I look at her and ask, “Do you really think I am doing the right thing, Mom? I am scared. I am sorry I never trusted you enough to say anything. It wasn’t just you… I couldn’t seem to trust ANYONE…”
Mom takes a deep breath and lets it out before she answers, “Sweetie. I know this has to be hard on you. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. Am I sorry to be losing my son? Yes. But, I will be gaining a beautiful daughter. Yes, that will take some getting used to…more so for your Father, than me, I am afraid. But I hope that you have learned that you can tell us anything. We do love you. No matter what. As for doing the right thing? I think you have to be YOU. The REAL you. From what I gather, that has not been the person living in this house for the past sixteen years. I look forward to meeting the real you,…Layla.”
She reaches over and hugs me, getting moisturizer on her own face. We both giggle…and it feels wonderful to be able to actually DO something as simple as that. I think, “Maybe this IS the right thing…”
After I am through washing up, I go through my things with Mom to figure out what I am going to wear to school tomorrow. Mr. Braun had gotten ahold of the principal and explained that he was my legal representation and that I would be in school tomorrow as ‘Layla’ and that I am to be afforded every protection owed to me under the law.
I tell Mom about my ‘leg’ wish and she giggles. She gives me a stern look and says, “You will NOT be wearing garters to school, understood? But, I don’t see why you can’t show a little leg. And just when were you going to tell me about the panties? And… Thongs? Really?” She shudders and says, “Dental floss for your butt… How do they even hold in your…umm, well, your penis? There, I said it!”
She blushes and I giggle. I shrug, “I don’t know. Ever since the changes started, it is not like it is a big deal. Pun intended. It is sort of just shrunken…and…shriveled…and just limply there… Anyway, I was going to tell you before the week was out. Bethany said she would wash them for me, so no one would know, but I did not want that…”
Mom nods and says, “OK. Well…legs… Let’s see, how about this skirt? It is simple enough that it doesn’t look like a ‘Mom’ skirt… You can wear this top with it. It will disguise the fact that you are still developing up top…”
I blush and say, “Yeah, that is my main worry. Whatever this is has given me beautiful model’s legs. I still have the torso, arms, and face of a guy, though… Ugh…”
Mom just smiles and says, “One step at a time, Sweetie. Try this on… Here, these yellow pumps will go well with the outfit…and the heels are high enough to be within your comfort zone…”
The outfit actually looks great on me, in spite of my discomfort with large portions of my body. Mom smiles and says, “I think we will need to go shopping again tomorrow to get you some other things to wear. It seems, you are not going to be much of a ‘pants’ girl…”
I kiss Mom good night and take the things into my room with me. I put on the silk nighty that she gave me. It feels wonderful…and really drives home that Mom KNOWS…and ACCEPTS! I open up my laptop and go to Christy’s picture. I sigh and say, “I don’t know what or how, but, thank you, Christy.”
I wake up to the insistent alarm. I am confused. I seem to be wrapped in some sort of silk binding that is all bunched up under my arms. I struggle out of bed and remember the nighty. I laugh and say, “I guess these things take some getting used to sleeping in…” I push the hair out of my face and start towards the bathroom. Then I stop dead in my tracks… I think, “Did I just push the hair out of my face?”
I look down and see the long, flowing blonde hair, with red lowlights… The same hair that I had been admiring on the web the other night. I hold it out and see my small feminine hands holding the strands. I start shaking and run to my closet and look in the full-length mirror. I am still me, but now with long, full blond hair, styled like that picture. My arms are now worthy of my legs—slender, sleek, smooth… My hands are…dainty…and adorned with long, pink nails.
My face is back in its full glory…my lashes grown back out to their full length. My brows are lighter, to match my hair, which seems to be naturally blond. My lips are a brighter pink to go with my nail polish. My facial features are the same they always have been, but my complexion is flawless. I have eyeshadow in shades of blue, pink and purple that complements my nails, lips, and hair…
My torso is still the same, flat, and blah… I am still more guy than girl, at least in looks, now. I am one hundred percent girl inside, though. I have no doubt about that anymore…
I quickly get dressed and go downstairs and start the coffee before Mom even gets up. There are advantages to having ‘magic’ makeup…or whatever is making it appear like it does.
I am fingering the chain around my neck, sipping a cup of coffee when Mom comes down. She chokes when she sees me, “Lan… Layla? Wow! Look at you! Look at that hair… Let me look at you!”
She has me stand up and she turns me around and hugs me. Then she asks me a surprising question, “Where did you get that necklace? I have never seen it.”
I finger the chain and say, “It’s the one I picked up at the flea market from that pretty lady, remember?”
Mom says, “No, that is not the same chain… This is much finer… It is still heavy, but it’s definitely a girl’s chain…not the one you were wearing…”
I go to the hall mirror and look at it. Mom is right. I say, “I don’t get it… I haven’t taken it off… Do you think Sheila could be…right?”
I reach behind me to take it off and Mom says, “No! Don’t! Let’s assume for a moment that it IS the necklace… We don’t know what will happen if you take it off. We will go back to the flea market this weekend to see if we can find that lady again and ask her some questions. Now, let’s go. I have to go in with you to sign some papers to have you officially enrolled as ‘Layla’…”
An hour later, ‘Landon James Simpson’ has officially been replaced in the school records with ‘Layla Jeanette Simpson’. I never even think to ask how come it is so easy…
The day starts out OK, I am mostly a curiosity to those in my first period. I am, however, welcomed by the LGBT community and society members that are present. Of course, I inevitably run into Edward and his gang after first period, which puts a whole different spin on the day.
Edward sneers, “Well, look! If it isn’t our newest drag fag!”
Kim, who was in first period with me, speaks up, “Stanton, you idiot! Shut up about things you don’t understand! When a GIRL dresses as a GIRL, SHE is not in drag!”
Edward and his group laugh and he says, “Babe! You can dress like a ‘girl’ for me, anytime. But, when a GUY dresses like a girl, then he is both in drag…and when he walks like a girl, he is a fag! Simpson here, qualifies for both!”
Cary, another girl from first period, and a supporting member of the LGBT community says, “No, you are wrong! Layla is as much of a girl as I am! Leave her alone!”
One of Edward’s cronies, Matt Jameson, snarls back, “I always thought you were a guy! Now we know!”
It is about to get ugly when Mr. Garner, the principal shows up and shouts, “What is going on here? I will not tolerate any disrespect or fighting! Am I understood? Any derogatory remarks or bullying will land someone in detention, or worse! And we have the cameras on to make sure we have proof this time. Am I clear?!?!? Now, to class! ALL of you!”
I hear Edward mumble under his breath, as he walks past me, “This is not over, drag fag!”
I thank all of the girls for standing up for me. They all pull me into the girl’s bathroom with them and Kim says, “Look, Layla. We may not understand everything that is going on with you. But, we accept your choice. OK? You can always duck in here, well ANY girl’s bathroom. I rather doubt that Edward or his cronies will follow you into one.”
I nod and actually take the advice on two occasions. Unfortunately, there are blind spots when it comes to the camera coverage. But, fortunately, they are right where there are girl’s bathrooms. I only had a run-in with one girl who challenged me and declared that I wasn’t allowed in ‘their’ sanctum. Fortunately, there were a couple of other girls that put her in her place.
Bethany and a whole group of girls escort me out after school—straight to Mrs. Braun’s car. Bethany and I get in and Mrs. Braun exclaims, “Layla! I love the hair!” Then she looks at Bethany and says, “That looked awfully much like an escort?”
Bethany just nods and says, “Yes, there was one skirmish. Mr. Garner shut it down before it got physical, though. We made sure that Layla wasn’t alone at all today, just to be sure. Edward and his crowd are basically cowards. They won’t take on more than one at a time…usually.”
We go straight to Bethany’s room once we get to her house to get started on my project. Bethany says, “OK, Layla. We are going to have to get some measurements, so we can start looking into the possible designs for your dress. Have you given that any thought?”
I say, “No, not really. Not with everything else going on. Do you have any suggestions?”
She starts up her laptop and we browse several websites. I look at dress after dress. They are all beautiful and I point out the things that I like about them. I can’t help but notice that model after model in the dresses are skinny…and beautiful, with awesome cleavage. All things that I am not…or don’t have… I start to get a bit discouraged and Bethany suggests we take a break.
We sit back and I tell her that Mom and I are going to have to go shopping to get me some clothes. She smiles and pulls me into one of their spare bedrooms. There are several boxes marked “Goodwill” stacked by the door. She says, “These are my sister’s from before she lost her weight. Most are brand new… Let’s see if there is anything you like. I am sure they will fit you, since her old pants did…
We go through the boxes and there are several skirts and tops, as well as dresses that I fall in love with. There is another box that is full of her other sister’s shoes that she had outgrown, including several pair of beautiful heels in my size that look brand new.
Bethany giggles and says, “My little sister is NOT one to wear heels if she can help it! Most of these have been worn ONCE, if that!”
Mom comes by to pick me up and is surprised at the haul that Mrs. Braun insists that I take at no charge. She laughs and says, “It will save me from having to haul them over to Goodwill! They have been sitting in that room for weeks, now. I am glad to be rid of them!”
Mom still takes me to the mall to get me some lingerie. We go into Victoria’s Secret, which totally surprises me. She gets me some more thongs, like I like (even though she still can’t understand that I do). She also gets me a couple of padded B-cup bras and some gel inserts. Finally, she surprises me when she picks out a couple of garter slips and belts and accompanying stockings.
She pays and we go back out to the car, me carrying the signature pink bag. We get in and Mom says, “I meant it when I said no wearing garters to school, though. Clear?”
I giggle and nod…still shocked at what had just transpired.
That night, I put on a nighty that I had also garnered from ‘the box’ at Bethany’s and fire up my laptop. I lay back on my bed after piling up the pillows and decide to do some more research on designs for my dress project.
All of the designs that I find that appeal to me are along the Victorian style. I decide to try some elements of that, but include some more modern style elements. The only problem is that, what really appeals to me on the Victorian-style dresses is the really narrow waist. I don’t have a waist like that…
I do some research and find out that the only way to really fully achieve that type of waist is through strict diet and corset training. I find some sites with models’ blogs and advice, which lead me to YouTube videos. There are some obscure things that I find out that models do to maintain their shape. Largely, a terrible diet of candy bars and cigarettes…although corsets are making a comeback in some venues. I shake my head, but can’t shake the image of being a beautiful model… Especially, in a cute gartered corset and stockings…
I wake up and look at the clock. I have plenty of time to get ready, since I really don’t have to worry about makeup—unless I want to change my look, of course. I decide I don’t today. I get up and go to my closet. I look in the mirror at my narrowing waist. I swivel back and forth and say to myself, “That corset is really starting to work!”
Then I realize what I am doing and had just thought. Mom comes in right then and says, “Good! You are up! Are you ready to get fastened up in your corset?”
I give Mom a funny look.
She misinterprets it and says, “OK. I didn’t think so… I still think this is a bit overboard, though… We didn’t use these in my teen days as a model…” She picks up the gartered corset and holds it up for me to get into.
I shrug, still trying to figure out what is going on. I remember my research from last night…somehow that has affected reality. This is the first time that I am aware that the necklace, if indeed that IS what is doing this, has affected anything, or anyone besides ME. I still had not connected the dots that it was WAY too easy to have my records changed at school… No doctor, no legalities…
Then it hits me, as Mom is tightening the corset. I replay what she had just said in my head, “We didn’t use these in my teen days as a model… HER days as a model? Mom was never a model…”
She pulls the corset tighter and tighter and says, “I never would have expected you to want to go this far with your dream. When you started your changes, I had no idea the desire to be a model, like me, was driving it…”
She ties off the corset. I can barely breathe, but my waist is down to the perfect size ‘00’. I look at Mom’s reflection in the mirror as she stands behind me and see some less-than subtle, and very stunning differences. Mom has always been pretty in my eyes. She is BEAUTIFUL, now…and has a figure to die for.
I shake my head, trying to reconcile this new reality with the one my brain is still semi-clamoring to; or is it just a lack of oxygen making me think funny?
Mom hands me my stockings, clearly with the expectation that I put them on. I distinctly hear her voice in my head, saying, “I meant it when I said no garters in school!”
I roll the silky stockings up my legs and deftly attach the garters, like I had done it a thousand times before.
Mom says, “Hurry up and put on your dress. We have to leave in fifteen minutes. You have just enough time for breakfast.”
I put on my dress and heels and hurry downstairs. Mom hands me a candy bar and an e-cig. She is puffing on one herself and downing a candy bar between puffs. My mouth starts watering and I greedily turn on the e-cig and take a big drag—hungrily taking in the nicotine, I am so hopelessly addicted to…
“Landon! Landon! LAYLA! Wake up! You are going to be late!!!”
I open my eyes to see Mom, my REAL Mom shaking me. I shudder; the dream was so real…I could have sworn it was really happening to me…
I groggily nod my head and say, “OK, Mom. I am awake!” I sit up and feel a weight shift on my chest.
Mom says, “Oh, my! I am not sure those bras I picked up for you yesterday are going to fit anymore!” She giggles.
I give her an exasperated look and pinch myself to see if I am REALLY awake this time.
I stand in front of the same mirror that I still so vividly remember from my dream—this time, however, Mom is helping into a bra. As it turns out, the B-cup bras I have are a perfect fit; just that now the gel inserts are not needed. Mom is fiddling with the straps and I am still trying to make sense of the dream…
It is sort of like the necklace is telling me to be careful what I wish for. I am fully convinced it is the necklace creating my changes, since it has once again gotten daintier…and has the cursive name ‘Layla’ written in gold wire suspended in its center.
Mom finishes adjusting the bra straps and I stand there in just my panties and bra and look in the mirror. I shake off the dream and see the beginnings of a girly figure. Curves where there are supposed to be curves. My waist is a little narrower, my hips a little wider, my chest (obviously) more developed. I smile—then frown.
Mom asks, “What is wrong, Hon? You will get used to the bra.”
I shake my head and say, “That is not it. I don’t think the dresses I got from the Braun’s will fit anymore. I think they may be a bit big…”
Mom slowly nods her head and says, “You may be right. Let’s see…” She sorts through them, then picks out one and holds it up with a strange look on her face. She asks, “Layla? Gabi was a size twelve before she lost her weight, right?”
I nod my head and say, “Duh! That is why those are all twelves…”
Mom gives me a stern look and says, “Don’t you sass me, young lady! These dresses are all EIGHTS…”
I gasp and take it to see for myself. The label clearly says size eight…and it fits perfectly… What’s more, the pants that Mom had gotten me in size twelve are also now eights…
I shake my head and look at Mom. She shrugs and says, “It is not any weirder than anything else that has happened this week, I guess…”
I get out at school with mixed feelings. I am sure it is going to basically be a repeat of yesterday—but, I DO look much better today. At least I am starting to get a figure that resembles a girl more than a guy. Oh! And I have BOOBS! Well, beginner boobs…but they are real!
I meet Bethany and my ‘honor guard’ for the day right outside school. Bethany hugs me and several of the girls tell me how great I look. Bethany says, “I know that is one of the dresses that I gave you yesterday, but it looks…smaller?”
I giggle and say, “Size eight… Like magic!”
Bethany smiles and winks. We link arms and stroll inside like we own the school. Edward and his cronies are in the main hall waiting for us. He looks at me and stutters, “Drag fag? Look at you! Trying to be all girlie! What? Did you get an overnight boob-job? It doesn’t matter!”
We ignore and walk on by towards class…
It infuriates him and he starts screaming. Mr. Garner comes around the corner and collars Edward. He quietly says, “Stanton, you have just earned yourself and your ‘entourage’ a day of detention this Saturday!”
The girls and I all giggle and keep walking without looking back.
Edward screams, “You will pay for this drag fag!”
The last thing we hear before we enter our class room is Mr. Garner saying, “Make that TWO Saturdays… One more and you earn a suspension!”
Mrs. Van Buren studies the pictures I pull up. She smiles and says, “Layla, these are really good! I like the Victorian foundation together with the modern touches! Keep up the good work!”
I look at Bethany and grin…then groan as Mrs. Van Buren moves on. I whine, “I don’t FEEL like this is great! And…even if I get it designed…how am I going to sew it? I know NOTHING about sewing!”
Bethany grins and says, “No worries, Lay! I have an extra machine at home. I can show you. You just need to finish your design.”
The rest of the day, I get muddled looks and lots of smiles. It seems that my new developing figure is confusing people’s perception of me. Most girls seem to be happy for me—plying me with bright smiles. Most guys seem totally confused, showering me with befuddled stares.
At least, for whatever reason, I don’t run into Edward, or his cronies the rest of the day.
After school, I am escorted to Mrs. Braun’s car by Bethany and my ‘entourage’ and we go to their house. Bethany pulls out a second sewing machine and sets it beside the one she normally uses. She has me practice by sewing different swatches, using different threads and fabrics, and trying out different stitches.
After an hour of sewing practice, we do our yoga routine. I am getting much better at stretching, and placing my heel on the floor, but I still prefer my heels.
Mrs. Braun invites me for dinner and insists that I stay for a girl’s night, since Mr. Braun has to work late. It’s her, Bethany, Bethany’s sisters, and I. We have a ball talking and giggling. I have never felt included in a group this way…it is exhilarating.
As I am getting ready to leave, Mrs. Braun says, “Layla, hon, you are turning into a real doll.” She whispers in my ear, “You need to work on the voice, though!” She smiles at me and gives me a hug.
I give her a shocked look and she says, “No! Don’t be embarrassed! You are doing so wonderful! That is what makes the voice so out of place. That is a wonderful thing!”
I hug her back and say, trying my best to downplay my deep voice, “You are right, Mrs. Braun. I didn’t really think about it…”
I hurry home and hug Mom. I go up to my bathroom to take a bath and moisturize, then I do some more research for my dress. I turn on Jayda and unconsciously hum along to the music as I search for design ideas…and envy the models wearing the dresses…
I stand in front of the mirror and am stunned that I am now a size four…and my dresses are too! My face is MUCH more feminine…a mix of Mom and Christy, actually… And…I am now nearly a C-cup.
I hum as I stroll down the stairs and am singing a Jayda song as I make the coffee. Mom comes in and looks around, clearly expecting to find something. I give her an inquisitive look and she asks, “Do you have the radio on?”
I giggle and say, “No…” I put my hands to my throat and give her a startled look. I say, “It was just me…singing…”
Mom smiles and says, “It was beautiful… A lot like that singer you like, what is her name? Jayda? Only…not… I like your voice much better!”
If I thought the boys’ looks yesterday were confused…they were NOTHING compared to today. And I think they are going to smother me, when they hear my voice.
Of course, all of that is again NOTHING compared to the next day, when I show up the next day, Friday… I am a svelte size two and a FULL C-cup. My face puts even the most ravishing beauty to shame. My body is perfectly shaped, toned, and…well, exquisitely sexy…with cleavage to die for.
The only thing that is even remotely male…or masculine that is left of me…is the small remnant of my…penis…
I am starting to feel…really good about myself. Even the wind is now taken out of Edward’s sail… NO ONE even REMOTELY considers me to be a guy dressed as a girl, anymore… He can’t get anyone to go along with his idiocy.
As far as everyone is concerned, I am Layla. Just Layla…
It is finally Saturday and I should be sleeping in. The problem is, it’s six a.m. and I’m wide awake. I feel…different. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is…off.
I lay in bed, dreading Dad coming home tomorrow. Not that I am not really happy that he is coming home after his three-week trip. But, how am I going explain the events of the past week? I don’t even know if Mom has told him anything…
I shake my head and decide I may as well get up and work on my project. I go into the bathroom…and discover what is ‘off’ with me. I let out a little scream, “I am a girl! A REAL girl!” I sit down to pee and discover that not only am I real girl; I am a real girl on her period. I almost panic, but without really thinking, I reach under the vanity next to me and pull out a box of tampons… Using them comes just as naturally.
I go downstairs and find Mom already up. She asks, “What was that scream, Hon? Are you alright?”
I am still overwhelmed by the way I handled the tampon issue. I say, “I…started my period and found tampons under the sink…and used one.”
Mom gives me a funny look and asks, “Are you sure you’re alright, Hon? You were with me last week when I bought those for you. You knew your period was going to start today…just like it has this time every month, since you were twelve.”
I sit down in a chair and don’t know what to say. I numbly nod and mumble something about being fine. My head is reeling, though. Thoughts float through my head, like, “Periods since I was twelve? Bought these last week? It is like…”
I look at Mom and ask, “Dad is still coming home tomorrow, right? How are we going to tell him…?”
She looks at me with a confused look and asks, “Tell him what, Sweetie? That you are on your period? I that may be a bit TMI for him, don’t you think? You know he’s a bit…in denial about such things when it comes to you. He still sees you as his little daughter…”
I slowly nod and say, “I guess so… I just thought he should get used to it…”
Mom giggles and says, “Oh, Right! He is not used to it with ME and we have been married for nearly twenty-five years! Now, go get ready, silly. If we are going to the flea market again, today, we need to go before the crowds get bad!”
I go upstairs, wondering just how much of the world has changed. Obviously, I still know who I am… Obviously, Mom…and Dad…don’t…
As we are driving to the flea market, I text Bethany.
Hey Girl. I just started my period…
It takes about a nanosecond to get a response.
You WHAT?!?!?!? How? REALLY? OMG!!!
I smile, obviously SHE still knows the truth… So…you still know the real truth? My mom and dad are in some alternate reality… No, really…
It takes a bit to get a response, this time. WOW! My Mom thinks we have been BFFs ever since we moved here…we met at the yoga studio, it seems. As far as she is concerned, you have always been a girl! This is WEIRD!!! Well, EVEN weirder than it has been!
We pull into the flea market and I send a final text. Uh huh! Gotta run. Later!
Mom parks and we get out. I split off from her after a bit and go to see if I can find the woman that I got the necklace from. I finger it and notice that it has changed, once again. It is very dainty and has a small diamond pendant on it.
It takes me a few minutes, but I finally find the stand and the beautiful woman running it is standing behind her table smiling at me. She says, “Well, hello. You are looking much better than last week. How do you feel?”
I give her a strange look, then say, “I feel fine… Great, actually. So, you know who I am?”
She says, “Of course! The necklace has done well—and you have chosen really nicely. Not everyone does, you know. The jewelry tries to tell them. Some ignore the warnings, though. So, what can I do for you, today?”
I give her a surprised look. I ask, “So, you are a witch? A sorceress? What? You do this often? How…?”
She actually laughs and says, “So many questions for such a pretty little girl! As for who—or what—I am… Well, those are only labels… The results are what matters! Are you happy? You were so desperately in need of enlightenment. That is what my jewelry does, you know. It shows people the proper path. You needed to be shown that keeping your secret was bad for you…the rest, what happened to convince you of that, well, let’s say those were just fringe benefits.”
I give her a confused look and ask, “So, the necklace was trying to tell me that I needed to admit to the world that I was a girl? That was really all it was?”
She nods and I ask, “And the…fringe benefits…are permanent?”
She giggles and says, “If you want them to be. Yes.”
I ask, “But my parents don’t seem to know anymore… Bethany, my friend does, though.”
She nods and says, “Yes, your best friend, the one that REALLY stood by you, still knows. She is the ONLY one, though. That is the price of staying this way. Is that too much?”
I think about it a minute and say, “No.” I smile and say with more conviction, “Not at all. So…how does one normally acquire your services? I mean, I am not sure how you picked me…”
She gives me an inquisitive stare and asks, “Why do you ask? Do you have someone in need of enlightenment?”
I finish explaining what I found out to Bethany. She truly HAS become my best friend, now. She shakes her head and says, “It is really bizarre! But…it makes sense in a creepy-comfy sort of way. You DID need something to pound it into that thick skull of yours that you were a girl. No one but us knowing, though…now, THAT gives me the shivers… Why me?”
I finger the transformed necklace as I shrug and say, “It has something to do with you TOTALLY standing by me through it all… I mean others did, too, but you were the ringleader, so to say…”
She hugs me and says, “But your Mom…she stood by you, too.”
I nod and say, “I think the magic is protecting her from having to lie to Dad… It is easier this way… For them, anyway. With time, it will be much easier for me…well, US, too. It will be completely natural…”
The next day, Daddy comes home. It is really strange being called ‘Princess’ by him and being treated like I have always been his ‘little girl’. The fact that in this reality, he has never known me as anything but his daughter is disconcerting at first—but I QUICKLY settle into it. I have him wrapped around my little finger, it seems… (*GIGGLE*)
We all go out to eat to celebrate his return home from his extended trip. Then they take me to the piercing parlor after that and allow me to get the nose and naval piercings that I have been wanting for so long. Though this is news to me, I guess I have been begging them to let me do it for ‘ages’…
After we get back home, I change my tampon and get ready for bed. I look at my new piercings and shake my head. They look GOOD; sort of like a certain singer’s that I love so much…
I settle into bed and wonder what school will be like tomorrow. What I DO know is that I will be Layla; and as far as everyone there is concerned, I will ALWAYS have been her. What I don’t know is what THEY know of Layla… Like with my parents and the piercings; what is my background? It should be an interesting day. I smile…in more ways than one…
“Layla! Babe! Wait up!”
I am giggling with Bethany, telling her about ‘wanting’ to get my nose and belly button pierced ‘for ages’. I screw up my face and roll my eyes as I hear that voice. I sigh to Bethany and turn around to say, “What do YOU want Edward? I am sure that WE don’t conspire in the same circles. Me being a supporter of LBGT rights and all…”
He looks at me in a completely lecherous way and says, “Now, now, LAYLA, I am sure we can find some common ground! I mean you may be in THEIR support group, but you are not a lezzie, right? I mean, you have needs that I can satisfy. Just because you think that drag fags have rights doesn’t mean that I can’t convince you that they are ALMOST as bad as a lezzie!”
I roll my eyes and pull Bethany over to me and plant a very sexual and passionate kiss full on her lips. Of course, she is completely taken off guard and ALMOST fights me on it. I surprise myself, when I find I enjoy it WAY more than I expected. I reluctantly break the kiss and steel my resolve. I pull Edward over to me and give him a half-hearted kiss…
I push him away and say, “Well… Round one DEFINITELY goes to Bethany here…”
He turns bright red and says, “We will see about THAT!” He pulls me into him and kisses me with as much passion as he can muster. I am left unimpressed. I smile at him, though, and say, “Well, that was a worthy attempt, Edward. I might reconsider my winner, if you are willing to do something for me…” I wink at him.
He is near drooling when he says, “Do something for you? Of COURSE I will do something for you! That is what I have been saying!”
I smile and say, “Back boy! Will you wear my ring?” I pull a very feminine-looking ring off of my thumb. I am sure it will fit his ring finger perfectly. I say, “It would mean SO much to me!” I bat my eyelashes.
He stutters and says, “Well, it is a bit girly…b…b…but…”
I giggle and push it onto his right ring finger. I say, “I am sure we will be GREAT friends, Emily.”
He looks at me confused and asks, “Emily? What are you talking about?”
I look at him with my best confused look, “What are YOU talking about? I think you maybe need to clean your ears! Anyway, I need to get to class.” I kiss him, to Bethany’s utter surprise, and say, “I will see you at lunch, Emily…”
I grab Bethany and pull her towards class before he can say anything else—still in a befuddled state of mind from the mind-blowing kiss that I just gave him.
As we walk away, Bethany asks, “WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS THAT ALL ABOUT? And that kiss…I mean with ME…” She blushes…
I giggle and say, “You will be the only one that knows what is going on…well, besides Emily… Just play along…” And I kiss her passionately again… I say then, “I don’t want to confuse you… I know you are with Lewis… I don’t think I am a lesbian, either. I think we are simply both bi…”
She gives me a shocked look and we go into class just as the bell rings…
I look up from my lunch tray. I am, of course, sitting at the ‘popular girls’ table. I giggle. Bethany follows my stare and gives me a confused look. All I can think of is ‘Grease’ and the ‘Pink Ladies’…
A group of girls in pink satin jackets stroll into the cafeteria, led by none other than a very pretty ‘Emily’.
Bethany chokes and asks, “Is that…”
I nod and say, “Edward and his cronies…being led to the path of enlightenment…”
Bethany giggles and I say, “Remember, we know the truth. They don’t know the complete truth, although Emily will have SOME subconscious knowledge. We will have to go with the flow…”
Bethany nods and the group of five girls in pink comes over to the table. Emily speaks up, “Hello, girls…” They all sit and none of the other ‘cool girls’ object, so it seems that the ladies in pink are a accepted part of our elite group.
I speak up and say, “Hey, Emily. Looking great, as always.”
She looks over at me and has a haunted look in her eye. She nods and says, “Thank you, Layla. Do you have a minute to talk before practice?”
That is when I figure out that Emily and the other (new) girls are all a part of the cheer squad…the jackets are their ‘status emblem’. I say, “Sure, let’s meet at the back exit after last period. I am walking home today, so I can hang around for a few minutes.”
I wait at the back door and listen to Jayda on my phone. After a few minutes, Emily shows up in her cheerleading uniform. Somehow, I just ‘know’ a detail now… I smile and say, “Congrats, Emily! I hear you will be cheer captain when Sheena graduates this year. That is quite an accomplishment.”
She blushes and says, “Ummm…thank you. But that is not what I wanted to talk to you about… You are the head of the LGBT society, right?”
I nod and think to myself, “Another thing that I didn’t know until just now…” I say, “Yes, I believe strongly in everyone feeling safe and comfortable in making the right choices for themselves. Why do you ask?”
She shuffles her feet. Finally, she says, “Well…I may…have some…issues…”
I stand there quietly, biting my tongue…
She continues and says, “First, I really have the hots for you. I…I…I guess that makes me a lesbian? And…and…and… I feel like I may be boy inside… I can’t explain it and I am sure you don’t understand…”
I giggle and say, “I understand better than you might think.” I glance at the very feminine, sparkly ring on her right ring finger. I ask, “So…are you asking for help, a date, or both?”
She blushes and says, “Well, mostly help… But…you would consider a date? I didn’t think you were actually, well…you know…?”
I smile and ask, “A lesbian? Well, technically, I am not. I am bi, I think. I haven’t REALLY explored my sexuality yet… I would be open to a date or two to find out, though. As for your other ‘issue’, I know some people you can talk to. Being transgendered, if that is indeed what you are, is a terrible thing from what I hear. There is hope, though…”
She smiles and looks deeply into my eyes. I still see the haunted look of Edward, hopelessly trapped in Emily’s body, in her eyes. She asks, “So, maybe after practice?”
I say, “Well, I have plans with Bethany and Lewis. If you don’t mind a double date?”
She gives me a shocked look and asks, “You don’t think they would care…? And I am not sure I am ready to go ‘public’ yet…”
I shake my head and say, “I can guarantee you that they won’t care. And we can downplay it as ‘we are just going out to have some fun’. We will see where it goes from there. Beth and Lew will be cool about it…and discrete…until you are ready… I promise.”
She nods and agrees to meet me at my house at five and hurries off to practice. I watch her, Rhonda, Misty, Carol, and Gemma practice their cheers among the other ‘real’ cheerleaders for a bit. To think that just a few hours ago, these were all homophobic boys… Now they are all in a girl’s body… It remains to be seen whether they will see the light, though…
The doorbell rings at a few minutes before five. I check myself in the mirror and make sure that I have some extra tampons in my purse. I hurry down and get to the door just as Mom answers it. I say, “Mom, you remember Emily, right? She is going to hang out with Beth, Lew, and me at the mall. Then we are going to watch a movie. We will be back by ten. My homework is done.”
Mom smiles at Emily in her cheerleading outfit and says, “Of course I remember the best cheerleader on the squad. I hear you will be next captain?”
Emily blushes and says, “Yes, Ma’am. I hope I can lead the squad as well as Sheena.”
I say, “You will be great at it, Emily. I am sure. Bye, Mom! We need to go…”
We hurry the three houses down to Bethany’s house. On the way, Emily says, “I hope you don’t mind that I am still in uniform. Practice ran late. Are you sure they won’t mind?”
I giggle and say, “For a future captain, you sure are insecure.” I think to myself, “Nothing like Edward…” I say, “You look great in that uniform and, yes, I am sure they won’t mind.”
I ring the doorbell and Bethany opens the door almost immediately. She says, “Hi, girls! Come on in. Lew will be here in a minute. He is running a tad late… I guess there was a ‘discussion’ between him and his brother about who would get the car tonight. He won.” She giggles and says, “I am glad you decided to come, Emily. I always feel bad for Layla when she goes out with us—all alone… You know that I am a stark supporter of the LGBT society, as is Lew, so…don’t worry about us. K?”
Emily nods and says, “Ummm…sure… I am not ready to out myself, though. This can stay between us? I just am not ready for the consequences of letting it be known. Gregory and his anti-LGBT thug league can be so mean…”
Bethany just nods and says, “Tell me about it! But, you know, things have a way of coming back around on people like that.”
Beth and I giggle. Emily gives us a funny, almost hurt, look. I say, “No, Hon. We are not laughing at you. It is a bit of a private joke.”
Lewis pulls up that moment and the three of us hurry out to the car. Beth gets in front and Emily and I get in the back. Beth leans over and gives Lew a kiss. I just take Emily’s hand and give it a squeeze.
Lew looks in the mirror and whistles. He smiles and says, “Wow, I feel like I am with a harem! I will be the envy of the joint, tonight! You two look HOT! Err…so do you, Babe!”
Beth slaps his arm and I giggle and say, “In your dreams lover boy. Now, to dinner, James!”
He shakes his head and takes off. We get to the local teen hangout in about ten minutes and Emily sits there, undecided on whether to get out. I say, “Come on, Emily. We will have fun. No one is going to know we are on a date.” I gently grab her hand and pull her out.
We find a large round booth and Emily sits between Beth and I. Everything is going fine until Rhonda, Misty, Carol, and Gemma walk in. Emily stiffens up immediately. The group of four see us and come over. Rhonda says, “Hi guys! Fancy meeting you here! Do you mind if we join you? You have plenty of room and there aren’t any more seats.”
Lew says, “Sure, the more the merrier, I always say!” He wiggles his eyebrows at Beth and sits back smugly enjoying being surrounded by seven REALLY pretty girls. I squeeze Emily’s hand under the table—something that does not go unnoticed by Rhonda. To her credit, she doesn’t say anything, though.
I gaze at the four new girls and notice the same haunted look in Carol and Gemma’s eyes as is in Emily’s. Rhonda and Misty, though, seem to be at complete peace with themselves. I smile and think I have an answer as to why Ralf and Mark were a part of Edward’s posse. The best disguise is to hide among the enemy… I have a feeling that Rhonda and Misty may be here to stay…
Carol notices that I am holding Emily’s hand under the table and asks, “So…are you two an item?”
Emily blushes and tries to take her hand back. I gently, but firmly, hold onto it and ask, “Would that be a problem, if we were? I can tell you for sure that Emily and I are not an item. I am just consoling her on a personal issue, but would it be so bad if we were?”
Carol and the rest all shake their heads. Gemma speaks up and says, “Look, I know you are the head of the LGBT society, so that raises flags when you are with anyone. You are always so hard to read about your own…persuasions… though, while you openly and staunchly stand up for others. None of us in this group has an issue with anyone in that capacity…”
I look at Carol and Gemma and ask, “I can see that… So, is there anything else you want to say?” Carol looks at Gemma and she nods. Carol speaks up, “Well…ummm… Gemma and I are sort of an item… I…I…I am only interested in girls, at the moment, for whatever reason. Gemma…”
Gemma takes over the conversation, “I… Well, I am a boy. I am sure of it. I guess that means that I am TG, right? I am strongly attracted to Carol. But, it is a bit of an enigma. If I am really a boy and she is really a lesbian, how does that work? What does that make me?”
I roll my eyes and ask, “Do you really like each other?” They both nod their heads without hesitation. I ask, “Then why are you worried about labels…? It is the result that matters, right?”
They both give me a shocked look and then smile. Gemma says, “I can see why you are the head of the group… I think you should become a shrink, or something…”
Beth says, “Nope! She is definitely going to be a famous pop star!”
Rhonda giggles and says, “I have no doubt, with a voice like that! Carol, Gemma, you know that you just outed yourselves to this group. Does that mean you are ready to go public? You know that Misty and I are as straight as they come; but you also know that we have NO problem being associated with you as a couple.” She looks at Emily and says, “And something tells me that Em won’t have a problem, either…”
Emily blushes bright red and quietly says, “No. I have no problem with that…”
Carol and Gemma both look at each other and shrug. Carol kisses Gemma in full view of anyone looking and asks, “Is that good enough?”
Beth and I giggle at Lew’s face. Rhonda says, “I think that will do… So, Em… Is there anything YOU want to get out in the open?”
I squeeze her hand in encouragement. This was not planned, but it is definitely leading her down the right path…
Em, as I now know her best friends call her, tries to shrink below the table. Finally, she says, “OK… I am not really ready for this… But…well, I am sort of in the same shoes as Gemma. I mean, I think I MAY be a boy… I am not sure… What I DO know is that I am REALLY attracted to Layla… She agreed to give it a chance and see where it goes… What I ALSO know is that I don’t want to be fodder for Gregory’s anti-LGBT campaign…”
And right on cue… Gregory walks in…
I look around to see what made Em flinch. I see Gregory Demopolis scanning the crowd, obviously looking for someone. I look at him and realize that he IS gorgeous…always has been…
I am getting better at tapping into the memories of the new ‘me’; it is really weird having the memories of me as Landon AND memories of the full life I have lived as Layla—all the way back to early childhood. And there is also the third stream of life with the five girls sitting at the table that used to be guys, but now have grown up as girls. Are you confused? Try being me… Anyway…
I tap into my current-reality memories and know that Greg is still the self-assured, jock that he has been in all my realities. He is still the up and coming star quarterback. He is still wildly popular with the girls—and thinks he is God’s gift to them. What is different is that he now has the reputation of being a homophobic jerk. I am not sure if he has always been that way—or if it was just hidden under Edward’s much more visible shadow. He is not like with Edward and his crowd—Greg puts the LGBT crowd down in a much more subtle way. In actuality, he is much more effective than Edward in getting to the individuals in question. It is never open bullying—it is well-hidden psycho-terror; refined to a well-honed, razor-sharp knife…
He continues to look around and shrugs when he obviously doesn’t find who he is looking for. Then his gaze comes back around to our table…and stops. He gets a shocked look on his face and starts our way. I can feel Em starting to shake already.
He gives Lewis a quick dismissive look and then focuses on us girls, plying us with an oily smile. He says, “What is going on, Mathews? How do you rank such a harem? I thought you were exclusive with Beth… Or are you turning into one of THEM, now? There is no way you can satisfy the needs of such lovely company.”
My skin crawls and I feel my long fingernails biting into Em’s shaking hands. I give him a sweet look and ask, “So, what would be so bad about Lew being a girl? Maybe we will make him an honorary one—he certainly fits in better at this table than YOU do…”
I see him blush—then flush. I ‘remember’ that he has been after me, Layla, for quite some time—never understanding why I won’t succumb to his ‘charms’.
He retorts, “Well, that would make him one of THEM then…and you would be queen of another…”
I put my hand to my heart and say, “Oh, I think I have just been stabbed… Someone help me! I am bleeding… Oh, wait! Words…”
The girls at the table giggle. Greg looks at Em and says, “Well, Em… You know I am going to be starting quarterback… You are going to be cheer captain. That means WE are destined to be together.”
To my surprise…and delight…she retorts, “In your dreams, Greg.” She puts a shaking arm around me and says, “I am with everyone that I want to be with, right now.”
This time, Greg turns REALLY red, but he takes a deep breath, turns on his heels, and walks off toward the back of the restaurant…
I look at Em and say, “I am proud of you, Sweetie. But you know you just outed yourself to the most dangerous person you could. I thought you weren’t ready for that?”
She is shaking like a leaf and says, “I wasn’t. I still AM not… But, well,…” She leans over and kisses me…softly, but with passion. The girls at the table all go, “Ooooooo…” Em and I both blush and Em says, “Thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what this journey will bring for either of us…”
I smile and say, “Yes, sometimes paths take you places that are very unexpected…” I take a sip of my soda and say, “Excuse me ladies, I need to go freshen up a bit…he steamed my makeup…” They all giggle and Em says, “Hang on, I will go with you…”
The two of us make our way to the restroom in the back of the restaurant, together. We pass by one of the secluded, “lover’s” tables on the way and the flash of light off of large diamond stud earrings catches my attention. I see Greg sitting there, by himself, giving us a dark look. I shudder and pull on Em’s hand; we hurry into the safety of the girl’s inner sanctum. It is a small restroom—only two stalls, but luckily, we are alone—not the usual line.
I relax and give Em a kiss. I say, “You were great! Don’t go anywhere!” I giggle and enter one of the stalls. I hear her enter the other. I am just finishing up when I hear the restroom door open. I grab my purse and open the stall door to see Greg standing between me and the LOCKED main door. Em comes out and pales.
I say, “Greg? What do you think you are doing?”
He shakes his head and says, “No girls treat me like you two just did. You are the only two girls worth having in this school and now you are telling me that you are taking each other out of the pool? Not only is that GROSS—it is not going to happen. I am going to show you what it is like to be with a MAN… Then you are going to do what I say…until I say stop. Now, which one of you wants to go first?”
Em starts screaming and he smacks her hard—drawing blood to her lip. She starts kicking and scratching and yelling. I just reach into my purse, while she has him distracted and pull out my mace.
Em is holding the bag of ice to her swollen lip. I am finishing up my statement to the policewoman. Greg is being led off in handcuffs, his eyes still swollen from the full can of mace that found its way into them; his face bleeding from Em clawing it.
My Mom and Beth’s Dad arrive at the same time. As soon as Mr. Braun found out what happened from Beth, he had gone down and gotten Mom to bring her over, since Dad is on another trip. Em’s parents are on the way, but have a bit further to drive.
Mr. Braun lets the police know that he is my legal representation, and Em’s as well, if her parents want it. The police take down his information and let him know that Greg is being charged with assault and attempted rape. They let him know that they are not sure the rape charge will stick, but, as far as they are concerned, that was his intent.”
Mr. and Mrs. Stanton arrive and it is still strange for me to see them as the parents of ‘Emily’ and not ‘Edward’. They are happy to take Mr. Braun up on his offer and we all go to the police station to file formal charges. It is there that we find out that this is not the first time that Greg has been in trouble, but never like this; I guess Em and my were too much and completely pushed him over the edge. His Dad, being who he is, has always been able to squelch the issues in the past. Mr. Braun says that he is pretty sure that Greg’s luck is now running out and that maybe some time in a juvenile facility or monitored program of some sort will enlighten him…
The next week is a dream, both literally and figuratively. Em and I become much more involved and don’t hide it from anyone, including our parents who are completely fine with it.
Carol and Gemma also become a widely known pair.
Of course, with Greg gone—and no Edward—there is no open opposition. Everyone is left alone to be and do what they choose. That does not mean everyone AGREES with those choices, but they keep those thoughts to themselves. There is also no doubt that, given time, another Edward or Greg will emerge—the world seems to have plenty of idiots to go around…
After a completely joyful week, I ask Em if she wants to go to the flea market with me. She is delighted and I ask Mom if she can drop us off. We spend some time just wandering around and looking at the booths—giggling like two teenage girls normally do at some of the things we find.
After about an hour, we arrive at THE booth and the lady smiles brightly at me. She asks, “And how are YOU today, Layla? I see that ring was put to good use.”
I glance at the ring on Em’s finger and nod. Suddenly, my world spins and…stops… No one is moving, except the lady at the booth and me. I look around nervously and ask, confused, “What…?”
The lady smile and says, “First, you can call me, ‘Esmerelda’. I think we are beyond, ‘The lady at the booth’.” She smiles at my bewildered look and says, “What? That was not hard to guess. No, I can’t read your mind. As for this…” She gestures around us, “…that is YOUR doing, not mine. You seem to be at a crossroads in the magic. I take it you have grown fond of Emily?”
I nod and say, “I really have. She is such a wonderful person—nothing like Edward.”
Esmerelda says, “But, they are one and the same person… The magic has just brought out the enlightened personality… You have to understand how the magic works. BOTH sides have power over what happens; the person that gives the gift of magic—in this case the ring—and the person that receives it. The giver has ‘ultimate control’ over the endpoint, so to speak. The receiver has a lot of control over the path they take—although, they don’t know it. Do you remember when you almost went down the path of becoming a supermodel? The ring would have allowed that path, because it did not interfere with my endpoint—getting you to see that you needed to be honest with yourself and to trust others to accept you as you really are… The ring gave you a glimpse of what that life would be, but it was up to you to choose…”
I nod, understanding WHAT she is saying, but not WHERE this is going.
She continues, “In the end, you made the journey and were content… So, the necklace’s magic withdrew and you settled into your new life; although, you still retain the knowledge, to remember the lesson—that was MY choice as the giver. It is helping shape you into the person that I hope for you to be some day.”
I give her a confused look, but she just continues, “In Emily’s case, she is still confused as to which path to ultimately take. The magic will not decide for her—so it is up to you as the giver, now. That is the responsibility you took on as the giver. Whether Edward, or Emily, the ultimate lesson has been learned…the magic is ready to relinquish its hold—but Edward/Emily is conflicted and can’t choose which to be… You are going to have to choose…”
I blink. I look at her…and a tear rolls down my face. I say, “I really want to keep my Em…but, I don’t think that is what Edward would have chosen if I hadn’t intervened. He was not TG… I don’t know if I am choosing correctly, but…”
Esmerelda smiles and says, “I knew you would choose wisely…I have high hopes for you…”
The world starts back up and I am standing next to Edward, in a cheerleader uniform. He smiles at me and says, “We better get going or we will be late. You don’t want to miss your own ceremony—being crowned as cheer captain is a BIG thing! Rhonda and Misty would KILL me! Not to mention, you have to sing the National Anthem before the game…”
He gives me a shy look and I know that in this reality, he wants to ask me out, but is too shy; I had asked him to bring me over to the flea market. I have the ring that had started his journey of enlightenment in my hand, like I had just picked it up off the table. I look at him and say, “Eddie, I LOVE this ring and am going to buy it. But…would YOU were it for me? I know it is a bit feminine, but it would show that we are going out…”
He gets a big grin and numbly nods. I put it on his finger and he hugs me. He asks, “So, you are OK if I let Clark and George know? They have been pushing me to ask you out for ages…”
I kiss him on the cheek and say, “Of course, Eddie. And while you are texting them… Esmerelda, I also need a gift for the new starting quarterback. His name is Greg and he has both ears pierced. Maybe those studs there…?”
I wink as she smiles and puts them in a small velveteen bag for me…