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From: adietrech@aol.com (A Dietrech)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Subject: Story: Journal 1/6 TG femdom, unfin

Date: 11 Dec 1994 09:00:05 -0500

Here's another good one I wish someone would finish - AD

CHAPTER I - THE DEVELOPING TEEN

Hi. I'm Chrissy Parsomes. Many boys like myself got their

start wearing girl's clothes by stumbling into cross dressing by

accident. Many tried on their sister's clothes when the family

was away from the house, or dressed as a girl for a Halloween

masquerade party. My introduction to dressing came in a more

insidious fashion. To make a long story short, my step-mother

decided that she preferred to have a daughter instead of a son,

and in one year, she and her sister converted me from a boy to a

12 year-old girl. Here's how it happened.

For most of my school career, I attended a small, private

school in NYC. My mother was a noted archaeologist, and didn't

spend much time with the family. Most of the time, she spent

months on end, digging in Africa for artifacts. My father was a

mild mannered secretary, and didn't have a lot of parenting

skills. As a result, mom enrolled me in this residential private

school beginning in third grade. I usually saw my parents twice a

year during Christmas and summer vacations.

During the fall of my eighth grade year, my father shocked

the family by announcing that he decided to divorce my mother to

marry Mrs. Locke, his boss at the company. I had met Ms. Locke a

few times when I had to get report cards signed, and knew her to

be a dominant woman whose sickeningly sweet persona seemed to

envelope everyone who came into contact with her. Strange to say,

it almost seemed like she treated everyone like a ten year old

girl. "Sweetie this", and "honey that", she always commented how

beautiful my eyelashes were, or how attractive my school uniform

looked. Although I didn't relish the thought of having this woman

as a step-mother, I was sort-of excited about the prospect of

being treated in a feminine manner.

Ever since I was eight years old, I had harbored secret

desires to live life as a girl. I spent October break of that

year at my paternal grandmother's apartment, since my parents had

been called out of town to a big anthropology convention. She

lived in a big high rise in central Manhattan. Since Halloween

happened to fall on that particular weekend, my grandmother had

accepted an invitation on my behalf to attend a costume party at

one of her neighbor's apartments. When my grandmother indicated

that she didn't have time to get me a costume, her lady friend

told my grandmother that her daughter had some pretty party

dresses that would probably fit me, and that I could come dressed

as a little girl. My grandmother thought this was a great idea,

and borrowed everything that I would need to make the

transformation complete, Pink nylon panties, white lace trimmed

anklets, Mary Jane shoes, rhumba over-panties with ruffles, a

fluffy bouffant slip with a form-fitting elastic top, and a

pretty pink satin party dress with long sheer sleeves and a pink

ribbon sash that tied in the back. Although I was a bit

apprehensive about dressing in the clothes of the opposite sex,

my grandmother convinced me how wonderful it would be. We spent

the whole afternoon before the party playing dress up, complete

with makeup, hair curlers, and fingernail polish. As soon as I

donned the first pair of nylon panties, I knew that I wanted to

be a girl. As a result, I had a great time at the party. I made a

perfect specimen of a little girl, and no one figured out on the

trip over that I was a boy dressed in little girl's clothing.

Since this dress up session was our little secret, I never told

my mom or dad about it, though the experience remained in the

forefront of my dreams for years after. Soon after, my

grandmother passed away, thus putting an end to any possibility

of wearing girl's clothes in the foreseeable future. When ever

possible, I tried on my mother's panties and slips, but the

experience wasn't the same. My mother was an avowed feminist, and

wore utilitarian cotton underwear. She never wore a bra or

stockings, so I had to make do with what was available. As a

result, I didn't have much of a chance to do anything about my

wishes to learn to be a girl.

Weird things started to happen as soon as I arrived home for

the Christmas break. Mrs. Locke (she refused to give up her

maiden name) refused to allow me to get my usual haircut. She

said that my hair was much too beautiful to cut, and that I

should start to wear it long. She required that I wash and

condition it every day, and keep it neatly styled. Every morning,

she brushed my hair into what to me looked like a girl's style,

and gave it a light coating with hair spray to keep it in place.

Occasionally, she even placed a few curlers in my hair at night

to "help keep the hair out of my eyes." I wanted to object,

because my feminine desires had been a secret between my

grandmother and I, but I had a feeling that her sweet feminine

exterior masked a dislike for males that could make my life

difficult during the coming summer. Wanting to start my

relationship with my step-mom off on the right foot, I acquiesced

to her demands.

Due to my stressful academic life, I had always been a nail

biter. As soon as she noticed me nibbling on my fingers, she

demanded that I stop biting my nails, To help with this new rule,

she began to manicure my nails, and kept them coated with clear

polish "to keep them from chipping." Soon my nails resembled

those of many of the girls in my class. Even my evening attire

changed. Pajamas were out. In their place, I found Lanz flannel

nightgowns to wear (she called them sleep shirts).

Former vacations were spent hanging around with the guys

from the old neighborhood. This vacation however, it seemed like

every minute of the day was spent shopping for girl's clothes for

Mrs. Locke's many nieces, and I often had to hold the pending

purchases while she looked for other items. This was great.

Before, the closest I ever got to girl's clothing was passing

through the department on the way to the boy's section. Now I was

able to closely examine the beginner bras, slips and dresses.

Although I was excited to be able to touch such items again, I

would have died if this had become public knowledge. Therefore it

was very embarrassing to be asked to hold dresses up against my

body, or to choose which color leotard my cousin Nancy would

like. Soon though, it happened so many times that I wasn't even

embarrassed to carry nylon, ruffled panties, tights or slips to

the register for payment.

The worst part of the whole deal came about when she

suddenly took me out of my old boarding school, and registered me

at a place that I had never heard of called the Petite Fille

Academy. Not only did I have to spend my last week of vacation

filling out reams of paperwork, but I also had to go for a

physical exam with the school physician.

After the usual array of questions, followed by the typical

tests that one expects during such an exam, the doctor told my

step-mother that I was suffering from a serious vitamin

deficiency, and that starting immediately, she would have to put

me on a year long, vitamin treatment program. The doctor gave me

an injection right there in the office, and handed my mother a

prescription for vitamins to be filled at the school pharmacy.

The vitamins were unlike anything I had ever seen. They looked

like big purple footballs.

I entered my new school at the end of January, and settled

into a routine not completely different from my old school. The

Petite Fille Academy was a former girls finishing school, that

decided to admit boys. Although a coed school now, most of the

students were girls. The few boys, if you could call them that,

looked like hippies, with long hair, and fair features. Most wore

clothes that looked more like girl's slacks and blouses than boys

pants. No football players, or jocks here. All seemed effeminate

to varying degrees. School uniforms were gray slacks and white

shirts for the boys, and navy blue pleated skirts, white tights,

white shiny blouses and black mary janes for the girls. If it

wasn't for the girl's skirts, I wouldn't be able to tell the

difference between the girls and many of the boys.

Despite my adoption of a routine, the change of scenery

seemed to prompt a similar change in my personality. Despite

taking the vitamins every day, I felt sort of weak, and quite a

bit laid back. I originally missed the fact that PF Academy

lacked soccer, baseball and track, but after three weeks at the

school, I rarely thought about these male activities any more. I

actually began to enjoy the home ec, dance and baton twirling

classes. I was spending a lot of time hanging around with the

girls on my hall, and soon fit in with the group as one of the

girls. Talking about boyfriends, makeup and fashions was much

more interesting than sports, or cars.

Before I knew it, summertime rolled around, and I was

excited about the prospect of seeing all of my old friends back

in New York. Unfortunately, my step mother had other ideas. As

soon as I arrived home, she told me that I was going to spend the

summer at her sister's house in San Francisco, and that I would

be flying out of JFK the next morning.

The next morning, I discovered that Mrs. Locke had already

packed my suitcase, and while she had packed toiletries, a Lanz

nightshirt, and a few other items, she neglected to include all

of my clothes. For some reason, I had gained a lot of weight in

the hips that semester, and nothing seemed to fit. I told my step

mom before I arrived home about this weight gain, and she told me

not to worry. She promised to take me shopping as soon as I got

home. When I asked about the missing clothes, she told me that

since nothing fit, there was no point in carrying clothes on the

plane. My aunt would take me shopping when I arrived in

California.

CHAPTER II - CALIFORNIA CHANGES

When I arrived in California, Ms. Locke's sister picked me

up at the airport. Aunt Clara was the same age and had the same

build as my step mother, but was considerably more domineering. I

quickly learned that she didn't like boys very much, and was only

letting me stay with her to give her sister a break from child

care chores. She informed me that she didn't want me hanging

around all summer, so she had already arranged for me to get a

summer job working for a friend of hers. She had already

scheduled an interview during the next afternoon, and warned me

not to blow it. She told me that if I gave her any aggravation, I

might find myself in summer school instead of on vacation.

Needless to say, I wasn't thrilled, but went along with her

demands. I figured a job was a lot better than summer school. I

asked her when we could go shopping for clothes for me to wear,

but she indicated that the shopping trip could wait. Her friend

would provide me with a uniform for work time, and she had a few

things that would fit me in the interim.

The next morning, Aunt Clara took me downtown for my

interview, which happened to be at a Doctor's office. Dr Jennifer

Nelson was a friend of Aunt Clara's and needed someone to do

basic office work, and filing. Although Dr. Nelson kept asking me

a lot of questions about my skills, and experience, I got the

sense that the interview was just a formality. At the end of our

meeting, she offered me the job, and told me to show up tomorrow,

at 9:00 AM sharp. While I was putting on my jacket, Dr. Nelson

told my aunt that she could pick up my uniforms at the Angels of

Mercy uniform shop down the street. Her secretary would take care

of phoning in the style and size information so that the order

would be ready that afternoon.

CHAPTER III - MY NEW UNIFORM

The next morning, my aunt woke me up at 5:00 AM to get me ready

for my first day at work. My aunt told me that she wanted me to

look very attractive for my new boss, and that she had picked up

everything I needed when she paid for the uniforms during the

prior afternoon. After climbing out of my nightshirt, my aunt led

me to a bubbly, lilac scented bath of steaming water. After a

good soak, my aunt washed and conditioned my hair, and then

picked up a pink girl's razor. She told me that the new uniforms

were very expensive and made of a very delicate fabric that would

pull if I didn't have smooth skin. Despite my fantasies of being

a girl, I had never had any part of my body shaved. When I pulled

my legs away from her, she grabbed them and told me that she

didn't spend all that money on clothes to have me ruin them the

first week. Within five minutes, my legs and underarms were

smooth and shiny, and I was out of the tub drying myself with a

fluffy pink towel. When I was dried off, my aunt wrapped my hair

in a towel so she could make it 'look nice' after I got dressed,

hung the wet bath towel over the rod, and stood me on the bath

mat. I began to protest when she grabbed the scented, women's

body powder, but she began dusting me with the sweet smelling

powder anyway. In a tone that indicated that she rapidly losing

patience with me, she said that perspiration would also ruin the

uniform, and that the powder and extra strong deodorant would

help to keep me dry. When I told her that I would prefer straight

baby powder and men's deodorant, she snapped that she wouldn't

waste the money to buy me special toiletries when I was leaving

in three months. Her things would have to do.

She coated my underarms with her deodorant, and told me to

keep my arms up while the feminine lotion dried. She went into

the adjoining bedroom to get what I thought was my only pair of

boy's underpants.

When she returned, I couldn't believe what she held in her

hand. Panties! She walked over to the padded dressing bench

across from the tub in the bathroom, and proceeded to lay out a

brand new pair of nylon girl's panties, a package of shimmery

white tights, a satin girl's vest, and a boxed control brief for

teenagers. I backed up toward the wall, and proceeded to tell her

that there was no way I was going to wear girl's underwear. I

told her that women's toiletries were one thing, but girl's

undies were another.

"I wouldn't be caught dead in clothes like those" I said.

"Well you don't have a choice deary! Dr. Nelson's choice of

uniform material necessitates underthings that are slippery and

shiny to avoid pulls and wrinkles. If you try to wear the uniform

with boy's things, it'll ruin the expensive material. Besides,

you have to interface with the public in your new job, and will

have to look your best. You can't look your best with a wrinkly,

poorly fitting uniform."

"Why couldn't we take it back?" I asked "and exchange it for

more durable material?"

"Because" she glared with her hands on her hips, "Dr. Nelson

picked out the uniform herself, and that is what she wants you to

wear. Besides, it's too late to do anything about it right now.

You have to get to work."

She picked up the white panties, and began removing the

tags. The panties were cut very high on the leg opening, and had

a small, triangular shaped, lace panel on the front. The material

was almost satin-like in quality, and as my Aunt guided my feet

into the openings and slid them up my smooth legs, the soft

material caused my penis to begin to get bigger. "See, that's why

you need to wear a girdle dear" she giggled. "We can't have that

bulging out of your pants." She tucked my penis down between my

legs and finished pulling the panties up to my waist. I thought

that my weight gain would make me difficult to fit, but I

discovered that the panties fit perfectly. Although I was very

embarrassed standing in front of my Aunt in a pair of pretty

panties, I suddenly realized how nice they looked and felt

against the hips, made chubby by the starchy school food. The

high cut leg opening showed a lot of my leg, and the stretchy

satin really made my bottom look....well....pretty. A smile crept

over my face as I surveyed myself in the mirror.

"Enough admiration dear. We have a lot to do."

She led me away from the mirror and over to the bench. I

suddenly noticed something interesting. The stern, domineering

demeanor that initially characterized her attitude that morning

had melted into a doting, mother hen-type personality, that

seemed to increase with every garment that I put on. Instructing

me to put my hands over my head, she picked up the white, satin

vest and lowered it over my clean shaven body. The edges of the

vest were lined with a small, frilly lace, and a shiny bow

adorned the bodice at the neckline. She tucked the end of the

vest into my panties, and sat me down on the bench. She next

picked up the white tights and began removing them from the

package.

Aunt Clara said that shimmery tights were a lot shinier than

plain stockings, which would help keep my uniform nice and new.

She took the white garment from the package, rolled up a leg and

placed the toe over my arched extended foot. She helped me to my

feet, and soon the stretchy top covered my pretty white panties.

"Don't you love the way pretty stockings make your legs look

so shapely? That's why girls wear them dear. You're going to look

fantastic in your uniform."

"Yes Aunty" I replied like some zombie from a late night

horror film. The material did indeed glisten in the light from

the vanity mirror. I felt like I was in a dream world. The sweet

aroma of the bath powder coupled with the soft caresses of my new

underthings took away all of the misgivings I had about dressing

up in front of my aunt. I suddenly looked forward to trying on my

new uniform and joining the ranks of the working world as a young

woman.

"I know you do dear. You just wait to see how much fun we

are going to have in the next couple of months. I know you'll be

happy that you decided to stay with Aunty Clara. Now then, lets

try on your first girdle."

She looked at me with a wry look on her face. "I remember

when my mother bought me my first girdle. Normally girls your age

don't start wearing girdles until they are teenagers. Your only

eleven right?"

I nodded, transfixed by her voice.

"I am sure that your mother wouldn't mind you starting early

though. This is so pretty and will give you such a nice smooth

outline under your uniform. See, it's designed especially for

young teenagers just like you!" She took out the garment, and

handed me the now empty box.

I blushed when I looked at the picture of the teenaged girl

modeling the girdle. She too was wearing stockings, but she also

was wearing lots of makeup and a girl's bra over her young,

developing figure.

The box read:

"The perfect first panty girdle for today's modern teen."

It was written as if the advertising women were talking to a

teen's mother or aunt.

"Helps her stay smooth under all of her fashions. Satin

front panel gives firm support to the just developing figure.

Lycra spandex blend provides cool, comfortable support in school,

at home or out on the town. Ideal for pre-teens just starting to

show."

I giggled nervously.

"Maybe I need to start wearing a bra too?" I looked sweetly

into her eyes as she removed the tags from the girl's girdle.

"Tsk Tsk Tsk. I really don't think you're quite ready for a

bra yet dear. After all, boys don't have much to put into one!"

I suddenly awakened from my dreamy state, and remembered

that I was a boy dressed in panties and tights. I felt very

embarrassed with the comment and tears started coming to my eyes.

"It's ok dear. Don't cry honey." She put her arms around me

and buried my face in the nylon of her lacy blouse.

"All boys would love to do what you are doing, but they just

don't get the chance. I promise that I'll take you shopping for a

bra when you're ready."

Her smile made me relax, even though I couldn't tell if she

was kidding or being serious. On one hand, I wanted to fantasize

what it would feel like to be the girl on the box, wearing a

satiny training bra. On the other hand, I was a boy, and was

going along with this uniform to stay out of summer school. She

turned to me with the girdle in her hand and lifted my chin.

"Would you someday like to play dress up with Aunty, and wear a

dress like a real girl? Maybe then Aunty can teach you about

makeup, hair styling, slips, and dresses. Would you like that

dear?" Her gaze melted into my heart. I nodded, wiping the tears

from my eyes.

"I'll bet you'd look beautiful in a pretty petticoat and

heels." She dropped my chin and held up the new girdle, and

squatted down next to me. "Anyway, we have to get moving if we're

not going to be late. Step into the legs dear."

I did what I was told, and soon, the tight, elastic garment

was in place covering my male appendage. With the girdle, there

was no bump or bulge to give away the fact that I was a boy in

girl's clothes. Despite the fact that many of the girls in the

upper grades of my school always complained about the girdles

that were mandatory attire for female students over the age of

13, I enjoyed the feeling of security that the garment provided.

My cute buns that suddenly chubbed out during the last year at

school, looked firm and toned under the white elastic. I secretly

hoped that I would be able to wear my new girdle all summer, even

under my boy's clothes.

It was almost as if she read my mind. "Now then. There's

enough underthings in your dresser to carry you for the week.

There's no point in buying any boy's underwear since you will not

have a need for it five days out of seven. You'll have to wear

your panties and vest on weekends. You don't mind do you?"

I was back under her spell. "No ma'am. Can I wear my girdle

too?"

She responded "Of course dear. I didn't buy socks for you so

you'll have to wear tights. Tights stay up so much better with a

girdle. Next summer, you'll be old enough to wear a girdle with

garters and stockings just like Aunty. Besides you have to keep

working on that figure!" She laughed as she led me out into the

bed room. She sat me down on the bed, picked up the dry cleaning

bag, and unzipped the plastic covering. That's when I got my

first look at my uniform.

Dr. Nelson choice was obviously designed for a girl. The

slacks were white polyester like those worn by most nurses. They

zipped and buttoned in the back, and had been tailored to my

waist measurement since there was no elastic in the waistband.

The top was a plain, white polyester blouse, with buttons in the

back. The material was very similar to the nylon on the front of

my panty girdle, all shiny and slippery. My aunt unbuttoned the

blouse, and after helping me into the sleeves, buttoned up the

back. Unfortunately, there was a problem.

"Hmm. This won't do at all. I can see your vest right

through the thin fabric of the blouse, and it looks terrible. The

vest is too clingy. You look like a little girl. I guess you'll

have to borrow one of my camisoles. She left the room, and soon,

returned with a plain nylon camisole with spaghetti straps. Off

came the blouse and vest, and on went the camisole.

"Much better dear" as she buttoned up the blouse again. "For

now you can borrow mine, but this afternoon, I will pick you up a

few at the store."

Next came the slacks, which she helped me pull up over my

hips. When zipped and buttoned, the slacks fit over my chubby

hips like a glove.

"These slacks fit you much better than your boy's jeans. You

have hips just like a teenage girl." She picked up the white

nurses shoes and began lacing them up onto my feet. She noticed

my blushing embarrassed look and took my hand.

"Don't be embarrassed dear. All members of this family have

big hips. There's no real difference between boys jeans and

junior jeans, except in the hip area. You really should wear

what's comfortable. Don't you agree that you do fit better in

these slacks?"

I nodded my head. She stepped behind me and put her hands on

my hips.

"See, they hug your hips smoothly, but also fit your smaller

waist. Boy's jeans are the same width from the hips up. Your own

pants are tight in the hips and baggy in the waist. You even told

me yourself."

She took me by the hand and led me over to her dressing

table. After a bit of hair spray, some work with a curling iron,

and some powder and blush for my cheeks (to absorb oil and

prevent acne she said), she pronounced me ready for work. We

climbed into the car, and drove me to the office promising to

pick me up by 5:00 PM.

CHAPTER IV - FINALLY WORKING

When Dr. Nelson arrived, she immediately complemented me on

my uniform and overall dress. She told me that my aunt had done a

great job with me, and that I looked very professional for my

first day of work. I commented that I thought I looked too

feminine, but she reassured me that all medical office help

dressed this way. She said that it calmed the patients. She even

complemented me on my camisole indicating that it looked more

stylish than girlish.

Soon I was busy at work, greeting patients, sorting files,

and stuffing envelopes with bills. By the end of the day, I had

already become a functional part of the office staff. All of the

secretaries and other nurses agreed that I was a perfect addition

to the office. The good news was that by the end of the day, I

was on a first name basis with everyone. The bad news was that

the chief secretary had introduced me as Chrissy to a patient,

and the name stuck. After trying to straighten out the mistake, I

finally gave in, and started introducing myself as Chrissy.

My regime of vitamin taking continued. By this time, Dr.

Nelson had taken over my therapy, and along with administering

the shots, advised continuation with the pills.

Things were also changing at Aunt Clara's house. When I got

home from work, I would change out of my uniform, and help Aunty

cook dinner. Then after washing the dishes, my aunt would

manicure my nails (to make sure they were presentable to the

public).

"Dirty chipped nails are not sanitary in a doctor's office"

she said, and would spend 1/2 hour per night removing cuticles,

filing nails, and applying two coats of clear nail polish as a

protector. I kept my nails long on account of my step mother's

attempts to stop my nail biting, so by the end of the week, my

nails were as long any woman's.

When I asked Aunt Clara to cut them, she forbid me to touch

my nails because I would surely mess them up, and told me she

would cut them in time. "Besides" she said, "office girls need

long nails to work with all that paper. You do want them to

consider you to be one of the girls don't you?" As a result, my

long nails stayed.

CHAPTER V - FROM BOY TO GIRL

That Sunday night offered the first inkling that my aunt was

trying to change me into a girl. All week, I had been wearing my

Lanz night shirt to bed, and lately had noticed that the flannel

felt weird against my shaved skin. The cotton really itched, and

I couldn't get to sleep. I complained to my aunt about it, and on

Wednesday, she bought me some pink cotton panties, hoping that

the soft cotton would reduce the irritation. It didn't work. They

felt too much like my boy's underpants.

By Sunday night, my aunt had lost all patience with me. My

tossing and turning all week had kept my aunt from getting a good

night sleep, and my her domineering attitude had returned in

spades. After a thorough bath, leg shaving, and powdering, she

sat me down in my panties and nightgown and began to work on my

nails. That's when the problems started.

"Did you get the clear polish that I asked you to pick up

when you went to the drug store?." She stopped filing and looked

up at me.

I looked at her blankly and responded "What polish? You only

told me to get Kleenex and Shampoo." After last night's dinner,

my aunt had sent me to the local drug store.

"I told you to get clear polish for your nails. I used the

last of it yesterday, and told you to pick up some more. How did

you forget?" I sensed that she was getting angry.

"I'm sorry aunty. I didn't mean to forget. I'll walk over

tomorrow after work to pick some up."

"So what am I suppose to put on your nails tonight, dearie?

Unreal! Sometimes boys can be so stupid!" She looked up at me

with disgust.

"Well, nothing I guess. Tonight we can skip the polish and

I'll be extra careful not to break a nail." I sensed that I had

better find a way to quickly end this argument.

"And ruin a week's worth of my work? You really are stupid.

I'm not going to let you out of this chair until you have a coat

on those nails."

A sinister smirk crossed her face. "I guess I'll have to use

Pink." She reached for a bottle of Marvelous Mauve polish and

grabbed my hand.

"Please aunty, I'll be the laughingstock of the office. I

can't wear pink. Please!"

"Pink will match your beautiful new pink blouse I bought you

this afternoon. A femme boy like you will love it. It has lace

around the collar and is very see through. All the women will be

able to see your new camisole!. You'll be so pretty when you go

to work on Monday! Now hold still or I'll send you to work in a

dress."

She locked my hand to the table, and soon, all ten

fingernails and toe nails were painted a beautiful shade of pink.

When they were dry, she sent me up to my room to get ready for

bed.

Then things got worse. That evening, my cotton nightgown

really felt uncomfortable. For some reason, my breasts were very

sensitive. Perhaps it was due to the extra-close shaving that my

aunt performed on my body, or perhaps I was upset over the

feminine manicure. I kept tossing and turning and couldn't fall

asleep.

After yelling at me three times to quiet down, Aunt Clara

finally lost her temper. Turning on the lights, she stormed into

the room.

"Well sissy boy. Don't like your night shirt hmm? Well

perhaps nightshirts are too masculine for sissies like you!"

She jerked me out of bed onto the floor. Off came the Lanz,

and cotton panties. Leaving me naked, she stormed back to her

room with my night clothes. Soon she returned.

"If you're going to whine like a girl, then I'm going to

treat you just like a little girl. Put this on for aunty,

precious."

She held out a mound of pink satin. When I held it up, I

realized it was a pink baby doll nighty with matching ruffled

rhumba panties just like little girls would wear.

"Put these on first." She threw a pair of plain, pink satin

girl's panties, and a pair of pink, shimmery tights into my face.

"Please aunty, I promise I'll be good. Just bring back my

night shirt" I begged her to give me another chance.

"You're giving me so much trouble that I think I'll send you

to work tomorrow in a dress. Just like a little sissy." She

smiled at the tears running down my face.

"Ok. Ok. Please not that. I'll do as you say." I ran over to

the bed, and quickly donned the panties and tights.

"Now, pull the lacy panties up over the tights. Aren't they

precious honey? So feminine for such a pretty little girl." She

picked up the rhumba panties from the bed and handed them to me.

I immediately pulled them over my tights. Next, she picked up the

nighty and dropped it over my head. As usual, she had picked my

size, and the puffed sleeves hung perfectly over my body.

"Such a pretty little princess. You look just like a fairy.

From now on, this is how you will dress after dinner to get your

nails done. Tomorrow, I am even going to buy you new baby dolls,

so you never have to wear those awful night shirts again. Now go

to bed little one. Give aunty a kissy." She walked out of the

room, and turned out the lights.

The next morning, Aunty allowed me to dress myself in the

usual panties, white tights, and girdle. As promised, I kept my

pink nails, which did indeed match my new blouse and matching

pink camisole. Aunty said that she bought me a pink camisole

because she didn't want my lingerie to show under the blouse. The

material was so sheer however, that I knew everyone could easily

see the lace trim and satin bow on the front. Luckily the day

proceeded uneventfully. All of my fellow secretaries commented

how nice my nails looked, and how impressed they were that I

wanted my nail color to match my new blouse. I figured that they

would object to having a boy dress in such a feminine manner, but

they told me that they appreciated my aunt's efforts to make me

fit in with the rest of the staff.

CHAPTER VI - FAIRY FOR A WEEK

The rest of the week flew by. Every day, my aunt would drop

me off at the doctor's office, and would pick me up after work.

On Friday, my feminization really shifted into first gear. When

I was cleaning up my desk at the end of the day, Dr. Nelson told

me that Aunt Clara had called, and had asked her to drive me

home. Aunty told Dr. Nelson that she was entertaining a friend

and couldn't come to pick me up. I grabbed my new purse that my

aunt had bought for me to hold my powder and climbed into Dr.

Nelson's car.

On the ride home, I really felt grown up. Dr. Nelson told me

how much the other secretaries liked having me as an office

assistant. She told me that initially, she wasn't sure how well I

was going to fit in with the all-girl office, but after seeing me

work, she was happy to see how much effort I expended to get

along with everyone. She told me that "the girls" especially

liked the new additions to my wardrobe, and they all hoped that I

would continue to wear such pretty clothes with my uniform

slacks.

"The girls are very conscientious about their appearance"

Dr. Nelson said, "and were concerned that you might clash with

their clothes." From these comments, I could only assume that I

was really becoming one of the girls. Instead of feeling

embarrassed about my pink nails and see through blouse like last

night, I now felt proud about how well I was getting along with

my co-workers. Not proud enough though, to meet my Aunt's friend

dressed in such a feminine manner.

When Dr. Nelson dropped me at the end of the driveway, I

quietly entered the house through the back door, and crept

upstairs. I changed into the single pair of ill-fitting boy's

jeans, and my old gray sweatshirt, and proceeded to wash off the

makeup, that made me look so much like a girl. I headed

downstairs for supper.

When I rounded the corner into the dining room, I couldn't

believe what I saw. There, on the dining room table, amidst the

coffee cups and raspberry danish crumbs lay my rhumba panties,

tights and baby doll nighty.

"Well look who's home from work. Our own fairy princess.

Chrissy dear, say hello to Mrs. Morgan. I was just showing her

your pretty panties, tights and nighty, and telling her how much

you love dressing up like a cute little girl. Isn't that right?"

I couldn't respond. I was shocked that my Aunt would betray

my confidence to the outside world.

"Mrs. Morgan is putting on a play at the girl's club, and

her head fairy is sick. I'll bet you'd love to take her place!"

All I could do was shake my head. My mouth was frozen shut. How

could this be happening?

Mrs. Morgan got a doubtful look on her face. "Gee Clara,

Chrissy does appear to be the right size, but I honestly don't

think he would look anything like a girl."

My aunt smiled and quickly responded. "Well, why don't you

see for yourself. I am sure Chrissy would love to model her

pretty new things. She always did want to go to modeling school."

"Aunty, please no." My eyes pleaded for leniency from my

Aunt's strange sense of humor. Unfortunately, Mrs. Morgan seemed

to warm to the idea of seeing a boy dressed up as a girl.

"Clara, what a great idea. I would love to see Chrissy

dressed in her baby doll and panties. Can I give you a hand?"

My aunt grabbed my hand and started to lead me up the stairs

to the bedroom. "Grab Chrissy's undies, and lets get started."

Mrs. Morgan picked up the panties, tights, and nighty, and the

two women herded me upstairs.

I tried to fight them as they dragged me toward the bedroom,

but the two women were much stronger than I. By the time I got to

my Aunt's bedroom, I had no strength left in my body. Mrs. Morgan

pulled the sweatshirt over my head, while Aunt Clara, unbuttoned

my jeans, and pulled my underpants down to my ankles. By this

time the sweatshirt was over my head, holding my arms from

moving. Someone pushed me down onto my back, and in one fell

swoop, I was naked on the bed.

"I'm going to throw these boy's clothes in the trash

compactor. Since I dressed him last night, I'll let you have the

honors tonight." My aunt headed down the stairs carrying the last

tie to my masculine life. Considering the circumstances, I

decided to plead for clemency.

"Please Mrs. Morgan. I'm so embarrassed. Just tell Aunty

that I am the wrong size, and let me go. Please? Can't you

understand how humiliating it is to wear these things?" I pointed

to the pile of satin in her hands. Suddenly, this hateful look

crossed her face.

"Of course. That's why I want to take part in making you

Aunty's pretty little princess. I already know that you'll fit

into Melissa's costume, but I've always wanted to dress a boy as

a girl. Now I have the perfect opportunity to do as I wish with

my own little boy! And let me tell you sister, if you think that

this is bad, you just wait. You think you'll just be able to wear

your costume over your jeans? Guess again. I am going to do

everything I can to make you into a proper little girl. Just wait

'till dress rehearsal. You do know why they call it dress

rehearsal don't you?!"

I shook my head.

Well you'll find out soon enough. Now then, unless you want

me to tell your aunt to send you to work in a dress, I would

suggest we get started." She picked up the plain panties, knelt

in front of me, and held open the waist. "Let's see how Chrissy

puts on her satiny panties."

Resigned to my fate, I lifted my shaved leg, and pointed my

toe toward the floor. Mrs. Morgan put the opening, first under my

right foot and then under my left, slid the panties up my legs,

and covered my private parts.

"See dear. Don't these feel so pretty? Much better than

those nasty briefs. Now, lets get your tights." She picked up the

pink Danskins.

"Oooh, shimmery tights. Aunty really knows how to make her

little boy pretty." She rolled the toe of the stockings over my

feet, and carefully pulled them up over my bottom.

As the tights reached my waist, my aunt reentered the

bedroom.

"Doesn't he make an adorable niece?" my aunt gushed as she

surveyed her nephew, once again clad in panties and pink tights.

"Absolutely. You know you were right. This IS much better

than having a daughter." She picked up the lacy, rhumba panties,

and held them up to my aunt.

"Where on earth did you get these? They are so adorable? I

didn't think that anyone sold these anymore." Not waiting for an

answer, she pulled them over my tights before my aunt could

respond.

"The Proper Princess in Santa Clara of course. The

proprietors are a couple of elderly women who remember just how

prettily girls dressed back in the sixties. They have factories

in the Orient that make old fashioned petticoats, rhumba panties,

bouffant slips, girdles, garter belts and sweater bras, all for

girls from 5 - teen. Of course, they also stock things for

special boys like Chrissy. You should see some of the Nylon party

dresses that they have in the shop. Chrissy would look great in a

party dress. I even saw some satin, sanitary napkin belts for

teenagers there. Talk about sugar and spice and everything nice!"

Without looking up from the task of adjusting the fit of my

lacy overpanty, Mrs. Morgan continued with the conversation.

"Wow. You don't see those things around much any more. I

always thought belted napkins were much more feminine than those

stick in kind. Did you buy Chrissy one? She might be having her

period soon!" Both women burst out laughing.

"No not yet. I think it is still too early for Chrissy to

make the transition from childhood to young womanhood. All in due

time thought. I did tell them about Chrissy, and they thought

that having a nephew who really wanted to be a niece was divine.

They told me to bring our Chrissy in anytime to start building a

wardrobe suitable for an eleven year old."

By this time, Mrs. Morgan had lowered the baby doll over my

head, and was fluffing my hair.

"Well, are you going to take her shopping?" I looked up in

horror, waiting for the answer that might determine my future

fate.

"Well, maybe. It depends on whether or not Chrissy behaves

himself." Aunty looked at her friend. "See, didn't I tell you

that Chrissy would make a perfect pixie."

Mrs. Morgan looked at me and spun me around to get a good

look at my new clothes. "Chrissy. I never would have believed it,

but you look absolutely exquisite. Just like a ten year old

girl." She reinforced my humiliation by patting my panty clad

bottom. I felt sick to my stomach, and slumped onto the bed.

Mrs. Morgan went on.

"Let me tell you about the production dear." She sat down

next to me on the bed. "I am the director of a play being staged

by the Carlisle Academy Girls Theater Company. It's called "The

Fairy Princess in Pixieland", and it's all about this little girl

who dreams that she travels to the land of Pixies, and is changed

into a fairy princess. The play opens in one week, and one of our

head pixies has come down with a dreadful case of stomach flu.

The problem is that we have already ordered all of the costumes,

and none of the stand ins are the right size. I happened to

mention our little problem to your aunt, and she mentioned how

much you enjoyed your school theater group, and how much you'd

love to join our little production. And guess what? You really

ARE the perfect size for the costume. Now I know that we have an

all girls theater company, but you shouldn't have any trouble.

After all, in your nighty, you really do look just like one of

the girls."

She continued. "Now the part is real easy. There are no

lines to memorize or anything. All you have to do is sit there,

and smile pretty. You'll even get to wear stage makeup like a

grownup!" She seemed to enjoy the fact that I couldn't blush more

if I tried.

On one hand, I really wanted to say yes, but would be

mortified to go out in front of people dressed like that.

Besides, I was so angry over this intentional humiliation at the

hands of my aunt, I had no intention on cooperating. I took two

deep breaths, and responded.

"Thank you Mrs. Morgan, but I don't think so. I have to wear

these pajamas because I am allergic to the cotton nightshirts

that my mom bought for me. I don't really want to be one of the

girls." Things were proceeding so fast, that I was terrified that

this "one of the girls" thing was getting too far out of hand.

Suddenly my aunt dropped a bombshell. "Well dear, if you

aren't one of the girls, then why are you wearing pink nail

polish? Perhaps you'd also like to show Mrs. Morgan your new

panty girdle." She turned to Mrs. Morgan. "How many boys do you

know who wear teen panty girdles? He even asked if we could go

shopping for a training bra."

Aunt Clara surveyed my satin-clad body. "Perhaps we should.

Do you think he is ready for his first bra? He's only eleven you

know!"

Mrs. Morgan looked at my aunt and smiled. "Clara, you really

are still living in the sixties. A training bra is very

appropriate for an eleven year old. Some girls in our theater

troupe who wear them are only ten years old. Now then how about

it Chrissy? Do you really want to go shopping for your first bra,

and be in our production?"

Darn! I forgot that my nails were still pink from last

night's session. It was obvious that this was a set up and that I

couldn't get out of this mess. Sensing victory, my aunt didn't

wait for me to respond.

"Of course Chrissy would love to be in your play. When does

rehearsal start?" She shot a triumphant look in my direction.

Mrs. Morgan turned to me and held my hands. "Marvelous.

Final rehearsals start on Monday at 6:00 PM. I'll bring over the

costume tomorrow afternoon to see if any alterations are

necessary. Otherwise, have her there at 6:00 on Monday." Mrs.

Morgan's face was beaming.

"As far as a bra goes, we'll have to see how developed

Chrissy is when I bring the costume over for her to try." Mrs.

Morgan winked at my aunt, and began gathering up her things.

I tried to muster as much masculine determination as

possible. "I am not a her, and I don't need a bra!" I stood up

and crossed my hands in front of me in an attempt to hide my

feminine fingernails.

"Let us be the judge of that young lady." Both women

giggled. "We can't have your boobies bouncing around under your

pixie costume, now can we?" The giggles turned to laughter as

both women headed for the door.

As Aunt Clara bid Mrs. Morgan good-bye, I sat back in the

chair, too weary to contemplate my latest humiliation.

"I'm not doing it. I am not a girl, and I don't like being

called one. Who do you think I am? Your niece? Get real!" I

turned away with disgust.

"Enough of that impertinence young lady. Let's get something

straight." She grabbed my chin tightly in her hand, and looked me

straight in the eyes. "If I tell you that you are a girl, then

you will be a girl!. I can easily send photos of you in your

nighty to your mother, or your friends at school. I can dress you

in skirts, and send you out for a quart of milk. What I say goes,

and you'd better do EXACTLY as I say. Otherwise, I'm going to

make this 1000 times worse for you!"

She released my chin, and sat down on the bed. "I told Jane

that you would help her out, and you are going to follow through

on that promise.

What choice did I have? I already knew how much she enjoyed

humiliating me. If I refused the part, she would make sure that

everyone knew that I was a sissy boy, a femme, or a fairy. If I

did go along, I might be able to keep this humiliating summer

under wraps. Besides, despite what Mrs. Morgan threatened,

costumes did go over your original clothes, and I probably could

wear my boy's underpants and socks to cement my status in front

of these other girls. Aunty would HAVE to go along with that.

And the bra stories? Probably just designed to scare me into

going along with the deal. What did I have to put in a bra

anyway?

"all right, I agree. But as long as you promise to cool the

girl stuff from now on!"

"Of course dearest, your the sweetest!" She kissed me on the

forehead. "I'll even let you wear your nightshirt tonight,

instead of your baby doll. See, I know that you want to be

Aunty's little man." She strode over to the closet, opened the

door, and lifted my nightshirt out of the laundry basket.

"Oh, I'm sorry Chrissy. I didn't wash your nightshirt. You

don't mind wearing your baby doll to bed do you? I promise to

wash it tomorrow." She kissed me again and hugged me to her body.

Mrs. Morgan 'the bitch' was gone, and the sweet, loving mother

figure had returned. She was being so sweet and all, that I

totally believed her words.

"No aunty. I don't mind." Besides, the nylon did feel much

better than the cotton.

"Perfect. Now go brush your teeth, and I'll see you in the

morning. You'll have to find something to keep you busy tomorrow.

I have a long report to write for work on Monday, and I can't be

disturbed. Now I suggest that you hit the sack. It's really

getting late."

After I brushed my teeth, she led me over to my bed, and

tucked in the covers around me. "Isn't Mrs. Morgan nice?" she

exclaimed as she turned out the lights.

As I closed my eyes, I said to myself "Yeah. Mrs. Morgan is

perfect....as a witch." Secretly, I was enjoying the opportunity

to fulfill many childhood fantasies about becoming a girl, but my

transformation was proceeding along much too fast. I hoped that

soon, things would get better, and this girlish stuff would slow

down. I didn't know how wrong I was.

CHAPTER 7 - THE COSTUME

Due to all the stress of the previous evening's activities,

I hoped to sleep past my usual weekend wake up time of 9:00 AM.

Unfortunately, I didn't count on my aunt's plans. At 7:00, my

aunt breezed into my room, pulled up the shades, leaving me

blinking in the strong sun.

"Wake up dearest. Today's costume fitting day! Mrs. Morgan

just called and came up with a great idea. She suggested that you

attend this weekend's afternoon rehearsals to get a feel for your

part. Since I have work to do, Mrs. Morgan suggested that you

could stay with her for the weekend, and she would take you to

the theater. Isn't that sweet of her?"

"Indubitably." I tried to muster as much sarcasm as

possible. Somehow I knew that this would not be as simple as a

lift to rehearsal, but I didn't see that I had much choice in the

matter.

She pulled off my covers and headed for the bathroom. "I'll

run your bath, and while your in the tub, I'll lay out your

clothes. Mrs. Morgan lent you some boyish slacks and shirts that

belonged to her daughter. I told her about your chubby hips, and

she thought that these would fit you instead of buying brand new

clothes. I'll leave your undies on the chair."

Resigned to my fate, I took off the baby doll, panties, and

tights, and after putting them in the laundry basket, I grabbed a

fresh towel and headed for the bathroom. As I hung up the towel

next to the hot, steaming tub, I noticed the usual pink nylon

panties, and one of my girdles. Instead of tights and a camisole,

I found the girl's satin vest that I tried on during my first day

at work, and a pair of white, opaque, shiny knee high stockings.

I turned toward the door, and yelled down the hall

"Aunty, where are my tights and camisole, and how come I

have to wear these other things?"

My aunt poked her head into the bathroom. "Because silly. In

Dr. Nelson's office, you have to fit in with a group that is much

older than yourself. At Sunday's rehearsal, you be with girls who

are younger just like you. Besides, Mrs. Morgan sent them along

with the slacks and shirts. Now hurry up. Mrs. Morgan is

expecting you in 3/4 of an hour. Make sure you shave your legs

too. They are getting stubbly. Don't bother with your hair. You

don't have time this morning."

I didn't see any stubble, but did as I was told anyway. In

fifteen minutes, I quickly completed my bath, took care of my

legs and underarms, and quickly rinsed off the suds from the

bubble bath. I hopped out of the tub, dried my smooth body,

dusted myself with bath powder, applied deodorant, and slid on

the undergarments laying on the dressing bench. I hurried into my

aunt's bedroom.

There on the bed, lay a pair of pale blue stirrup pants, a

soft pullover sweater and a lavender blouse with buttons on the

front. I pulled on the pants, pulled the stirrup under my feet,

buttoned up my blouse, and pulled on my sweater. My aunt combed

my hair with a part in the middle, and after a few dabs of facial

powder, we were ready to go. We hopped in the car, and drove

across town to Mrs. Morgan's neighborhood. With a kiss on the

face, she dropped me off in front of the house, and drove away as

I rang the bell. Almost as soon as I pushed the doorbell, the

door opened.

"Good morning Chrissy. How did you sleep in your pretty

nighty last night? Do you like the clothes that I dropped off

last night? They fit you marvelously."

I blushed at her comments, and offered a reserved thank you.

If someone else was listening in to this incredible conversation!

I would have melted into the ground.

"Well don't just stand there, come inside. As soon as I get

rid of this coffee, we can get started with the costume. I know

you'll like it since it's much prettier than your baby dolls!"

She closed the door behind me, and led me through the living room

and into the kitchen where she rinsed out her cup.

"You know, your aunt told me all about your wanting to be a

girl. She said that your step-mother found pictures in the family

photo album of you dressed as a girl for a Halloween party when

you were 5. She said that your grandmother use to love making you

pretty. Was that true?"

I couldn't believe that my grandmother had betrayed our

little secret. I also was kind of disappointed that someone else

in my family who had seen the pictures didn't pick up where

grandma left off. In spite of these feelings, I was terrified of

having anything to do with dressing up around an obvious

stranger. I shook my head, and started mumbling about Halloween.

Mrs. Morgan quickly cut in. "Well, I hope that you can learn

to like being a pretty girl because it will be a lot easier on

you if you do. If you choose to fight me on this, it will be 1000

times more humiliating than if you cooperate. Do you want me to

tell all the neighbors the newest pixie is really a fairy little

boy? Hmm? Wouldn't it be a lot easier if everyone thought that

you were just another girl?"

She had a point. I didn't relish the thought of wearing a

tutu, tights and makeup while looking like a boy. I wanted to

avoid attention to get the whole mess over with. The humiliation

of being crossdressed in public was a lot worse than getting the

chance to fulfill my dreams again. Mrs. Morgan's voice

interrupted my train of thought.

"Besides, if you enjoy being made a girl as much as everyone

says, we can have so much fun together this weekend. I've always

wanted to dress a pretty boy as a girl, and you'd make a

perfectly darling new daughter. I promise I won't tell anyone as

long as you tell me not to. It will be our little secret." She

smiled and waited for my answer.

Well, the syrupy sound of her voice worked its magic, and

the soft touch of her hand erased all fear of public exposure.

It brought back all of the fantastic memories of my last visit to

grandma's house six years ago.

"Are you sure that no one else will find out?" I whispered.

"As long as you do exactly as I say, no one will ever find

out. I'll bet you'd love to wear all kinds of makeup wouldn't

you? Did your grandmother put makeup on you?" She picked up my

hand, and looked into my face.

I nodded sheepishly, while a broad smile crept across my

lips.

"Well, if you want, I can put makeup on you too! Well, why

don't we get started making my new daughter pretty." She picked

up my hand and led me upstairs into the master bedroom of the

house.

There were clothes laid out all over the queen sized bed,

and I started to shake when I began to suspect that my new aunty

bought all of these pretty things for me.

"Mrs. Morgan, I thought I was just going to try on a pixie

costume." I pointed to all of the clothes on the bed. "Who are

these pretty things for?"

"Why you dearest." She started unbuttoning my blouse. "First

off, you need the proper underfashions for the pixie costume to

look right. Second, you're going to need something to wear to get

you over to the school for rehearsal. These clothes are much too

boyish for you. You don't want to look boyish do you dear?"

She took my shoes off, and began working on my blouse.

"And since you're my new daughter, you can quit with the

Mrs. Morgan stuff, and call me aunty!"

It was almost like falling down the rabbit hole into a

fantasy world. My new aunty was going to make me pretty, and no

one would know our little secret. She finished with the last

button on the blouse, took it off my shoulders, and pulled down

my stirrup pants.

The tights, panties and vest followed, until I was naked.

Her sweet attitude had totally removed any fear or concern on my

part about what lay ahead for the weekend. I actually loved the

fact that I was standing with no clothes on in front of this

strange woman, awaiting my transition from young man to young

woman.

"Now for this costume, you need special panties. You really

need to wear a girdle to keep you from bulging under the clingy

fabric, but a girdle would show under the short puffy skirt.

That's why I got you something that should keep you all snug down

there."

She picked up a bag, tore open the plastic, and removed a

white, elastic garment from the bag.

"This is called a dance belt." she explained as she held up

the garment in front of my face. The belt looked like a pair of

very-high cut panties without backs. The front was a plain,

heavy, satin-like material, triangular in shape, with light lace

trim around the edge, and a bow at the waist. In the crotch area,

the heavy material narrowed down into a very strong elastic

strap, that went all the way up the back to the waist. The waist

band itself was a similar kind of white elastic strap that sat

low on the hips, but was only 3/4 of an inch in diameter.

She picked up a powder puff, and dusted my private parts to

keep them dry and comfortable. Next, she had me place my legs

through the loops, and pulled the belt up to my thighs. She

reached over to the bed, and picked up what looked like a

sanitary napkin that was much thinner than the ones that I saw in

my mother's bathroom.

"Now I know how excited young boys can get when they get to

wear frills and lace, and we can't have you messing up your

costume now can we? So let aunty put this panty liner into your

belt to keep you nice and clean. Ok?"

Mesmerized, I nodded agreement. She unpeeled the sticky

back, and stuck the liner into the front of the belt. She stood

up, stepped behind me, and worked the belt over my hips while

tucking me into the front of the garment. As she pulled the belt

into place, the back elastic strap disappeared between my cheeks.

"There. Perfect. Next we need tights." She picked up the

package, and removed the stockings. The tights were the standard

shimmery kind, except this time they were powder blue in color.

Since I had been putting on tights for the last two weeks, I took

them from my new aunty, and pulled them up over the dance belt.

"My aren't you an expert! Have you been dressing up in

secret?"

I shook my head. Turning me around, she surveyed the

abbreviated panty line under the tights.

"You know, if I took a picture of you from the waist down,

you'd look just like a girl. I can't even tell you have a pee

pee."

As I looked into the mirror, I could tell that she was

right. My tights and dance belt made my penis totally disappear.

"Now dear, the skirt on the costume is very short, so the

audience will probably be able to see underneath, so we are going

to wear these lacy panties to give them something pretty to look

at! See, these are just like your pink ones that you wear under

your nighty."

These rhumba panties were even more frilly than the ones my

aunt picked out. They were made of what my aunt called taffeta,

and had an inch of soft, net-type ruffles around the leg opening.

Rows of lace were sewed every inch or so across the rear. The

waist band was hidden in the taffeta, while two white bows graced

the hips of the garment.

"What's a petticoat?" I asked as I pulled up the fancy

panties.

"Have you ever worn a half slip dear?"

I shook my head. I knew what a slip was, but I wanted her to

tell me herself. The way she talked to me made me feel just like

her daughter.

"Well, a half slip is just like a nylon skirt with an

elastic waist. It gives you modesty under a sheer skirt to keep

the boys from seeing your legs. It also protects your stockings

and panties from the rough wool or cotton material. A petticoat

is a fluffy slip that helps to hold your skirt out nice and wide

so that you look like a ballerina."

She held up a white skirt of sorts that looked like it was

made of layers and layers of material.

"See? we ordered one with each costume."

The outside layer was a thin, see through, lightweight

tulle, which lay over four alternating layers of taffeta and

nylon net. The outside layer of taffeta had been embroidered with

lace rose flowers which were faintly visible under the tulle. A

large nylon bow accented the front. The edges were all lined

with lace trim.

Mrs. Morgan motioned me to put my arms over my head, and

lowered the petticoat over my head until it hung over my chubby

hips. I looked into the mirror and discovered that she was right.

The edge of my panties did indeed peek out from underneath the

short slip.

Mrs. Morgan walked over to the door, and picked up a garment

bag that had been hanging over the edge. She unzipped the bag,

and removed the most beautiful pixie costume I had ever seen. It

was prettier than anything I ever dreamed about. So pretty in

fact, that I felt woozy just thinking that I would soon be

wearing such a dance dress. The skirt was made of the same light

blue sheer tulle as the outer layer of the petticoat I was now

wearing. It was obvious that my pretty petticoat would show

through the skirt. The bodice of the dress looked like a clingy,

very shiny lycra leotard with sheer sleeves.

Mrs. Morgan unzipped the back of the dress, and took it off

the hanger. Without any prompting, I put my hands over my head.

She guided my hands into the sleeves, and lowered the skirt over

my petticoat. I could barely stop shaking as she zipped up the

back, and adjusted the dress covering my body.

"Oh aunty! It's beautiful. It feels incredible to be wearing

such pretty things! I want to be your daughter forever!"

I pirouetted in front of the three sided mirror and felt the

satiny undergarments sliding over my nylon encased legs. This was

better than anything I had ever imagined.

"You look just like an angel! Your aunt was right that you

would make a perfect pixie! With the right hair style, and

makeup, you'll be the prettiest pixie in the show! Let me look at

you." She sat down on the bed, and made me walk in front of her.

I felt like a fashion model on a runway as I tried to emulate the

steps of a typical female model.

"Do I really look good?" I wanted to hear how pretty I was

over and over again.

"I knew you'd be the right size honey. The costume fits

perfectly. Just think, you will be wearing this costume for dress

rehearsal on Wednesday and Thursday, and for performances on

Friday night, Saturday Afternoon, and evening, and Sunday

Afternoon. Aren't you a lucky duck!"

I stood mesmerized as I stared at my feminine form in the

full length mirror. Here I was, dressed like a pixie, in a

costume that I would have to wear for six whole performances. My

wearing a dress again convinced me that I didn't want to be a boy

anymore, and I was glad that I would be spending a lot of time

over the next week with Mrs. Morgan. Suddenly, I felt her hand

pulling down my back zipper.

"I know you don't want to take off your pretty costume, but

we have to get you dressed and make it to the theater for

rehearsal by three. Take off your things, and hang them up neatly

on the hanger. Leave your dance belt on, and put on these suntan

tights. I'll help you with your leotard.

Mrs. Morgan was right. My costume was so pretty that I

didn't want to take it off, but not wanting to be late, I

carefully removed the dress, petticoat, overpanties and tights,

and hung them on the special hanger. Mrs. Morgan had bought me

dance clothes just for rehearsals, so I shimmied into the suntan

tights, and picked up the black, lycra leotard. Mrs. Morgan

showed me how to roll up the top, step into the panty, and pull

the stretchy material over my hips, and then over my shoulders.

"Here. Put these on." She handed me my navy blue stirrup

pants, and my matching flats. I pulled on the clingy pants over

my tights and looped the stirrup under my foot.

"Let me brush your hair, and we'll be ready to go." She

motioned me over to her dressing table. She brushed and teased my

hair to add fullness to the androgenous style my hair had grown

into, and added the usual blush, powder and lip gloss to my face.

In the mirror, I looked more like a young teenaged girl than the

teenaged boy that I started out as. A couple of sprays of hair

spray, and she pronounced me ready for class.

"I don't know about this. Why can't I just wear my pants and

blouse? I really look like a boy dressed in girl's clothes.

Everyone is going to make fun of me." I really had major concerns

about being seen wearing a leotard by the other girls in the

production. I knew that teenaged girls in the 8th grade still

considered boys to be yucky, and might take offense at my obvious

intrusion into their domain.

"Nonsense. You are just fitting in by dressing like the

other members of the troupe. You know, just like at Dr. Nelson's

office. There is a class dress code of solid color leotards and

suntan tights. If you wear pants, you will really stick out. Mrs.

Cataldo, the teacher, will watch out for you. I promise."

I looked up as she put on her shoes and grabbed her purse.

"Why? Won't you be there?"

"I have to run errands, so I'm going to leave you at

the theater. Just do what Mrs. Cataldo says."

She got up off the bed, and grabbed my purse that was

hanging from the doorknob.

"Here. Take your purse, and let's get going."

We locked up the house, and climbed into the car. Looking

through my purse, I discovered that she had added tissues, lip

gloss, a spare panty liner, and breath mints. I took out a

breath mint, and being careful not to smudge my lip gloss, popped

it into my mouth.

CHAPTER 8 - REHEARSAL WITH THE GIRLS

All kinds of thoughts ran through my head on the drive over

to Carlisle Academy. "What if the girls think I'm weird? What if

I can't play the part? What if someone makes fun of my tights and

leotard?" I had no explanation for being in an all-girl's play or

even wearing girls clothes for that matter. Maybe I could blame

it on my aunt, and elicit some sympathy for my plight. No

solutions came to mind as we pulled into the Carlisle Academy

campus, and parked next to the theater.

"Posture dear" Mrs. Morgan reminded as we entered the

building. "Head up, chin tucked, and hands by your side."

I felt like a girl, walking with my chest and wrists out, and

this only added to the feminine aura that I saw fifteen minutes

before in the mirror.

We walked down the corridor in the front of the building and

entered a small office with Mrs. Cataldo's name on the door. A

woman, who I guessed was the theater teacher, motioned us to sit

down as she finished up her conversation on the telephone. I

perused the walls, and noted the many pictures of girls in

various dance costumes. Some wore plain leotards with see-through

skirts. Others wore ornately decorated leotards with sequins and

lace trim. I started to see if I could find pictures of boy

dancers, but didn't get a chance to look, as Mrs. Cataldo

abruptly finished her phone call.

"This must be Chrissy." Mrs. Cataldo beamed as she looked me

over from head to toe.

Mrs. Morgan responded. "Chrissy, this is Mrs. Cataldo."

Turning to the teacher, she added "Chrissy is so excited about

being a pixie in the play. We tried on the costume this morning

and Chrissy didn't want to take it off. He really looks

adorable."

I was blushing like crazy, and knew that the makeup job only

made the situation more noticeable.

"Well it's great to have him in the show." She turned her

attention to my appearance again. "I am happy to see that you are

observing our class dress code. I'm sure you'll be accepted as

one of the girls in no time."

I liked the whole idea of being a girl, but having never

done it in so public a fashion, I was quite nervous and

embarrassed, and didn't respond to the complement.

Mrs. Cataldo continued. "Well Jane, you can be on your way.

Rehearsal should be done in two hours. We'll see you then."

She turned to me and continued. "Come on Chrissy, lets get

started shall we?" She ushered us out of the office, locking the

door behind her. Waving goodbye to my new mom, I followed Mrs.

Cataldo through a set of double doors into the theater.

The double doors led directly backstage, and I could see

that there were about sixty girls, ranging in age from about ten

to their upper teens. Some had the bodies of pre-pubescent

teenagers, while others were already developing into attractive

young ladies. It was easy to guess ages, since the leotards left

little to the imagination. Most complied with the dress code, but

a few were wearing leotards with bright designs on them, or

shorts and t-shirts over their leotards and tights.

My hopes of blending in with the group were dashed however,

as every eye in the room moved my way. Somehow, I felt naked, and

crossed my arms in front of my chest to cover myself up.

"Just like a girl!" I thought to myself.

Mrs. Carlisle hopped up on a chair, and clapped her hands to

quiet the group. Most eyes were still glancing my way, but now

many of the girls were giggling at the same time. I wanted to

disappear into the floor.

"Attention please girls. Quiet down please. I want to

introduce you to a new member of our troupe, Chrissy Parsomes.

Chrissy will be taking Melinda's place as one of the pixies in

the show. I hope you will make her, I mean him feel welcome."

The whole room burst out into laughter at her use of

pronouns.

"Let's try the dance routine in act three, scene two. Take

your places everyone.

Turning in my direction, she continued to address the cast

members. "Chrissy, you can take off your jeans, and have a seat

on the side to get a feel as to what is going on. Tomorrow, I

want you to try some of the dance steps to get a feel for the

production."

Still blushing like crazy, I walked over to the side and

began removing my jeans. That's when the comments started.

"I guess Mrs. Cataldo is right. I can't tell if he is a boy

or a girl." One of the fourteen year olds stared while I took off

my blouse.

Her friend responded "I think he's a girl. He is wearing

makeup. How many boys do you know that wear blusher?"

They all laughed out loud. I don't know if it was possible,

but my ears seemed to be ready to burst into flames. I ignored

the comments, and concentrated on folding up my jeans, and

pulling down my leotard to cover my bottom.

"Look. He doesn't even have a weener. Maybe he had the

operation." I glanced over where the comment came from. This

group of girls all looked around sixteen years old, and all of

them wore bras over well developed figures. Ignoring my glare,

they continued to giggle amongst themselves. I took the nearest

chair, and concentrated on the dance group lining up on stage. I

hoped that Mrs. Cataldo would shield me from any sort of

embarrassing situations, but so far, she had totally ignored my

humiliation.

As the rehearsal progressed, the comments continued, making

fun of my undeveloped figure, my pink nail polish, my girlish

haircut, and shimmery tights. One girl seemed to take exceptional

delight at making fun of me in front of her group.

Sandy looked to be the oldest member of the group. She held

the lead in the play, and had obviously been dancing for many

years. She had a fantastic figure, and sported a feminine

hairstyle and makeup job. She looked just like a model. For some

reason, she seemed to take an instant dislike to me. Every time

she passed my chair, which was often, she let loose with a nasty

comment. She seemed to relish in my humiliation.

"My such a sweet little girl.....What's your name little

girl.....What a pretty leotard Chrissy. Did you pick it out

yourself.....I bet your wearing pretty pink panties under your

tights. Maybe you'll show them to us in the dressing room after

rehearsal." Every comment seemed to be worse than the prior one.

Finally, rehearsal ended, and the girls pranced off the

stage to mop their brows with towels after the strenuous workout,

Sandy decided to get in what I thought was her last jab before

everyone headed home.

"Chrissy dear. Don't you know we have a dress code here?"

She looked at me with a derisive look on her face. Her clique had

gathered around to witness her attack on the new little femme in

the class.

I had already figured out that hiding didn't keep them from

making fun of me, so I decided to stick up for myself. I lifted

my chin, and summoned up the courage to respond.

"Of course. What do you think I am, stupid? What do you

think these are?" I pointed to my tights.

The group laughed. My new found courage didn't seem to be

working. Sandy ignored my response and continued.

"It says on the sign up sheet that all girls who are

developing a figure, are required to wear bras. Where's your bra

sissypants?"

I couldn't believe my ears, as the group burst into loud

laughter. I didn't know what to say. My response was pitiful.

"Boys don't have figures stupid."

"That's why they make training bras dear. For girls with

small boobies like you."

I felt like I was at a comedy routine. The group loved the

show that Sandy was putting on for them. Lost for any reply to

their comments, I was relieved to hear Mrs. Cataldo call for the

group's attention.

"OK girls. Remember, rehearsal starts at 9:00 AM sharp

tomorrow. Make sure your here ready to go. Let's see." She looked

down at a list attached to her clipboard.

"Those of you who haven't paid your costume fees yet, get

them in tomorrow. I have to pay the order bill by Friday. Stop

being cheapskates and cough up." Laughs scattered around the

room.

"One more thing. I shouldn't have to remind you about this,

but we do have a dress code here. Shorts, t-shirts and patterned

leotards are not acceptable. I want to see everyone in solid

leotard, and suntan tights girls."

A voice came out of the crowd that sent a shiver up my

spine.

"What about bras Mrs. Cataldo?" I looked across the stage.

There stood Sandy, looking in my direction, with a sick smile on

her face.

"Of course Sandy. Thanks for reminding me. Anyone with a

figure should be wearing a bra under their leotard. Since

everyone here is aged ten and over, you all have figures, and

should all be wearing bras. All good dancers want to look their

best on stage, and you can't look your best if you're jiggling

all over the place. I'll be checking tomorrow, so I want to see

bra straps over everyone's shoulders." A groan sent off across

the stage from the feminists in the group.

"Here it comes I thought" as Sandy inched forward towards

Mrs. Cataldo.

"Well, Chrissy told me that she...I mean he was eleven, and

I think he is pretty developed if you ask me. Why doesn't he have

to wear a bra?"

I'm sure everyone noticed that I immediately covered my

chest with my arms, because everyone, including Mrs. Cataldo was

staring in my direction.

Other girls began to pipe up their support. "Yeah. How come

we have to and he doesn't."

One girl pushed her way forward. "He wanted to join an

all-girls production. I say he has to live by our rules."

By this time, Sandy had walked over to my side of the stage,

and was standing directly in front of me. She poked her finger

into my chest and drove the final nail into my coffin.

"If you want to be a girl so much that you asked for the

most feminine part in our show, then you have to wear a bra!" She

turned and walked back toward Mrs. Cataldo.

Obviously, I was beet-faced, having been totally embarrassed

in front of sixty girls. Even so, I figured that the joke had run

its course. Mrs. Cataldo would laugh, smile, and end the whole

affair by exempting me from that part of the dress code. After

all, I was a guy, and had complied with the leotard, tights and

ballet slippers part. What did I have to put into a bra? I

smiled in her direction.

Mrs. Cataldo laughed, smiled and then dropped the bomb. "Of

course Sandy. You're absolutely right. Chrissy dear, I want to

see you wearing a bra tomorrow." The whole group erupted into

applause. It's almost as if everyone wanted to feminize me.

Despite being scared to death over the impending

developments, I found the necessary voice to respond to the

ridiculous order.

"That's not fair! I don't have a figure! I'm a boy!"

Immediately, comments sprang up from the group along the lines of

"You sure don't look like a boy!"

"Well dear, that's why they make training bras!" The

laughter was impossible to ignore and I was mortified. It's

almost as if Sandy had been talking to Mrs. Cataldo about me.

She stepped down off the chair thus signalling the end of

rehearsal. As the rest of the girls headed for the exits, Mrs.

Cataldo walked over in my direction.

"Please ask your mother to take you shopping tonight to get

you properly fitted. OK?" She picked up her tote bag sitting

beside me and headed out for her office. "I'd suggest choosing

something made of nylon with lace trim to help you feel like a

true pixie!" I gathered my things and ran outside.

CHAPTER 9 - CHRISSY'S FIRST BRA

"What a mess" I thought to myself as I climbed into bed with

the script for the play. I had three hours before lights out to

get familiar with my part before tomorrow's rehearsal. I had

often dreamed about getting fitted for my first brassiere, but

now that the event threatened to become a reality, I was too

embarrassed to go through with it. As a result, I didn't tell

Mrs. Morgan about my need for a bra, and luckily, she didn't find

out about Mrs. Cataldo's order. I figured that no one would

expect me to go through with what had to be a joke, and that

after a few rehearsals, everyone would forget about the whole

incident.

Even so, despite my keeping "the bra thing" a secret from

Mrs. Morgan, I couldn't stop thinking about going to get fitted

for a bra.

Most of the sex ed books that I read in school suggested

that a girl's first bra marked the beginning of her journey from

childhood to adult womanhood. A bra was the one garment that

shouted "Young woman" for the whole world to see. I remembered

spending hours following the outline of the bras worn by the

girls in my class. While the white regulation blouses were pretty

opaque in the front, the sheer backs allowed me a perfect view of

the satiny straps and back hooks. Many a day, I daydreamed about

what it would be like to have my mother take me shopping for my

first bra, and having to hook one on every morning before

travelling off to school. Now the opportunity lay open for it to

happen for real, and I was too scared to follow through! I tried

to concentrate on the script that lay in the lap of my baby doll

nighty, but the wetness showing through the panties kept bringing

me back to my old fantasies. Finally, I couldn't stand it any

longer. I put the script on the night table, and headed

downstairs to grab the mail order Catalog. After my aunt had

retired for the night, I sneaked the catalog from under my bed

and turned to the index.

"Let's see.....Bras.....Here it is.....growing girls, page

237.....Juniors, page 239-240.....teens, page 237-238."

I quietly turned to page 237, and consulting the header at

the top of the page.

"Junior Bras and Foundation Garments."

The text continued.

"Be sure to measure sizes carefully, as developing figures

change rapidly. To determine size, measure girl in normal

underwear. Place measuring tape under developing bust. This is

the bra size. Round up to nearest even number.

To determine cup size, place tape over fullest part of the

bust. If the measurement is the same or less than the bra

measurement, she takes a AAA cup. 1/2 to 1 inch larger takes a AA

cup. 1 inch or larger takes an A cup. 2 inches larger takes a B

cup. For proper sizing information, bring your daughter into the

Junior Department for an expert fitting."

I continued down the page to the section marked Pre-teen /

Growing Girl Bras.

"Designed for the just developing pre-teen whose figure is

rapidly changing. Nylon spandex cups adjust to the growing bust

line. Adjustable stretch straps and three hook back closure allow

for perfect fit. Feminine design makes every young girl feel more

grown up!"

I looked down at the pictures. The first looked like one of my

satin vests that had been cut off below the bust. The caption

read

"Bra Look Vest. Soft nylon/cotton blend provides modest

protection and support. Lace edging with satin bow trim. Back

hook closure. Made in Costa Rica. Available in white, pink, and

beige, sizes S M L. #PTBLV. Package of two, $3.95

I continued down the page.

"Nylon Stretch beginner bra. Ideal starter bra for girls

just starting to show. Nylon spandex cups stretch to fit cup

sizes from AAA to A. Lace knit cups, and floral trim let everyone

know that your little girl is growing up! Only available in

white, sizes 28 - 36 AAA - A cup. #PTNSB. Package of 2, $4.95

The next one looked similar to the beginner bra, but had more

material. The caption read

"Support Beginner bra. Perfect for size up girls. Wider

shoulder straps and bottom bands help keep bra in place over

chubby figures. Shirring and cross your heart styling between

cups helps accommodate added bust size. Nylon tricot and spandex.

White only, sizes 34-40 AA. #PTCSBB. Package of 2, $5.50"

The next section described bras for teens.

"Bras for the girl who isn't ready for a full sized bra, but

wants to graduate to grown up styling. Feminine features make her

look just like a modern co-ed!"

These bras looked a lot more like what the girl's in my grade

were wearing. One was a very light weight bra with a single 1/2

inch strap around the back. The bra had natural cups which I

discovered were made of a single thickness of nylon instead of

being padded with fiberfill. It had an inch of floral lace and

the usual bow between the cups. The lace was there to make the

bra fit figure sizes ranging from AA to B. A lot of the liberated

girls at school wore this kind of bra, because it didn't show

much under their clothes. Thus they could meet the dress code

requirement of wearing a bra, while minimizing their acceptance

of this regulation.

The next one was slightly more substantial. It had a wider

band around the bottom that decreased in width from two inches

near the cups to 1/2 an inch near the back hooks. The catalog

called this one a contour cup since it had a layer of fiberfill

lining the cups. The front was cut pretty low, so the bra

wouldn't show under a blouse with an open button, and a small

white lace flower decorated the front. The shoulder straps

adjusted in the back. I guessed that girls would have to have the

sales lady adjust it for them since the ring and slide was out of

reach. It came in sizes from 32 to 36, AA to B.

The third bra seemed to be made for chubby girls. It looked

a lot like my mother's utilitarian underwear, with plain white

nylon contour cups, wide stretch straps that adjusted in front,

and a wide stretchy bottom band that was two inches thick in the

back. I didn't like this one, since it reminded me of crabby

Linda Crawford, the noisiest and biggest breasted girl in my

school. Sure enough, this bra came in sizes from 32 to 42, AA - C

cups.

The last two teen bras that I saw were the prettiest. The

first one looked a lot like the bra mentioned before, except that

it had a normal tapering back to it. It looked like it was made

of a satiny nylon, and was available in very pretty colors; pink,

beige, powder blue, champagne and white. It seemed to be the kind

of bra that an older teenager would wear, right before she

graduated to full sized women's bras. It even had matching

panties with the same kind of lace trim.

The other bra was one of Sears Best. It was very low cut,

and had very thin shoulder straps that adjusted in the front. The

back band had a normal taper to it, but started off at an inch at

the cup, slimming down to less than a half an inch at the hooks.

The cups were very shiny, and were trimmed with narrow scalloping

lace. The styling was very grown up, but the cut was suited to a

young teenager. Suddenly, I wanted to tell Mrs. Morgan about my

needing a bra. I wanted to wear one like all the other girls in

the group. I began to love the idea of developing a bust, and

hoped that someday, Aunty would have me fitted for that very

style. I tucked the catalog under the bed, turned off the light,

and fell asleep with sweet dreams of young girlhood in my head.

CHAPTER 10 - CHRISSY'S PUNISHMENT

The next morning, I woke up at my usual time, and after my

usual bath, dressed quickly in my panties, tights and leotard.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I figured that I might be able

to hide the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra. Looking in Mrs.

Morgan's daughter's closet, I found a loose, cotton blouse that I

put on over my leotard. Luckily it matched with the stirrup

pants, and did a pretty good job of hiding my chest. Since I

wanted to minimize the possibility for hassle at class, I

succeeded in killing time around Mrs. Morgan's house, so that we

arrived at the theater exactly at 9:00 AM. After kissing Mrs.

Morgan goodbye, I hurried into the theater.

Mrs. Cataldo was already there, atop the chair that served

as her speaking platform. I put down my hobo bag, and sat down to

put on my ballet slippers. I removed the stirrup pants, but left

on the blouse, which I knotted at the waist like I had seen girls

in school do.

No sooner had I finished knotting the blouse, when Mrs.

Cataldo caught sight of my illegal attire.

"Now Chrissy. You know better than that. We don't allow

blouses. Take it off, and come show us your new bra!"

I slowly unbuttoned the blouse and tried to figure out a way

to break the news that I didn't have a bra yet.

"Well, Mrs. Cataldo, my mother didn't have time to t.k. m..

sh.p.ing..." By now I was mumbling, hoping that she would fill in

the blanks for me.

"What's that Chrissy? We can't hear you!" The class crowded

around me as I finished unbuttoning the blouse.

"My mother didn't have time to take me shopping yesterday" I

blurted out while carefully examining my pink ballet slippers to

avoid looking anyone in the eye. "I don't have a bra yet"

'Well Chrissy, we don't really want to hear any excuses. You

can't be in rehearsal without a proper bra. I guess you'll have

to sit out rehearsal. How do you think your going to learn your

part for the play if you can't practice!" She shook her head

with disgust.

I felt like a six year old child being chewed out by his

first grade teacher.

"I promise I'll work like crazy for the rest of the week.

I'll be sure to get one tomorrow."

At least I'd be able to get through another rehearsal

without such an obviously feminine undergarment.

Suddenly, a girl in a green leotard, with a pre-teen figure

and a broad smirk on her face stepped forward.

"I have an extra bra that would probably fit Chrissy!"

Mrs. Cataldo's face lit up like an airport runway. "How

thoughtful of you Sharon. I'm sure Chrissy would love to borrow

it! I know that you do wear the same size."

All I could do was to furiously shake my head.

Suddenly, five other girls volunteered that they too had

extra bras that would probably fit me. Mrs. Cataldo sent them

scurrying off to their hobo bags, and each one returned with a

wispy, nylon undergarment.

Mrs. Cataldo took each of the five bras, and approached my

quivering body.

"Well Chrissy, which one do you like best." I didn't

respond. I was paralyzed.

"I think this one should fit perfectly. Let's go try it on

OK?" She held out one of the growing girl's stretch bras that I

recognized from the Sears Catalog.

"A perfect growing girl's bra for a growing girl's figure"

The class giggled as she turned her attention back to the group.

"Sandy, please take over the class while I attend to Chrissy

here. We'll be right back."

With that, she grabbed me by the hand, ushered me off stage

and down to her office. Once inside, she turned on the lights,

and locked the door.

"Be a good girl and take down your leotard top Chrissy." She

pushed me down onto the stool next to her desk, and shook out the

bra which had been neatly folded into a ball.

The time had come to make a choice. I had been dreaming of

my first bra ever since I first dressed as a girl, and here was

the perfect opportunity to start wearing one. Granted, it was

going to be darn embarrassing to be seen by sixty odd girls

wearing a training bra, but as I gazed at the feminine garment

that dangled in front of my eyes, I began to get more excited

about the idea.

I could say that Mrs. Cataldo forced me into it. It wasn't

my idea. I had to meet the dress code tied to the theater group.

Putting caution to the wind, I nodded to Mrs. Cataldo, who

stepped behind me, and helped me slide my arms out of the shiny

long sleeves of the leotard. Soon, I was naked from the waist up,

while my leotard was gathered around my hips.

"Why didn't you ask Mrs. Morgan to get you a bra? You are

old enough for one dear, and Mrs. Morgan did tell me how much you

wanted her to take you shopping for one." Mrs. Cataldo softly

massaged my shoulders. Almost as if she was teasing me, she

allowed the satin bra which was hanging from her wrist, to brush

across my back. Every caress sent shivers up my spine, reminding

me that soon I would be wearing a training bra full time just

like all the other girls my age.

I shrugged as she continued her massage. "I guess I felt

really embarrassed about asking."

Mrs. Cataldo continued. "That's OK Chrissy. Most girls are

embarrassed when they start developing, and have to start wearing

one. Deep inside though, every girl that I know longs to go

shopping with her mother for her first. I'll bet that you're

excited too?"

How did she know how much I dreamed of this day? I nodded my

head.

"Well I'll tell you what. You can wear this one home when

Mrs. Morgan picks you up. I guarantee that she will notice your

new figure, and will offer to take you shopping. How's that

sound?" She leaned over and looked me in the eye.

"Great!" I said as I tried to stifle the urge to ask to look

at what soon would be covering my boobies. I couldn't believe how

Mrs. Cataldo seemed to be doing everything that she could to help

me through this awkward time in my life.

"I help a lot of my girls pop the bra question to their

mommies this way. That's why we have the dress code that we do."

She slid the bra off of her wrist and pulled out the

shoulder straps to their longest length. With two fingers, she

daintily held it out in front of me by the lengthened straps, and

instructed me to put my arms through both loops. With a deep

breath, I leaned forward and put my hands into the bra.

The feeling was incredible! The straps were made of this

shiny, stretchy, satin material, and they glided over my smooth

arms like an skate blade across ice. Soon, the straps were lying

over my shoulders. Mrs. Cataldo reached in front of me, pulled

the cups down over my breasts, and slid her hands along the

bottom band to the back set of hooks. As she pulled the back

together, I could see and feel the stretch satin cups, edged with

lace, lift and surround my small sized breasts causing them to

actually get bigger. I couldn't believe it. I actually had a

figure like the other 11 year old girls in the class. It was the

neatest thing, and the feeling was better than anything in the

world. I swore to myself that I would wear a bra every day from

now on.

"A perfect fit Mrs. Cataldo gushed. "Of course these stretch

types do fit young girls with a variety of figures. A lot

different than when I was a young girl." She began adjusting the

shoulder straps' ring and slide.

I looked down at my new figure that was perfectly encased in

nylon, and noticed that it looked just like the chests of the

girl's in the Sears Catalogs. I especially liked the pretty bow

that was sewed on between the cups.

"Do you remember when you got your first bra Mrs. Cataldo" I

asked as I stared at my likeness in the mirror?

She continued to adjust the straps. "Every girl remembers

getting her first bra. Of course I didn't have a fairy god mother

to broach the subject with my mom."

She winked at me as she tugged at the bra.

"I remember telling my mom that my blouses were irritating

my nipples, and asking her what to do about it. She told me that

I was turning into a young woman, and that I should start

training my figure. She took me down to the girl's department at

one of the women's shops downtown, and had me fitted for my first

bra. Back in those days, young women were expected to wear

girdles, garter belts and stockings, so mom bought me everything

that she thought an all-American girl should wear. The sales lady

was so embarrassing, telling me that she was going to make me so

pretty. After picking out an appropriately feminine bra, girdle

and garter belt, she showed me how to put everything on, and how

to attach my new nylons to the belt. To make a long story short

Chrissy, I also ended up getting my first permanent, my first

makeup kit and first sanitary napkin belt all in the same day. I

was so proud when we arrived home that I modelled my new things

for everyone. Mom and I spent all evening trying on my new

things, and playing with my makeup kit. That's how I learned how

much boys wanted bras too!"

"What do you mean" I asked as I looked at her with a

quizzical expression on my face?

She continued adjusting the straps. "Well, when I got home,

my brother who was one year younger than me was really interested

in my new things. He kept asking us lots of questions about why

girls needed bras and girdles, what it felt like to wear

stockings, and if he could have curly hair like mine. My dad was

away on business for the week, so my mom suggested that my

brother let us dress him up to show him what it was like. Mom

called Aunt Jane who lived across town, and they both helped us

into the new bras, girdles, garter belts, stockings and slips

that mom and I had purchased. Aunt Jane did my brother's hair

and taught us both how to put on makeup. After the makeup, my

brother and I looked like two twins. It was a really great

weekend. It did take a couple of weeks to learn how to hook the

bra and garters though. I kept having to ask my mom to hook me up

in the morning. She was as excited as I was about helping her

daughter to become a young woman. All mothers live for that

stuff." She finished with the shoulder straps, gave a quick

look-see, and pronounced me finished.

"How does it feel?" she asked as she helped me back into my

leotard.

"Wow!" I exclaimed as I looked at the new curves that peaked

out under the clingy leotard. The outline of my new bra was very

obvious under the black, lycra fabric, and I felt very grown up

as I traced the straps over the shoulders to the top of the cups.

"Did your brother ever play dress up again?" I asked as she

made sure that my bra straps were hidden under the leotard.

"When mom found out how much Bryan liked dressing up, she

encouraged me to lend him the clothes that I grew out of. Of

course he had to wait a year to wear a bra, but when he turned

thirteen, mom and I took him shopping for his very own bra,

girdle, garter belt, and stockings. After that, we became just

like sisters. We'd come home from school for the weekend, and

after dressing in our bras and girdles, we'd do each other's hair

and makeup. One summer vacation, mom and I even took him down

for a permanent."

"Did he like that?" I asked as we rose for the door.

"I'll say!" Mrs. Cataldo responded as he opened her office

door, and turned out the lights. "Probably as much as you would!"

To top off a fantastic day, rehearsal went better than it

ever had before. After checking to make sure that I was indeed

wearing the bra, all the girls seemed to be satisfied that I had

passed their initiation for joining the group. As a result, the

harassment ceased, and I concentrated on learning my part for the

play.

CHAPTER 10 - BUYING MY FIRST BRA

When rehearsal ended, I put on my pants, and following Mrs.

Cataldo's advice, left off the blouse that I wore that morning. I

packed up my hobo bag, and walked out to the parking lot with the

other girls. Mrs. Morgan was waiting in her car, and when I got

into the car, she immediately noticed that something was

different from this morning.

"Chrissy dear, did you forget something?"

"No why do you ask?" I asked nonchalantly.

"There's something different about you."

"I was so hot, I didn't put my blouse on after rehearsal."

It was tough not to blurt out that of course I was different

since I wasn't a little girl any more.

"No, it's something else. You look.....older. More mature. I

can't quite figure it out."

I looked at her with a stumped expression. How could she

miss the outline? Maybe I was going to have to ask her to take me

shopping anyway. I pulled back my shoulders to make the bra stand

out, but she failed to see any change in my physical

characteristics.

Arriving home, I entered the house before her, and she

finally noticed the back of my bra silhouetted under the leotard.

"Hang on. Come here for a minute."

I quickly turned around with a grin on my face.

"What's wrong?"

I walked over to where she was standing in the hallway. She

laid down her bag and brushed her hand down my back. A broad

smile ran across her face, and she reached out and touched my

breasts with her finger. A very pleasurable sensation ran down my

spine.

"Your wearing a bra!" she exclaimed, as I smiled in response

to her complement.

"Uh huh" I smiled. "Mrs. Cataldo told me that it was part of

the dress code. I was suppose to tell you yesterday, but I

forgot. This morning, Mrs. Cataldo insisted on me being properly

dressed, so she borrowed one from this girl in my class. How do I

look?"

I tried to turn to show her my new figure from all angles.

Mrs. Morgan stepped back and surveyed my new self. "You

look marvelous! You really have developed into a young lady. You

actually have a bust! Come here and look in the mirror."

She pulled me in front of the mirror that hung behind the

hall closet door and pulled down the top of my leotard.

I couldn't believe it. She was right. Originally, I thought

that my figure came from the bra that I was wearing. Looking now,

I could see that I had begun to develop curves like a teenaged

girl. Small, yet distinctive nipples could be seen through the

clingy fabric of the training bra.

"How can I have a bust. That's only for girls!?"

Mrs. Morgan looked at me and shook her head. "Well dear,

some boys actually have more girl in them than boy. When they

reach puberty, these boys begin to look, act and feel like girls.

The doctor at your new school told your step mother that you were

one of these kind of boys, and that she should have you spend the

summer with your aunt to see how things work out."

She traced the strap with her finger from the top of the cup

over my shoulder and continued her explanation.

"Your aunt told me how much you wanted to be a girl. Soon,

you'll get your wish. You're going to look just like a girl, so

obviously you can't go running around like a boy. People will

talk. So, your aunt and I are going to help you learn to be a

girl until you decide if you want to get medical help to try to

become a boy again. We felt that this would be the easiest way

for you. Don't you agree?"

I was so excited that I hugged Mrs. Morgan as hard as I

could.

Mrs. Morgan seemed to share my enthusiasm. "First things

first. This bra is a bit small for your figure. You really have

to be properly fitted. Otherwise, your bra will be

uncomfortable, and you won't wear it. You obviously need a bra

dear. You can't go walking around sticking out like you were

this morning. It isn't ladylike.

She walked over to the telephone and picked up the receiver.

"Let's call your aunt, and see what she thinks!" Mrs. Morgan

dialed my aunt's number.

"Hello Clara. This is Jane calling. Yes the costume fits

perfectly. She looks like an absolute angel. Blue is most

certainly her color."

I loved the way my new mother was calling me by a feminine

pronoun.

"No, no alterations will be needed. One thing though, have

you noticed that your niece is quite developed?"

I couldn't make out my aunt's responses, so I just listened

with my hands folded in my lap.

She continued. "Uhhuh.....Yes, quite a lot for her age. I

would say a double A......Oh yes.....The clingy fabric does

emphasize her bust. You can really see her nipples.....Of course.

I agree.....I'll take her down to get fitted this afternoon

before we go to Monica's.....Where?.....Well, I haven't shopped

for training bras since I was twelve.....Mmhmm. I'll call Alison

Schmidtt's mother. Yes, she works in the clothing business

....Alison.....One of the other pixies in the show.....Ok I'm

sure we'll manage.....Bye bye."

Mrs. Morgan hung up the phone, and immediately dialed

another call. I didn't pay any attention to the number, since I

was too busy trying to think what kind of bra Mrs. Morgan would

buy for me.

My aunt's voice woke me up from my day dream.

"Alison? Hi. This is Mrs. Morgan. Is your mother in dear?"

Mrs. Morgan didn't look at me, but softly rubbed my nylon encased

thighs with her hands.

"Nancy. Hi. This is Jane Morgan. How are things?

.....Great.....Oh really? That's very special.....Yes Alison is

doing a perfect job in the play. We're very happy with her

performance."

"Nancy, the reason I'm calling is that my niece Christine is

visiting from New York, and has decided to join our production.

Well we just tried on her pixie costume, and it's obvious that

this girl needs a bra.....Yes, quite developed for an eleven year

old.....Anyway, I figured that you might know where we can get

her properly fitted.....Umhmm.....Sears and Penneys?.....What

about a lingerie shop?.....Too small?..... Hmm.....Really?.....I

would have sworn the girl's shop in the strip mall would have a

great selection.....No dice hmm?.....Well fine.....What's

that?..... That would be wonderful!.....Great. we'll see you in

about fifteen minutes....Yes, she certainly is very

excited.....What? Who should I call?.....OK.....No problem." My

aunt blew a kiss in my direction.

"Great. Thanks again for your help. Bye bye." She hung up

the phone, and turning towards me, she pulled down the shoulders

of my leotard exposing my borrowed training bra.

"Guess what?" she exclaimed.

To excited to talk, I waited for her response.

"Mrs. Schmidtt has an appointment to get Alison fitted for a

bra too this afternoon, and she offered to take us along. Isn't

that great"

"Wow" I thought to myself. "I'll be able to see what's

going to happen to me before it happens." Besides, I thought

Alison was one of the cuter members of the theater troupe, and

the opportunity to see her in a bra, overcame any embarrassment

about being seen in one myself."

She continued. "The only thing to do is to get dressed, and

Why don't you go upstairs and take off your dance clothes. Put on

your panties and white stockings, and I'll be up to help you get

dressed. I have to call the store." She winked in my direction.

"Call me when you are ready." She handed me my vest, my pair of

white knee highs, and a pair of girl's flats and I headed into

her bedroom.

I carefully removed my leotard, bra and tights, and put on

my vest and kneehighs. My feet fit perfectly into the blue

leather shoes. They felt weird, almost like I was wearing

sandals. I grabbed her bathrobe from behind the door, and headed

back to the kitchen to ask her what to wear.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I could overhear Mrs.

Morgan talking on the phone, and I couldn't believe what she was

saying.

"Sandy, this is Jane Morgan calling. I'm a friend of Nancy

Schmidtts, and I hope you can help me....I have a special little

miss named Chrissy staying with me for the weekend. Chrissy is my

best friend's son. My friend caught him dressing up in his

sister's clothes, and she decided to have him dress as a girl as

punishment. You know, pinafore punishment? Anyway, my sister

asked me to really reinforce the experience, and what better way

than to have him fitted for a bra. Nancy said that you would be

fitting Alison this afternoon and might able to accommodate our

little priss at the same time."

I noticed that Mrs. Morgan was smiling something fierce.

"Great.....Yes.....Yes that would be perfect. Just make sure

that you treat him just like an eleven year old girl.....Great.

I'll see you in a half hour." She hung up the phone, and headed

back upstairs.

Without a sound, I tip-toed back into the bedroom, and put

my dance stuff away in my bureau. Although I was excited about my

first bra fitting, turning into a girl, and seeing Alison in a

bra and slip, I knew that I wasn't being punished for dressing up

in girl's clothes. This whole thing wasn't my fault, right? I

should probably speak up, and question her grasp of the facts.

Thinking better of this route, I decided to make believe

that I didn't overhear the conversation, and play along with the

routine.

"All right now. We have to get you dressed." Aunty entered

the room and walked over to the bed.

"Take off my robe, and put this on." She handed me a girl's

full slip.

"Yes mom." I could tell it was a girl's slip because it

didn't have much room for a bra in the top. Although I had never

worn a full slip before, I figured it was just like putting on my

nightgown. I put my arms through the satin ribbon straps, and

lowered it over my body. My aunt adjusted the shoulder straps so

that the slip hung evenly just above my knees.

"Now you have to get your hair trimmed in a style

appropriate for a pixie. You and Alison both have an appointment

to get your hair done at 4:00. First though, we have to get you

fitted for your bra. Now I can't bring a boy into the girl's

fitting room, so you'll have to dress as a girl for the

afternoon. You're going to have to make the change soon, so you

might as well start today. You shouldn't have any trouble."

She picked up a pink girl's polyester blouse and after

pulling my arms through the sleeves, began buttoning up the

front.

"But mom. I've never gone out in public as a girl before.

Everyone will find out that I'm a boy dressed like a girl." My

aunt finished buttoning the blouse, and lowered a blue, pleated

jumper over my head.

"Don't worry your silly little head. You make a perfect

girl, if you only do what I tell you. No one will know the

difference." She zipped and buttoned the back of the jumper, and

secured the shoulder sashes to the buttons on the front of the

skirt. She sat me down at her dressing table, dabbed my cheeks

with a bit of blush and powder, and applied a coating of lip

gloss to my lips "to make them wet and kissable" like all the

other girls my age. A few pumps of hair spray, and a bit of

teasing, turned my femme boy face into the perfect depiction of a

pre-teen girl.

"So far, how does it feel to be starting on the journey to

becoming a young lady?"

"Great!" I beamed. With that, she handed me a purse, and we

headed into town.

CHAPTER 11 - CHRISSY GETS A BUST

As the car hurdled down the highway, a zillion things were

going through my mind. First off, I hadn't worn a skirt since the

Halloween party at my grandmother's house, and the feeling of

wearing this short jumper was very different from the girl's

slacks that I was use to. The blouse, slip and panties were shiny

and very slippery, so every movement caused the clothes to tickle

my skin. In addition, girl's blouses were kind of thin, so the

top of my slip showed through the fabric. Looking in the mirror,

I looked like a little girl, but after my trip to the beauty

salon, and a new bra, I hoped that I would look like any other

teenager.

Second, I had no idea what to expect at the hairdresser.

Back when I was five, I had asked my grandmother about her weekly

trip to Melissa's Beauty Salon. I had already had my hair cut at

a men's barbershop, and knew that her hair looked a lot different

than mine. Hers smelled like perfume, had lots of curls, and

stayed in place no matter what she did. Mine was straight, got

all mussed up in the wind, and smelled like my dad's aftershave.

She told me that Melissa's salon made people pretty, and did

special things to girls my age who wanted to be pretty. I told

her that I wanted to be pretty just like at Halloween, and asked

her if I could have my hair done like hers. She and my mother

both laughed, and told me if I was good, that someday they might

make an appointment for me.

Alas, my grandmother died soon after, and my mother was

never home long enough to take me. I had asked my dad about it,

and he told me that boys weren't suppose to be pretty, and that

mother would never take me to such a place. Now here I was,

sitting in a car, and all my wishes were coming true.

TO BE CONTINUED: