A Different Kind Of Prom free porn video

When we were both five years old I told Brenda Anders that I
loved her. She told me that she loved me too. I told her that
she was pretty. She replied that I was pretty as well. I told
her that I wanted to marry her. "I'm sorry," she replied, with
seriousness that now seems silly in a kindergartner. "I don't
want to marry a man."

"Then I'll grow up to be a woman."

"You can't do that, goofy."

"You watch. I'll grow up to be a woman. Then we can get
married."

That, of course, was almost thirteen years ago, and my desire to
marry Brenda hadn't decreased at all with time. She certainly
was something, with her silky, raven hair, her long, slender
limbs, and her delicate, flower-like face. What man wouldn't be
attracted to her?

When I asked her to marry me in kindergarten, it had been
because she was my best friend. We were inseparable as c***dren.
Brenda and Robert, two peas in a pod. Even when her parent's
business had taken off and she moved to the wealthier part of
town, we had still remained close. All throughout junior high we
were friends. Even when she began to blossom into a beautiful
woman and I stayed a gangly, freckled twerp, she still stood by
me.

In high school, all that changed. Not that she started ignoring
me, or we started moving in different directions. No, what
happened was Brenda started dating Andy Unger. And Andy made it
clear there was no longer room in her life for me.

I remember that day well. We were both fifteen at the time. I
had got my mother to drive me over to Brenda's house so we could
watch Seinfeld, just like we did every Thursday. Brenda's
parents would drive me home afterwards. It was a tradition that
had lasted nearly as long as the show.

When I arrived at her house, I knew something was wrong. Usually
Brenda would come out of the front door and meet me on the
driveway. That day, she wasn't there. Still, she hadn't
canceled, so I told my mom to drop me off and that I'd see her
later. Little did I know

When I rang to doorbell, I was surprised to see that Brenda had
company. A large, thick-necked boy wearing her high school's
jacket was camped out on the living room sofa, where I had
usually sat. I was a little offended that she'd invite someone
else over on our traditional night together, but I knew I had
nothing to complain about. She wasn't my girlfriend, and I guess
a guy like me was lucky she even had time for me at all.

Brenda seemed a little nervous at my arrival. "Oh, Rob. Um, I'd
like you to meet Andy." I extended my hand to the big jock, but
he simply grunted, not even looking in my direction.

"Well, if you'll excuse me for a second " said Brenda, and
disappeared into the kitchen. I took up a spot in the armchair,
trying to notice that instead of Seinfeld, we were apparently
going to watch basketball. Which was funny because, like me,
Brenda had very little interest in professional sports.

As soon as Brenda was out of earshot, Andy turned and glowered
at me. "Get out," he simply stated.

"What?" I stammered, hoping he was joking.

"I said leave. We don't want you here."

"What right do you have "

He stood up and towered over me. Waving a fist under my nose, he
continued. "Brenda's mine, get it? She ain't yours. Now hit the
road."

"Hey, Brenda's my friend, you can't tell me "

"The hell I can't. I know where you go to school. I catch you
around her again " he violently poked me in the ribs.

I felt utterly helpless. Why was Brenda with this caveman? And
yet I knew I was sunk. There was no way I could stand up to this
monster. I could run crying to Brenda, I supposed, but what
then? He was her boyfriend, and I was obviously someone who
she no longer had room for in her life.

Andy backed away just as Brenda returned with some snacks. "Um,"
I began awkwardly, "I need to leave."

"But you just got here!" protested Brenda. But the relief in her
voice was hard to mistake.

"I just remembered something I have to do." I headed for the
door.
I was surprised when Andy said "I'll walk you out," in a falsely
amiable voice. As soon as the front door closed behind us, Andy
looked to make sure no one was watching and threw me roughly
onto the driveway. Sc****d and bruised, I hobbled to my feet.

"Just a warning," he muttered, and went back inside. Back to
Brenda. Back to my lovely ex-best friend. Brenda obviously was
oblivious of Andy's treatment of me. But she sure hadn't
protested when I left.

As I began the long, long walk home, I reflected. Brenda was a
lovely girl. Why would she be romantically interested in a guy
like me? I was a nerd, weak, non-handsome, a wimp. She obviously
wanted a powerhouse like Andy, someone who could me a real man.
This I told myself over and over again. But by the time I got
home I had to rush to the bathroom and turn on the water, so my
mother wouldn't hear my tears.



I didn't hear from Brenda for another two years. Not until we
were seniors in high school. The weeks after I had been roughed
up by Andy I held out a half-hearted hope that Brenda would call
me up and ask me why I never came around any more. But she never
did. She had written off a lifelong friendship with someone,
just because he wasn't hard-boiled.

It was because of Spanish class that she reentered my life. It
was the day we all presented our commercial, where we each wrote
and performed a commercial for an imaginary product in Spanish.
Many students elected to present a group project, but I worked
alone. I had few friends, and I liked things better that way.

J. Jamison Johnson was presenting. I guess every school has
someone like Jamie. He was crazy. Not life of the party crazy,
not risk-taking Chuck Yeager crazy, but certifiable. I always
expected men in white coats to come drag him off. He never
blinked. Never. He complained of voices only he could hear. He'd
doze off in class, and awaken with a start, screaming of
spiders. On no fewer than four occasions he had to deliver urine
specimens to a doctor to prove he wasn't abusing an i*****l
narcotic.

Jamie had set up a large, garishly painted refrigerator box in
front of the class. Grinning into the video camera the teacher
was manning, he addressed the imaginary TV audience.

"Damas y Caballeros," he began (I'll translate from now on), are
you tired of your bland, wretched lives? Need a change? Tired of
your ugly face and potato-sack of a body?" Yes, I thought to
myself.

"Then what you need is Dr. Jamie's patented Image Enhancer! Yes,
thanks to the research of dozens of German scientists working
out of Buenos Aires, our labs have developed the most amazing
breakthrough in the subject of image enhancement since Hair in
a Can! May I have a volunteer, please?"

Of course, no one raised their hand. That was tragic for me,
because Jamie's glance soon fell in my direction.

"You sir!" he shouted like a carnival barker. "What is your
name?"

"Roberto," I edgily replied, giving my Spanish name.

"Roberto, please step up here. Tell me, sir, are you happy with
your present appearance?"

Since he obviously wanted me to say no, I replied in the
negative. It was the truth, anyway.

"Then Roberto, please step into the Image Enhancer and let it
work its magic!" Warily, I ducked into the door cut in the side
of the box.

Much to my surprise, I realized I was not alone in there. Tammi
Jones, a pretty blonde friend of Jamie's was in there as well.
I was further shocked to see she was wearing an evening gown.
She held a finger up to her lips and winked at me.

"And now," continued Jamie, "the Image Enhancer will work its
magic. Robert, would you please come out and show the audience
what wonders this great machine has worked on your ugly mug?"

I was confused. What wonders was he talking about? As I made for
the door, Tammi grabbed my arm to restrain me. Then she walked
out in my place.

"Wow, what an improvement!" shouted Jamie, and the class roared
with laughter. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Tammi was
supposed to be me, after I had my image 'enhanced.'

"Roberto, would you agree that you are now much better looking
that when you entered this machine?"

"Yes!" said Tammi, enthusiastically. Through a crack in the box
I could see her twirl and then wink at the audience. "I'm a
doll!"

"Another satisfied customer! Thank you Roberto."

"Please," tittered Tammi, "call me Roberta!"

I had a hard time not laughing myself. It was pretty funny, even
from my point of view. Too bad Jamie couldn't really invent
something like that. Not a sex changer, but something that would
make me handsome.

For the rest of the day, I put up with good-natured jibes from
fellow classmates. "Aw, he changed back. Too bad, he was cute
before." "Hey Robert, they certainly did a number on you. How
did you fit in that dress?" "Hey, if you see Roberta around,
tell her that about three guys want to ask her out."

I didn't think much of the incident after that. I had
practically forgotten about it when I got the call next week.

I had been sitting at home after school when the phone rang.
When I picked it up and said hello, I nearly fell out of my
seat. "Hello yourself," came a familiar voice.

"Brenda?" I nearly jumped out of my seat with joy.

"Of course it's me. Sorry to call out of the blue like this, but
I was wondering if you'd like to get together some time."

Would I? What a question! "Yes, of course. How about tomorrow?"

"Sounds great." We named a place and hung up.

The next day, as I sat in a booth of the fast food place we had
decided on, I wondered what had brought on Brenda's desire to
give me a call. Was she having regrets about cutting off our
friendship like that? Did she want to be buddies again? Was she
having some sort of problem that she wanted to talk about?
Whatever the reason, I was glad she would be back in my life
again.

When she walked in I nearly jumped out of my seat. When I had
last seen Brenda, she had been a pretty fifteen-year-old girl.
Now, she was a gorgeous, s*******n-year-old young woman. Her
long black tresses hung down her back in a simple ponytail. Her
long, slender legs peeped out from under her stylish skirt. Her
body had continued to fill out, she was now more buxom and
curvaceous than I remembered her. Her perfect face broke into a
smile when she saw me and I thought my heart would melt.

"Robert!" she called joyfully. She caught my face in her hands
and kissed my cheek.

"It's been a long time," I babbled, awkwardly.

"Too long," murmured Brenda, as she sat down across from me.
"Robert, I guess I need to apologize "

"For what?" I asked, though I knew.

"For ditching you and never calling you again. That was horrible
of me."

"No, you just had your life to live "

"But it wasn't like that. Listen, Robert, I need someone to talk
to. I hate to unload on you after all this time, but "

"Please, I'm glad I could be of service." Brenda smiled her
lovely smile again.

"Well, I've been dating Andy for about two years now. At first,
I thought it would be fun, me a cheerleader, him a football
player. But after a few months, I realized that there was
something wrong. He's selfish, Robert. Selfish, egotistical, and
rude. He never remembers my birthday, never compliments me,
never does any nice little things for me. Finally, last month,
I told him to shove off. I deserve better."

"Good for you. How did he take it?"

"He was pissed. He said I'd regret it, but I sure don't. I feel
freer than I have in a long time." I smiled inwardly. Tough
luck, you SOB.

"At any rate," she continued, "last week, in Spanish class, my
teacher brought in a tape from your high school. I was pretty
surprised to see the face of my old best friend up there. That
is until you got changed into a woman!" I groaned. No contact
for two years, and now she sees me get a video sex change.

"So I got to thinking. You always remembered my birthday. You'd
always notice when I felt sad. You'd do little things for me
that made me feel good all day. That's when I got to wondering
why I ever stopped being friends with you." She reached over and
took my hand. "Robert, I didn't realize it until then how much
I missed you. Do you think do you think we could be pals again?
Just like old times?"

"Brenda, I've missed you too! Of course we can be friends
again." Brenda smiled and got up. "I have to go now. But listen,
why don't you come over this weekend? Seinfeld's off the air,
but we've got a lot of catching up to do."

I was practically dancing on the ceiling by the time Mom came
home that night. Why shouldn't I have been? Brenda was back! We
would be buddies again. And maybe no, it was silly to think
this, but maybe, after two years with a jerk, she'd be looking
for someone who treated her right. Someone like me.

It was stupid, but I couldn't help wondering. I'd play it cool
though, the worst thing that could happen would be that we
remained good friends.

"So why are you in such a good mood?" my mom asked me over
dinner.

"Brenda and I got together today. It was good to see her."

"That's nice. You ought to bring her over here some time." That
was my mom. Every time I mentioned any woman, Mom wanted to meet
her. I could tell she hoped Brenda and I would get together. I
think ever since Dad left, she was afraid I would end up with
nobody.

I had Mom drop me off at the appointed time. She wanted to come
in and say hi, but I wouldn't let her. I was afraid she'd get
into a conversation with Brenda's parents and we'd never get any
time alone. I walked up Brenda's long driveway. Even after a
couple of years it was exactly how I remembered it: the three
story house, the well-manicured lawn, the four or five cars
parked in the garage and out front. I was never quite sure what
Brenda's parents did for a living, but they were obviously quite
successful at it.

Before I could reach the door, there was Brenda, just like old
times. She gave me a big hug, and waved to my mother, who honked
back at her as she was pulling out. Taking me by the hand,
Brenda led me inside.

"Robert," she gushed, "I have to admit, I've really been looking
forward to this. Andy really didn't like it when I hung out with
my friends, so it's been a while that I've been able to relax
with anyone. Can I get you something to drink?"

Soon we were sitting on the couch, chatting as if we did it
every day. "So where are your parents?" I asked.

"Oh, they're at work. It's for the best, that gives us more time
to get reacquainted."

Soon, much to my chagrin, the subject of the Spanish video came
up. "You looked pretty cute in that video," she teased.

"Spare me."

She pinched my cheek. "So what did they use? Makeup?"

"Ha, ha. You know that wasn't really me."

"Of course not. But I bet with a little padding, you'd be even
prettier than that girl in the video."

"That's almost insulting, Brenda. Of course I wouldn't be."

"Bet you would."

"No. I wouldn't." I was almost angry. Why was she so insistent
upon the subject?

Brenda took me by the hand and pulled me into her bedroom. She
then closed the door.

"You know, Robert, I bet you'd fit into some of my things. Why
don't you try some on?"

"Are you out of your mind? Why?"

"I want to see what you'd look like." She smiled prettily and
played with her hair.

"Nothing doing!"

"Please, Robert? Just a dress, and maybe some makeup."

"Maybe I should go." I was getting a little freaked out here.
Why did she want me to dress like a girl?

"Please stay. I'll make you a deal. Let me give you a make-over.
If you don't think you look like a pretty girl, then I'll hamm."

"You'll what?"

"I'll give you a kiss." She grinned. I half-smiled. She had just
said about the only thing that would have made me even consider
such a plan.

"Promise no one will know?" She crossed her heart and made the
Boy Scout salute.

"What do I have to do?"

"First, take off your clothes." I guess she saw my shocked
expression. "Don't worry, I'll leave the room." She was gone
before I could tell her I wouldn't have minded had she stayed.

Watching myself in the floor length mirror on her door, I
disrobed. I regarded my slim, freckled body. No muscles, no body
hair, no manly stature. Just freckles and orange hair. I
wondered if I'd ever need to shave or if I could hope to grow
any taller. "Now what?" I called through the door.

"On top of my dresser there's a pair of panties. Put them on."
They were colorful cotton briefs, clearly made for a woman. I
pulled them on. They were soft and silky against my skin.
Obviously, they couldn't contain all of me, I clearly bulged in
the front. Luckily, the cold room prevented me from 'expanding'
in that direction. "Got them on?" asked Brenda. When I answered
yes, I was shocked when Brenda casually walked in.

I tried to cover myself. "What are you doing?"

She winked at me. "Oh, stop being so modest. I need to help you
with everything else." Soon she was rummaging through her
bureau. "Ah, this will be perfect." She displayed for me a
white, lacy bra.
hamm
"You don't honestly expect me to wear that?" I balked.

"Why not? I do." She then hiked up her shirt, revealing an
identical bra, along with her ample cleavage and flat stomach.
I went to put on the bra.

"Let me help you," said Brenda, pulling down her shirt. She
stood behind me and helped me pull the feminine garment around
my arms. Then she hooked it in the back. I felt like I was
throttling on the elastic straps. I wanted to look at my
reflection, but she blocked my view. "Not yet."

Brenda then showed me a couple of washcloths, which she began
wadding up. "Now I need to give you some breasts! That's a C-cup
you're wearing there, you know." She stood behind me and gently
filled in my brassiere cups with the hand towels.

A funny thing happened while she was padding me. It didn't
realize it at first, but I began to get aroused. It was
understandable; I mean, there I was, almost naked, with Brenda
moving her hands all over my body. By the time I worked out what
was going on, it was too late to start thinking about baseball.

Mercifully, Brenda didn't seem to notice how I was filling out
her panties. She kept adjusting and readjusting the padding in
my bra, until she felt the cups were more or less the right
shape. "That'll do for now," she said. "Now let's get you some
clothes." As she turned to go through her closet, I quickly
moved behind her bed and placed a pillow in front of my hips. I
didn't want her to know how much her touch excited me, and I
certainly didn't want her to think I found being dressed in
women's underwear arousing.

Brenda returned with a light-green skirt. "I think this will
look good on you. Redheads like you always look nice in green."

"What does it matter? No one else will see me. Why are you
taking this so seriously?"

"Oh, I dunno. I guess I just don't want to do a slipshod job.
Now put this on." Grudgingly, I stepped into the skirt. It was
a little too small, but I managed to zip it up in the back.
Brenda then came at me with a tight little sweater. I pulled my
way into it.

"Are you quite finished yet?" For two years I had fantasized
about being with Brenda again. Now my dreams were coming true,
and the first thing she wants to do it doll me up in her
clothes.

"Not finished yet, honey."

"What do you mean, not finished? What more could I put on?"

"For starters, there's makeup."

"Makeup?" I looked in horror at the mascara brush in her hand.
"No way. That wasn't part of the deal."

Brenda looked sad. "C'mon, Robert. No one will ever find out.
Just let me make up that pretty face of yours."

"Nothing doing. I have my pride."

Brenda looked me in the eye. Then she slid her arms around my
waist. "I understand. It's just that I've never met a guy who
cared about me enough to let me make him pretty." She leaned her
head on my shoulder. "Are you sure you won't think about it?"

At the moment I was incapable of thinking about anything; there
was too much blood gone from my head. All I could do was nod.

Brenda sat me down in front of her makeup table. She would not
let me look in the mirror. Instead, she stood in front of me and
began applying the makeup.

"It's a good thing you don't have a beard," she said as she
sharpened an eyeliner pencil. "Otherwise, you'd never look
right." I blushed. A lot of guys my age were already shaving,
and yet I couldn't pretend to even need to trim a couple of
hairs.

Brenda started rubbing foundation into my cheeks. "I've always
thought your freckles were cute," she said, "so I won't cover
them up too much." The foundation felt cold and goopy and I
began to wish that I hadn't agreed to this. It was just that
when Brenda had touched me, I felt like there was nothing I
wouldn't do for her.

Brenda then moved on to my eyes. The eyeliner felt painful and
the mascara was gross feeling. I wanted to wipe it all off, but
Brenda stayed my hand. "I'm almost done now. You can wash it all
off in a few minutes."

Lastly came the lipstick. Brenda applied and wiped off several
colors until she said she found a shade that looked good on me.
And that was that.

"Can I look yet?" I whined. In spite of myself, I had begun to
wonder just how silly I looked in this getup. Probably pretty
damn stupid. But then again, I was the one here with Brenda, not
that jerk Andy.

"Not just yet," replied Brenda. "Robert, honey, you're such a
sweetheart for agreeing to this. I'll make this up to you." I
smiled inwardly, wondering how.

Brenda walked to her closet and returned with a blonde wig.
"This was part of my Halloween costume last year. Here, let me
put it on you." She d****d the long hair over my head. Then she
sat behind me and began brushing it. I have to admit that it was
a pleasant sensation, just sitting back with Brenda stroking my
hair, so near me.

"One more thing." Brenda clipped two black plastic earrings to
my ears. "There. All done. Would you like to look?"

I grimaced and turned to the mirror. I don't know what I was
expecting, I guess I figured I'd look like a circus clown or
something. That's why it took me a few minutes to fully
comprehend what I was looking at.

She was uncomfortable, that was for sure. Terrified, even. Her
hair was messy and there was something about her makeup that
wasn't quite right. But she was a girl. She had curves and
breasts, and girl's clothes. I smiled and she smiled back.

I leaned forward to examine this girl in the mirror some more.
She did likewise. Her hair was obviously a wig, but it was hard
to tell. She had freckles that make her look both cute and
innocent at the same time. I stood up and turned around. Could
you tell that she wasn't really a girl? It would be hard. There
was no sign of any masculine characteristics. No beard, no
towering height or prominent jaw.

Was she pretty? It was hard to say. Certainly nowhere near as
lovely as Brenda, but from the point of view of a teenage boy I
didn't want to think about that any longer.

"So what do you think?" asked Brenda, clearly excited.

"Great," I said flatly. "Now can I change back?"

"So soon? I just finished." She began to pout.

"Brenda, what has gotten into you? This is humiliating for me!
I'm putting on my own clothes now." I moved to remove my
earrings.

"Wait!" she shouted, almost as if she were terrified that I'd
put on boy clothes again.

"What?"

"What do you think of yourself?"

"I look like an idiot."

"No you don't. You look very pretty."

"That's crap. I look like a guy in a skirt."

"No, you look like a lovely young woman."

That did it. "Good-bye, Brenda. I'm changing then, I'm leaving
here." I valued her friendship, but not that much.

Brenda grabbed me by the arm. "I'm sorry, Robert. That was rude
of me. After I saw that video I got to wondering if I was good
enough with makeup to make a guy pretty. I guess this is pretty
uncomfortable for you. Why don't you wash off your makeup, and
I'll make some popcorn." Her voice was desperate, I think she
was afraid she had offended me.

I calmed down. "Thanks Brenda. I didn't mean to get angry."

"It's OK. Oh " Brenda put her hands on my shoulders. "I guess I
loose the bet."

"What bet?"

"If you didn't think you looked like a pretty girl, then I'd
give you a kiss. And since you obviously don't " Without
warning, Brenda leaned over and kissed me. For a long time. I'd
never been kissed before, and all of a sudden the prettiest girl
I knew was pressing her lips to mine. And a lot harder than the
bet required. Eventually she pulled away. She winked and left.
I sat on her bed, numb. She had lipstick smeared on her mouth.
My lipstick.

I sat there numb for a few minutes. She had kissed me! A real
kiss! I didn't believe that garbage about the bet, all she had
to do was give me a peck on the cheek. Or refuse flat out. But
she hadn't.

What did it mean? Were we dating now? Or just friends? I had to
play it cool. One thing was for sure, though. I couldn't stay
dressed like this any more.

I found Brenda in the kitchen, popping some corn. "Hey Robert,"
she smiled. "I figured you'd have gotten out of those close
ASAP."

"I will, believe me. I was just wondering the best way to remove
this makeup."

"With cream. Hang on a minute, I'll give you a hand."

"Thanks hey, watch the corn!"

"Huh? Oh!" The popcorn was popping over the top of the pot.
Quickly, Brenda grabbed the pot by its handle, without thinking
that it wasn't insulated. She screamed in pain and dropped
everything on the floor.

Forgetting everything but the fact that Brenda had just been
burned, I took her by the arm and lead her to the sink. After I
had run her hand under some cold water I inspected the wound.

"How bad is it?" she asked, not looking.

"It think you'll be OK. Go put some Bactine on it, I'll take
care of this."

After Brenda disappeared into the bathroom I turned off the
stove and began cleaning up the spilt popcorn. I guess it wall
all the commotion that prevented me from hearing the car drive
up.

When I heard the kitchen door open, I froze. 'It can't be.' I
thought. 'It simply can't be.' But it was. When I turned, I was
standing face to face with Brenda's parents. And I was still
wearing her clothes.

Brenda's parents looked slightly puzzled. As I tried to think of
some sort of plausible excuse as to why I was wearing their
daughter's skirt, sweater, and makeup, Brenda walked in.

"Hey, Mom, Dad. Didn't expect you home so soon." I wanted to
cry. Why wasn't Brenda leaping to my defense, explaining that I
didn't normally dress like a woman?
"Got off early," replied her father. "I don't believe we've met
your friend."

"Oh, this is um Roberta. She came over to watch movies with me."

Her mother started to say something, but then noticed the
washcloth Brenda was holding around her injured hand. When
Brenda had explained her injury, her parents nearly bowled her
over in an effort to examine her. It was only with an effort
that she convinced them that she didn't need to go to the
emergency room.

I stood there uncomfortably, wringing my hands and wishing that
Brenda had never called me. How dare she introduce me as
'Roberta'? Did she think it was funny to humiliate me in front
of her family? I'm sure they'd all have a great laugh about it
when I was gone.

Finally, I managed to get Brenda alone in her room.

"How dare you!" I barked.

"Excuse me?"

"Calling me Roberta! I guess you think making me look like a fag
in front of your parents is a pretty funny joke, huh?"

"Robert, what are you talking about?"

"You probably knew they were coming home, but wanted me to make
an ass of myself!"

Without warning, Brenda doubled over laughing. "Oh, Robert,
Robert. Forget your male pride. Did my parents seem surprised or
upset?"

"Well, no."

"Of course not. Robert, honey, they thought you were a girl! I
had to introduce you as Roberta, otherwise you really would have
been embarrassed!"

"Embarrassed? What could me more embarrassing that being taken
for a woman?"

"Well, being taken for a cross dresser, for one. I'm so sorry,
I honestly didn't expect them home for another couple of hours."

"Well I'm going to tell the truth!"

"Why?"

"Why! Um because I'm not a woman!"

"So what logical reason will you give them for being dressed
like that? I know it's my fault, but you'll be the one who looks
weird."

I hadn't thought of that. "Look, just sit tight," continued
Brenda. "No one has to know anything. Our secret."

"Have you forgotten," I seethed "that I live across town? Either
Mom has to come and get me or your parents have to drive me
home. And I can't very well expect my mom not to comment on the
way I'm dressed!"

Brenda's face went gray. "I hadn't thought of that."

"This was all your idea. I can either be humiliated in front of
my mom or your parents. I choose your parents. Thanks for
nothing." I yanked off my wig and made for the door.

"Wait!" screamed Brenda.

"What?"

"You could you could spend the night."

"Spend the night?" My anger faded, just a little.

"I'll tell my parents that you're going to sleep over. You call
your mom and tell her you met up with a male friend and are
going over to watch movies or something. If I remember her,
she'll trust you enough to take that at face value. After my
folks leave for work tomorrow you can change back and have your
mom take you home."

"But I'd have to act like a girl all night!"

"Mom and Dad won't force themselves on us. Just try to talk in
a higher register and remember not to scratch your balls." She
could tell I wasn't excited about this.

"Not a lot of guys would do this for a woman," she said touching
my cheek. "But I know you're man enough to do me a favor. Will
you do it, honey?" That was like the third or forth time she had
called me 'honey' that night. It was getting harder and harder
to tell myself she didn't think of me in a romantic way at all.

"OK," I sighed. "But I'm only doing this for you."

She smiled, and kissed me again. Not as long as last time, but
another kiss nonetheless.



Later that night, we both sat in her room talking. It was nearly
three. We had watched some movies and had some snacks. Mom
hadn't suspected a think when I called her (that's the one good
thing about being dull. No one expects you to lie, even when you
are). After Brenda had made it clear she didn't want her parents
hanging around us, we were left mercifully alone. I still
affected a more feminine voice and tried to sit up straight,
with my legs crossed.

But now it was bedtime. It had been so nice just to sit in her
room and talk, catching up on old times. While I hadn't had a
lot to relate, Brenda caught me up on all she had been doing.
What interested me most, however, were her stories about Andy.
While previously I had thought he was just a jerk, I began to
understand he was worse than that. Brenda implied, though never
flat-out said, that Andy had come close to being violent towards
her on more than one occasion. My selfish motives aside, I was
happy that Brenda had escaped that moron.

"Well," said Brenda with a lazy stretch, "I think we ought to
turn in."

"OK. I'll ." I stopped short. Brenda had begun disrobing right
in front of me.

Off went her shirt. Off came her pants. She was standing there,
in nothing but her skivvies. Was this it? Were we about to do
it? Oh God, what a night!

Brenda began to unhitch her bra, when she happened to turn and
see me. I guess the fact that my jaw was scr****g the floor
didn't help things. "Whoops!" She smiled. "I've been thinking of
you as Roberta a bit too long, I guess." Damn! Oh well.

Brenda pulled on a nightgown, then removed her bra from
underneath. She playfully threw it at me. I gulped.

"So, um what should I sleep in?"

She giggled. "Here you go." She handed me a lacy nightgown.

"Don't you have any sweat pants or anything?"

She ignored that. "You'll look cute," was all she would say.

I removed my skirt and sweater. Brenda refused to allow me to
remove my bra, saying I needed to keep my breasts, in order to
look authentic. Though who would be seeing me, she didn't say.
I insisted on getting out of the wig and removing my makeup,
however.

Finally, Brenda turned off the light and crawled into bed. I
froze. Did she expect me to join her? What if I did and she got
mad? What if I didn't and she had expected me to? Fearing
offending her, I lay down on the floor. Roberta turned over in
bed.

"Robert, does your back hurt?"

"No, why?"

"I was wondering why you're sleeping on the floor. Stop acting
so silly and get into bed."

Still in my nightgown, I crawled under the sheets with the most
beautiful woman I had ever known. And I still had no idea what
to do. Should I make a move or no? She had her back to me, but
that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't interested.

Expecting rejection, I d****d my arm around her prone body. She
snuggled closer to me. She wasn't offended. Gingerly, gingerly
I moved my hand upwards.

As my fingers made the first light contact with her silk-covered
breasts, she moved away. I felt like the biggest ass in the
world. She trusts me enough to let me sleep in the same bed with
her, and I immediately go in for the kill.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but she turned to me with a
pleasant smile on her face. "Not just yet, Robert. Things are
still a little fresh between Andy and I. I'm not ready. Would
you mind if we put that off for a while?" Would I mind? The love
of my life asks if I could wait a bit before making love to her
and I'm supposed to mind? I could barely stop from doing
cartwheels!

That night I pictured it all in my head. I'd be the boyfriend
she never had, but deserved. The great guy who was always there.
The guy who knew what she liked and how she wanted to be
treated. Someday, when she was ready, we'd make love. And then
we'd never part.

It was funny, the whole time I was thinking about what a great
boyfriend I'd be, it never occurred to me I was still wearing
Brenda's clothes.

The next two weeks I was in heaven. Even though we lived a good
distance from each other, Brenda insisted that we see each other
several times a week. I called her every night. At first I was
afraid that I was harassing her, but she would frequently tell
me how nice it was to be remembered. Andy had rarely called
unless he wanted something.

It was hard to define our relationship at that time. We were
friends, that was for sure. But were we more? Brenda would
introduce me as Robert. She never implied that we were linked
romantically, but at the same time, she never denied it. When
we'd run into her friends at the movies or restaurants, it
seemed to me that they would assume I was her date.

We never did much physically. She'd kiss me goodnight, but would
never let me go further. "I'm just not ready for that yet,"
she'd say, apologetically. I was patient. Brenda wasn't a tease,
I knew she just had to work things out in her head before she
could move on. As for me dressing in her clothes, she never
mentioned it again.

It was right before senior prom I decided to step up my efforts
to make her my official girlfriend. I knew that prom constituted
a real date, but I figured I should at least ask her. With Andy
out of the picture, she just might say yes to me.

I was bumbling and awkward when I asked, but I managed to blurt
out that I'd like to accompany her to prom. She giggled, then
kissed me. "I was wondering if you'd ever ask me. Yes, of course
I'll go."

I was walking on air all that night! Prom with the girl of my
dreams! For once I wouldn't be a nerd! We'd walk into the prom
at her school proudly. I'd be there with the prettiest girl on
the dance floor.

I didn't mention my achievement to anyone that night, out of
fear I'd jinx things. It was a good thing, too. The next night,
she called me up, in tears.

"I have to talk to you, Robert. I'll come pick you up. I don't
think we can go to prom."

I managed to bite my lip until she had picked me up and we'd
pulled out of the driveway. "What's wrong Brenda?" I asked,
concerned. She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the car over
to the side of the road and began bawling.

"What? What is it?" Even before she said anything, I knew
somehow that Andy was to blame.

She handed me a folded piece of paper. "I found it in my locker
today."



'Dear Brenda,' it read.

'I heard you think your (sic) going to prom with another guy. NO
WAY! I swear to God that any guy who so much as holds your hand
at prom it gonna get his face smashed in. I'm gonna be there
ready to pound whatever geek you take. You go with me or you
don't go!

Andy'

I was stunned. I knew Andy had taken it badly, but this?

"I'm so sorry, Robert. We can't go, he'd kill you."

"We'll just go to the prom at my school." I felt sick to my
stomach. I could only imagine what would happen if Andy decided
he wanted to beat me up. He was twice my size!

"He'd just follow me. I'm sorry, Robert, but I can't let
anything happen to you. You're too special. We'll just come to
my place, play Monopoly "

NO! By God, no! I may be a scrawny shrimp, but I'd be
damned if I was going to have Brenda sit home on prom night
because I wasn't as manly as Andy.

Brenda had plunged her face into my shoulder and began
sobbing harder. Gently, I took her chin in my hand. "Brenda, I'm
taking you to that prom." She tried to interrupt. "Don't you
see? If you don't come, he'll win! Do you want that? Him
controlling your life? I'm willing to stand up to him. I don't
care if he is bigger, I'm not going to let you get pushed
around." There. I said it. Let's see, blood type, B+, no
allergies, I guess I should will everything to Mom

Brenda stopped weeping. "Why would I think you'd ever
abandon me, Robert? But I'm not letting you go. I'm not
exaggerating when I say you'd wind up in the hospital."

"I'll take the risk." Gulp.

"No. He'd pick a fight with Mike Tyson if I showed up with
him. There's no one he wouldn't pound, except maybe " she
stopped short. Sitting up straight, she wiped her eyes and
looked at me.

"What?" I was afraid she'd remembered a macho friend who she
could go to prom with.

"Robert, you really did make a convincing girl the other day."

I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "You said you weren't going to
bring that up."

"I'm sorry. But well, you did. It was really hard to tell you
weren't a guy. And I was just thinking, Andy wouldn't hit a
girl."

I instantly saw where she was going with that. "No way," I
stated.

"Hear me out. If I made you up pretty enough to pass for
Roberta, you could still be my date! I'll tell everyone at
school what Andy threatened to do. Everyone will expect him to
pound whatever guy I go with. Then, when I show up with a woman,
he'll look like an idiot. All psyched up to beat someone up, and
he won't be able to do anything!"

"No way. I'm showing up in a tux, not a gown."

"Then I'm not going. You've a braver man than Andy, but that
won't do you any good in the ER."

"You must think I'm a real sissy." I was bitter.

"Jesus, do you men ever listen? You're willing to stand up to a
guy twice your size, just to protect me. You're three times the
man Andy was. But facts are facts and you'll get hurt. Maybe you
could just put aside your pride a bit and take me to that prom."
She snuggled against me. "I'll even let you lead."

I didn't now weather to laugh or cry. "What will people think?
You dancing with a woman, I mean."

"Who cares? I could just get a female friend to go with me, but
I'd rather go with you." She flipped my hair.

"Promise no one will recognize me?"

"You won't recognize yourself."

"Then Christ, the things I do for you."

She pecked my cheek. "Better you should concentrate on the
things I'm going to do with you." She licked her lips and
started the car.

The next day I showed up and Brenda's house to go shopping for
gowns. The indignity of it! A s*******n-year-old guy getting
ready for prom by going to a formal dress store! Still, I was
doing it for Brenda. It was a chance to make her safe and to
show up Andy. But I much would have rather been big enough to
stand up to Andy, not small enough to fit into a dress.

As usual, Brenda's parents weren't home and we'd have the whole
place to ourselves. When I rang the doorbell, I was both
surprised and pleased to see that she was wearing a towel over
her hair, another one around her torso, and nothing else. "Hi,
Robert. Sorry, I'm running a little late. C'mon in."

Trying to focus on her eyes, I followed. I thought about asking
to borrow her towel, a la Chevy Chase in 'Fletch', but lost my
nerve.

"I'll be dressed in a minute," she said as she ducked into the
bathroom (don't put yourself out on my account). "In the mean
time, why don't you go to my closet and pick something out to
wear."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't very well take you to a women's clothing store as
Robert, now can I?"

"Hang on, I never agreed to this! Can't you just pick a prom
dress out for me?"

"Nope. They have to do measurements and such."

"What if someone I know sees me?"

"Don't worry. I'm taking you to a place that you
couldn't um that I doubt you've been to."

"You mean, too fancy for me to afford, right?"

She stuck her head out of the bathroom, a guilty expression on
her face. "Yes. Sorry."

That was always a point of awkwardness between us. Brenda had a
new car, nice clothes, a big house. I lived in a tiny house,
wore non-name brand clothes, and didn't have a car. Ever since
Dad had run out on us, Mom had struggled to make ends meet. I
still had no idea how I was going to afford college.

I slunk into Brenda's room and poked around in her closet,
trying to find the least feminine things I could fit into. As if
reading my thoughts, Brenda shouted from the bathroom "And no
slacks or T-shirts. You have to look authentic, OK?"

I ignored her. I was already wearing a pair of her pants and
wasn't going to change again. The pants had fit, much to my
shock. Though Brenda was skinnier than me, she had much wider
hips, enabling me to slip inside them. I then began searching
for a top.

"Here, let me give you a hand." Brenda had returned, dressed in
a pair of cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. Even dressed as sloppily
as that, she seemed to exude femininity. I knew it would take a
lot of effort to make me look half that good.

Brenda handed me an athletic bra. "Just slip that on. After I
stuff you, no one will suspect anything if a clerk or someone
should get a glimpse of you while your changing." I gulped. If
anyone ever figured out my true gender, I'd have to leave town.

After Brenda had given me a nice pair of boobs (this time made
up of nylon stockings stuffed with socks) she handed me a top.

"Brenda, I can't wear this!" I gasped, as soon as I had it on.
"It doesn't go all the way down!" My freckled belly showed, just
a little, between the shirt and pants.

"That's the point, silly. You're so skinny, you look cute in a
midriff baring number. Like a red-headed Brittany Spears!" I
blushed crimson.

"Now don't get like that," said Brenda, putting her arms around
my neck. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Nothing to be ashamed of? It's not even prom night, and already
I'm looking like a girl! Maybe we should just call this off."

Brenda placed her mouth very near mine. I could feel her breath
on my face. "Robert, do you like being my boyfriend?" I gasped,
inwardly. She had said it! We were a couple. I nodded.

"I like being your girlfriend. And do you know why? Because you
go the extra mile. You do things for me no other guy would. And
after prom, I'm going to show you just how grateful I am." She
slapped my butt. "Now no more whining. Let me do your makeup."

When Brenda had made me up that first night, it was sort of a
half-hearted job; she hadn't expected anyone else to see me.
Today, it was different. Going to a store, even an exclusive
private one, required me to look like a s*******n year-old
girl.

"This might take a while," said Brenda when she began. "You're
coloring is much different than mine, I'm going to have to try
a few things before I know what's right."

"Just use a lot," I muttered, fidgeting under the towel she had
placed over me. "The more you use, the less chance anyone will
notice me."

"That's where you're wrong," replied Brenda, beginning to apply
foundation to my face. "Any real woman can go out with no makeup
and no one would suspect a thing. If you use too much, people
might start to wonder what you're trying to cover up. I'm only
going to put just enough one so that you won't arouse
suspicion."

Soon, my freckles had faded under a thin layer of foundation and
blush. My lips were painted scarlet and my eyelashes were coated
with thick mascara. I began to tremble at how smoothly my
transition between the genders went. How would I ever convince
Brenda that I was man enough for her, if I made such a nice
girl?

When Brenda had finished she winked at me. "You look really
cute, Roberta."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" I asked, feeling every bit
the sissy.

"Because I don't want to slip up and call you Robert while we're
in public. Now let me fix your wig and we'll be all set."

Soon we were in Brenda's convertible, driving off to God knows
where. Brenda had wanted to drive with the top down, but I
insisted we keep it up. What if someone saw me? I nearly died
when a carload of teenagers from my school pulled up next to us
at a light. I faced the other way until the light turned green.
They didn't see me.

As we pulled into the parking lot of a ritzy looking department
store, Brenda looked at me in an odd way. "Roberta, you know how
I promised not to tell anyone about what you were doing?"

I felt my guts knot up. "You didn't tell anyone, did you? Dear
God, you promised!"

"Calm down, honey. No, I haven't told anyone. But at the store
we're going to, there's a beautician who has I guess you could
call it, a special talent."

"What do you mean, 'special talent'?"

"She does make-overs for cross dressers oh, don't give me
that look!"

"I am not a cross dresser! I am only doing this for you, and I
sure don't want to get made over with a bunch of drag queens!
You act like this is a lifestyle of mine!"

Brenda lay a hand on my knee and I stopped ranting. "Roberta, I
know you don't enjoy this. I just felt we'd be taking an
unnecessary risk if we went shopping without help. You never
know what could happen. I can dress you up OK, but this woman
can work wonders. Will her help, I guarantee we'll have no
problems on prom night. No one will suspect a thing."

"I don't know "

"Please?" Brenda slipped her hand around my bare waist. "I
promise, it won't hurt." She batted her eyes at me.

"OK. But I'm only doing this for you."

"I know you are honey. This is going to be a prom to remember."

She grabbed me by the hand and led me inside. I had never felt
so self-conscious as I did right then, walking through the
crowded department store wearing a half shirt, a female wig, and
makeup. I felt like everyone was watching me, snickering behind
their hands at my shameful costume.

"Relax, honey, you're doing just fine," Brenda whispered to me.
"No one suspects a thing."

"So how did you find out about this make-over lady?" I asked, in
an effort to take my mind off my feminine attire.

"She's a beautician. My mom uses her. She once mentioned that
she occasionally did make-overs for female impersonators. So
when I decided to take 'Roberta' to the prom, naturally I made
an appointment for you."

"You did what? You said you didn't tell anyone!"

"Calm down. I didn't give your real name. Really, you need to
learn to relax a bit."

I placed my hand over my 'breasts' and breathed heavily. "I'm
sorry. You come here dressed as a man with the world staring at
you, and see how calm you are."

Brenda looked mischievous. "I'll tell you what. You calm down
now, or I'll yank that wig of yours off, right here in front of
everyone."

I was horrified. "You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

I thought about it. "No, I really don't think you would."

Brenda sighed, I had called her bluff. "OK, I wouldn't. But if
you're this nervous on prom night people are going to think
something is up. Now here's our stop."

We had come to a secluded corner of the large store, a tiny
glass-fronted door lead into what appeared to be a ritzy beauty
salon. Brenda pulled me by the hand up to the reception desk.

"I have a one o'clock with Mary Ann," she told the clerk.

Soon we were joined by a smiling, middle-aged woman. "Brenda,"
she twittered. "It's so nice to see you. How is your mother?"
They exchanged banalities for a while. "And this must be
Roberta," continued Mary Ann. She squeezed my hand. "Well, shall
we?"

We were led to a back room of the beauty parlor. When Mary Ann
shut the door behind us, we were shut off from the rest of the
store, free to talk in private.

I looked around. The compact room seemed to contain everything
needed for a complete make-over: sink, basin, makeup table,
sewing kit, swatches of material, and a changing screen. I was
about to breathe a sigh of relief when someone walked from
behind the screen.

It was a pretty blonde girl, about my age. She was curvaceous,
maybe even slightly plump, but as cute as could be. She wore a
tight sweater which accentuated her ample bosom, and tight
slacks through which the pleasing shape of her rear-end showed
through. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, and she wore only
enough makeup to accentuate her features. "Hi, Mom," she smiled
when she saw Mary Ann.

"Hi Crystal. You know Brenda, and this is Roberta. She needs a
little help passing as a woman for prom night."

Crystal winked at me. "She sure doesn't seem to be having any
trouble now. But when we're through with her, she'll forget she
was ever a boy."

At that moment I wished Brenda had never called me. My
humiliation had never been so absolute. Dressing like Roberta
for Brenda was one thing, I was only doing it to help her. And
Mary Anne wasn't that big of a deal, she was only there to help.
But no one said anything about telling my secret to this teenage
goddess! To make matters worse, Crystal clearly thought I was
doing this out of enjoyment! Had anyone bothered to inform her
how I had been coerced into doing this? How I was protecting
Brenda? No, they just let her think I was some kind of
transvestite! I began to question how much I cared about Brenda.

No one seemed to notice my agony. Mary Ann was glancing me over,
giving me a precursory inspection. "This is going to be easy,"
she smiled. "But we still have a lot of work to do. That silly
wig will have to go for starters. Crystal, why don't you run
over to Mr. Chad's and pick up something more Roberta's natural
color?"

Crystal smiled, picked up her purse and was gone. "Now,"
continued Mary Anne "as for her dress "

"Hold it right there!" I shouted. "Brenda, take me home this
instant. Find someone else to take you to prom."

Brenda looked genuinely shocked. "Roberta, honey, what's wrong?
I thought we'd discussed "

"Discussed? No, you discussed. You had me believing that the
only way I could go to your prom was as a girl! Then you drag me
out here for a make-over, and tell half the world my secret!" I
turned to Mary Ann. "Did you even bother to tell your daughter
that I was forced into doing this? I doubt it! You must have
just let her think that I'm some kind of teenage drag queen! She
probably thinks I'm going to prom with a guy!" I felt like
crying. Things weren't improved when both Brenda and Mary Ann
started giggling.

"You poor thing," grinned Brenda, caressing my cheek.

"You didn't tell Roberta?" Mary Ann asked Brenda.

"No, you always cautioned me not to tell anyone Crystal's
secret."

I was confused. "What secret? What are you two laughing about?"

At that moment Crystal returned, carrying a shopping bag. Mary
Ann placed her hand on Crystal's shoulder.

"Crystal, dear, Roberta is a bit embarrassed that you know she's
really a boy." Crystal seemed to think this was also hilarious.
I wanted to run away, the sight of my girlfriend, the
beautician, and the pretty blonde girl all laughing at me was
just too much.

Crystal sat down beside me. "Roberta, I'm sorry if that freaked
you out. I assumed you knew something about me, but I guess you
don't."

"What? What don't I know?"

"That my real name is Christopher. I'm no more of a girl than
you are."

I thought she was joking and rolled my eyes at her. But she just
smiled and nodded.

I looked her over a second time. Those breasts, could they just
be padding? That adorable face, was it nothing more than makeup?
That feminine giggle, the result of careful practice? Did those
tight jeans hide a maleness much like mine?

"How? Why?" I stammered.

Crystal winked at her mom. "Why don't you tell her?"

"OK," Mary Ann sat down next to her 'daughter.' While Crystal
touched up her makeup, I listened to Mary Ann's story of
Crystal's creation.

"About two years ago, when Crystal was fifteen (and known as
Christopher), my husband was killed in an accident. He was the
breadwinner in the house, and when he died, I didn't know what
to do. I mean, I was forty years old, no skills, and a teenage
son to support. I figured that maybe I could make a little money
as a beautician. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to go to
beauty school. So I practiced at home.

"I couldn't practice on myself, and I only had so many friends
I could impose on to let me do make-overs on them for hours at
a time. I only had one alternative." Crystal smiled and waved
her fingers at me.

"Obviously, Christopher refused at first. I mean, what kind of
fifteen-year-old k** wants his mother to practice feminine
beauty techniques on him?" Crystal giggled. "At any rate, he
finally agreed. I don't think there was anything he wouldn't
have done to help out the family." Mary Ann gave Crystal a one-
armed hug.

"Every night, I'd spend about three hours turning my son
Christopher into my daughter, Crystal. That may seem like a lot
of time, but keep in mind I was trying to break into an industry
I knew nothing about, with no training at all. I waitressed
during the day, worked nights at a factory, and in my free time
I tried to learn all the beauty secrets I could. Christopher was
a real trooper, being willing to become a girl every evening,
just to help me out.

"Finally, I began applying for jobs. I never realized how
hopeless my dreams had been. No one was interested in a middle-
aged woman with no experience. What's more, in this line of work
you have to have a huge portfolio of make-overs you have done.
All I had was Crystal, and I wasn't about to display photos of
her.

"Eventually things got so bad that Christopher agreed to allow
me to show off photos of Crystal. That, at least got me some
interviews. But things didn't help much. Crystal looked
beautiful, but she was just one facial type. I had to prove I
could make-over women no matter what they looked like.

"I think I would have given up my dreams had my car not broken
down and I had to have Christopher borrow a friend's car to pick
me up."

Crystal giggled, and began to recite the story where Mary Ann
left off. "So there I was, sitting in this office, listening to
some gay beauty parlor owner tell Mom why he couldn't hire her.
He holds up a picture of me as Crystal, then pauses. He looks
over at me, then back at the photo, then at me again. His eyes
get huge. Mom and I are terrified, obviously he figured out
where Mom got her model. I was so relieved when he didn't
mention it.

"But a week later, Mom gets a call from a friend of the
hairdresser. Seems he has always wanted to look like a woman,
but was too afraid to go to a beauty parlor. The guy Mom
interviewed with told him about Mom's talent for beautifying
men, and so he had called her. The guy paid five hundred bucks
just for one make-over and photo session.

"After that, our phone never stopped ringing. People were
calling from all over, begging to be made into women. It was
pretty hysterical. Mom busts her rear learning the secrets of
feminine beauty, and most of her customers are men!"

"But you!" I asked impatiently. "How come you are still dressing
like that?"

"Well, when Mom started doing this full time, it was obvious
that she needed an assistant. And since she couldn't afford to
hire one, I worked for her. But we soon realized that something
had to change. Men coming for female make-overs didn't feel
comfortable with a teenage guy watching them; it made them
ashamed. So before I knew it, I was going to work as Crystal."

Mary Ann resumed the story. "Crystal was an expensive
investment. I had to pay for all kinds of makeup, cosmetics, and
of course clothes. You never realize how expensive a teenage
daughter can be until you've had to buy all her dresses in one
week! Still, once Crystal was my assistant, all my clients felt
at ease. And if they ever wanted proof of my talents, Crystal
could simply take off her wig."

My head was spinning. "So how often are you dressed like that?"
I asked the boy who was prettier than most girls I knew.

"Well, I haven't stopped dressing like this for over a year now.
At first, I only did it evenings and weekends. But it was such
a pain constantly changing from one identity to another. Soon I
was Crystal non-stop, from Friday afternoon until Monday
morning. I began to make friends as Crystal. I found myself
almost thinking of myself as a girl. Finally, Mom began to worry
that puberty would make it impossible for us to continue the
ruse. I mean, if I grew a beard, I couldn't very well be her
model, could I?

"We decided that the best course of action would for me to begin
taking doses of estrogen. We figured that I could postpone the
onset of male characteristics until I left for college. I was
dressing like a girl so much by that time, it wasn't really a
big sacrifice. We only made one mistake: we bought the hormones
i*****lly, without consulting a doctor. And I ended up taking a
just a bit too much."

"What happened?" I breathlessly asked.

"Well, I did end up going through puberty. Just as the wrong
gender." Crystal began giggling so hard she couldn't go on. His
mother continued.

"About half a year after Crystal began the hormones, I began to
notice how it was gradually getting easier and easier to make
him over. At first I chalked it up to experience, but soon I
realized that wasn't the case. My son really was changing.

"His skin got softer. His hair grew silkier. I noticed him
starting to fill out, the way a young woman would. I'll never
forget the day I bought him his first bra. Obviously, he had to
change schools, there was only so much you could cover with
heavy clothes."

I was dumbfounded and scared. I hoped that my innocent foray
into the other side of life would never go this far. "So what
are your plans now?"

Crystal toyed with his blonde locks. I realized that his hair,
unlike mine, was natural. "I'm not sure," he mused. "I really
want to go to college next year, but I guess I should go back to
being Christopher before then. I guess this summer I'll stop the
estrogen, start taking some male hormones, and get on with my
life."

"So," piped in Brenda, "now that you realize you are among
friends, can we please get started?"

That was the last thing the three of them said to me the whole
rest of the afternoon. I might as well have been a mannequin,
for all the attention my opinions were given. After I was told
to disrobe, I simply sat there shivering in my underwear, while
the ladies decided how to do to me what had been done to
Christopher.

The first thing Mary Ann said she must do was to give me a
feminine figure. This was accomplished by squeezing me into a
girdle so tigh