Black Tights And A Mother's Love free porn video

Black Tights and a Mother's Love by J. Erin Hendricksen When I was but a precocious six year old boy an occurrence one sunny day in September changed my life forever. I can remember that day as clear as any in my entire life. It was the day my mother took me for my first ballet lesson. What possesses a mother to inflict the wrath of barbs, snide comments, stigma of femininity, etc., on her son by initiating training in classical dance? Why not cub scouts, soccer, or even gymnastics? Up to that point, you would most certainly surmise that I was a "normal" boy. I played with trucks, wore down my sneakers running and jumping, regularly ended the day soiled and sweaty from "boy" play. But I was also a "creative" boy. Mom had already sent me to lessons in suzuki violin and piano, which I loved. The teacher informed my mother that I was a "natural" in music. I also went to children's art classes throughout that summer. So in addition to being a busy "boy", mom was really allowing me to explore the "arts". When mom came to me and told me of her intentions regarding dance, I was curious about why, but most of all I was curious to learn what ballet was all about. Sure, I had seen the Nutcracker, but never ever really thought about the people that danced. The next afternoon she showed me by taking me to a rehearsal of a regional ballet company, one that she had danced in when she was younger. It was so much fun to see the flurry of activity, of beautiful women on their toes in perfect symmetry, and ably muscled male dancers lifting those ballerinas and practicing great leaps and jumps into the air. And of course, the music being played throughout the whole rehearsal. I do so love music! It all seemed so natural, so inviting. Then I got to meet some of the dancers. My mom was quite well known and maintained an active presence with the company, so when the dancers greeted me, I was treated as a celebrity. A beautiful ballerina with ginger tresses hugged me as she said "I bet you can't wait to come here and dance with us. Have you started your ballet training yet, Erin?" I really didn't know what to say. The thought of dance had never crossed my mind before. I had up to this point seen pictures of mom around the house from her career, but had never thought much about ballet. I simply smiled back at the dancer. Before I could say no, I heard mom over my shoulder exclaim "Erin will be dancing with this company by the time he is 16; he'll be starting his training next week." Another dancer chimed in "We all hope that you'll come back and dance with us Dana, we miss you!" My mom offered a polite "I would love to Clarise, but right now all of my attention is needed for this talented child of mine. I'll be back to dance with you, and when I do, Erin will be here dancing with us!" As we said our goodbyes, and were walking down the stairs from the studio, I asked mom "what will ballet lessons be like? I don't know anybody who takes ballet." Mom replied "Probably none of the boys that you play with in the neighborhood take ballet, but I'm sure some of the kids in your class at school will be starting at the same time you are. You're gonna love dancing, Erin. I just know that you will!" As a naive little boy, the next day in 1st grade brought about a more than moderate level of humiliation. During recess, I went around asking all my classmates whether they were starting ballet lessons like I was. A few girls just said no, probably because they didn't know anything about ballet, all of the boys not only said no, but they made faces about it, used phrases like "dancing's for girls";"you must be a sissy";"boys don't do ballet"; "boys that do ballet are fairies". I found four girls that said that they were going to start ballet and were very excited about it. Except that when I told them that I was too, they also made faces and evoked most of the same comments that the boys did. In addition, they added statements like "so are you gonna wear pink tights like us?""We didn't know you wanted to be a girl, Erin, but I guess it goes with your girl's name."I was completely taken back. You see I grew up in a very nurturing house with no use for stereotypes and biases. In fact there was never ever talk of "boys do this" and "girls do that". My mom had been a single mother from the time I was 3. Dad left us for another woman, and moved to Paris with her. We saw him maybe once a year until I became a teenager. I haven't seen him since. I know he wouldn't recognize me now. I hope that he is fine. He calls mom now and then. As an only child, mom and I had the best of relationships, and always taught me to "be myself", and that anything I ever wanted to do was within my reach. By the time I was five I could play both the piano and the violin. By the time the day ended, the whole class was a buzz about my taking ballet. It got so bad that Ms. Thornton, our teacher, made an issue about how it was not only okay for boys to do ballet, but told us about great ballet dancers like Mikhall Barishnikov and Rudolf Nureav. She even pulled out a picture from a book and showed us a male ballet dancer. That hurt alot more than it helped. When my classmates saw this guy in tights, they all envisioned me as a little boy who obviously wanted to become a little girl. Why else would any "normal" boy take ballet? When I got home that day, I was in tears. Mom was immediately at my side. She asked what was wrong. As I sat sobbing by her side, my face resting upon her sweater, I recounted my story from the day at school. She hugged me tightly and whispered to me "Erin, my darling child. You are so very talented in many ways. It is your right and privilege to do whatever you wish to do. There is absolutely no reason to refrain from ballet training just because your classmates don't understand the arts. They will get over it, and will accept you as a person who has lots of talents. You'll see. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me". I said "mommy, maybe it's not such a great idea to do ballet. I know it will probably be fun and all, but do I really have to wear girl's tights?" She looked down at me with a stern face and proclaimed "Yes, all dancers must wear the proper dance attire for class, just like a football player wears a helmet. In order for you to stretch and to have complete flexibility to jump and leap, you need to wear clothing that is not restricting." "But mommy, why can't I wear shorts, or even sweat pants. I can move around fine in those.""Tights serve another purpose, dear. They allow the teacher to see your body and to constantly align your posture so that you learn correctly. You know Erin, tights were invented for male ballet dancers in France, so although girls wear them under their dresses, their origination was for guys just like you." "I understand, mommy, but I bet that I'm the only kid my age that does." "Don't worry, your friends will still be your friends through all of this". (That never really turned out to be true, unfortunately, but looking back now it doesn't matter in the least). She added "and you're bound to make new ones from ballet class." So that brings us to the fateful day in September many years ago that changed me forever. After school that day when I got home, mom was there waiting for me with my ballet gear. "Erin, since the studio doesn't have changing rooms, we'll get you into your dancewear here." "Mommy, you mean I have to wear tights outside?" "No, dear, you can put on a pair of sweatpants over them until we get to the studio. Now let's get undressed". After taking off all my clothes, mom handed me a small thing that kind of looked like underwear but it wasn't. "That's a dance belt Erin. All guy dancers wear them to protect their privates". We both giggled a little. After slipping it on, next came the white tee shirt, followed by a pair of black tights. Mom showed me how to put them on, one leg at a time, bunching up the material from the toes up. "You have to be careful putting tights on dear," she said. "They are delicate and you can snag the material quite easily. Be gentle." So I was careful, very careful. I can still remember the feeling that I had when the waistband of my first pair of black tights reached my midsection. I looked down at my legs. Is this how I was going to portray myself to a class full of kids my age, some I had never even met before? I can still remember that feeling so well. It was like displaying my body for all the world to see. Mom then said "You look so sweet! With your beautiful blonde hair you look like a miniature Peter Martins!" Mom always took great pride in making sure my hair was well attended to. She trimmed it herself, and had always kept it long. When I was five she settled on a dutch boy style, and at six my hair was still in that style. Recently she had refrained from trimming it, and it was reaching my shoulders. I didn't mind, because alot of the boys in my grade had longer hair, but when I saw myself in the mirror in my dance tights, the lines between boy and girl really started to blur. "Okay honey, now put on these white socks, and then I have 4 pair of ballet slippers for you to try on. We need to find the pair that fits just right." I couldn't believe that now I had to wear shoes that really looked liked girls shoes. I mean soft black slippers that barely covered my feet, with a black strap across my instep. "Mom, these are girl's shoes!" "No, Erin, they're not! Try this pair on." After three tries, mom found the perfect fit. "Okay, let's go. Aren't you excited? I am", she said. "I'm scared", I said. "Erin, you'll have a great time. I promise. You're going to remember this day for the rest of your life". Mom didn't know how right she was then, and I'm not so sure that if she knew how I would turn out, whether she would have taken me to that first class. But she did. After donning sweat pants, we drove in the car to the studio. We lived out of town on a country road. The ballet academy was in town, right on Main Street next to a hardware store, a beauty salon, and a restaurant. There was lots of foot traffic on that street, and the school that I went to was only a block away. As we walked up to the door, I could see inside the studio. It so happened that there was this big window from the street that allowed everyone outside to look in on the dancers. I guess it served the purpose of promoting business for the teacher, but for me it was devastating. Not only would I be on display in front of who knows how many girls inside, but to each and every person who curiously peered in the window. We went inside, and my mom introduced me to the teacher, Miss Bartow, whom she knew. It seemed that Miss Bartow danced with my mom 10 years before as a child dancer in a Nutcracker production. Miss Bartow played Clara, and my mom was the snow princess. So after pleasantries were exchanged, Miss Bartow's attention turned to me."Are you looking forward to becoming a dancer, Erin?" she asked. "Yes Miss Bartow, I said sheepishly. "We'll take good care of him", Miss Bartow said to my mom. "It's a shame that he's going to be the only boy in the class, but we'll see that he enjoys every minute of ballet!" As I heard her say that I was the only boy, the really funny feeling that struck me from the time that I first put on my tights became even more pronounced. It was as if I was in a situation where I was completely out of control. Was I really doing this? It felt like I was walking off a cliff, that I would from that point on be viewed by everyone that knew me differently. Like a boy who wanted to be a girl perhaps? I was lightheaded, and felt very beside myself, literally and figuratively. I had never experienced this feeling before, although from that day on it became very normal to me. I guess I would now describe it as "giving in" to the "real" Erin Hendricksen. That day I accepted the Erin Hendricksen who loved everything about dance, with no reservations about the stigmas that go along with a boy taking ballet. It was to turn out to be as "natural" a fit as anyone could ever imagine. Nothing anybody could say mattered after the end of that first class. The class lasted an hour, and I loved everything about it. I loved moving to the music, I loved stretching at the barre. I loved bending my legs and feet into the different positions, especially when I could do it better than my classmates, 11 six year old girls in black leotards and pink tights. Sure, they looked at me when I first came in and whispered to each other. Four of the girls were ones from my class at school. I knew that the next day in school I would really be in for it, as they told all their friends about me in their ballet class. Would they be telling their friends about how well I did, or how brave I was to be the only boy? No, they told their friends how "pretty" I looked in my tights. But the funny thing was that after that first ballet class, nothing that anyone could say mattered anymore. I was a "new" person. When mom picked me up after class, I was so thrilled about my first experience in ballet that I ran out without my sweat pants. As I reached the car, with a big smile on my face and an exuberance in my run from the door that said "Mommy, that was the most fun I ever had", mom exclaimed "It looks as if you had a great time. I told you that you would! Now, aren't you forgetting something, Erin? Would you like to go back and pick up your sweat pants?" I quickly turned around, and even though a bunch of girls were snickering about me going out of the studio wearing my tights, (one even called out "Hey Erin, you forgot to put on your skirt!") I didn't care. I told my mom how well I did, what a great time I had, and that I couldn't wait to go back for my next class. She was really thrilled about that. I really think that she always envisioned me as a great dancer someday. I must say now that I had the "best" of upbringing. Mom helped me develop as a person, as a unique individual, with no regard to masculine versus feminine. I will always admire her for that. Her brilliance and open mindedness allowed me to become the person that I have become, and to be proud of myself. When we arrived home I went inside and begged her to allow me to show her all the things that I had learned. She diligently watched as I quickly repeated all of the positions while I held on to a chair in lieu of a barre. As I stretched down into a plie' mom cried out "that's wonderful, Erin. I am so proud of my talented young dancer! You've learned so much in just one class! Would you like me to have a little dance studio built out in the sunroom for you to practice each day? We could both use it. I'm dying to get back in shape, and I'd love to help you with your dancing, since it seems that you enjoy it so much. " I showed my affirmation for that idea by running over to mom and giving her the biggest hug that I could. "Oh yes, I would love that, mommy! That way, I could practice every day, since my lessons are only once a week. Could we have a barre and mirrors, just like at the dance studio? Please?" I pleaded. "Why of course", she said."That's necessary for any dancer. I will call the contractor tomorrow morning". That was such a special day in my life, as I have mentioned before, and a pivotal one too. Although I put on a sweater over my tee to stave off the chill of a New England late summer evening, I never took off my tights and ballet slippers the rest of that day until I went to bed. The next day I endured comments from my classmates, but it didn't seem to bother me. Inside I felt like ballet was all that I ever wanted to do....to dance and dance and dance forever. If it meant that to dance required me to wear tights, then so be it. I would wear a dress if that's what my ballet teacher required. I was proud to be a dancer, and I happily let it be known that I was glad to be a student of ballet. Within a week the dance studio was completed in our former sunroom, a big, bright, wonderful space in which over the next 13 years I would spend thousands of hours doing the thing that I love so very much, ballet. Many of those hours over the years were spent beside my mom, as she served as an inspirational teacher in many ways. I know that she was happy to get back into dance in a serious way, after the years spent in the business world. (Mom was one of the early "geniuses" in computer programming, and through her software innovations has collected millions in royalties). As a child she had trained for a career in ballet, but was so good academically that she found it impossible to turn down a full scholarship to Yale. She became one of the early pioneers in computer science and was offered a faculty position upon graduation, but went to work with a large computer firm instead. Her fifteen years in the software field during a period of rapid growth bought her not only financial independence, but an opportunity to retire from it and to devote her time to things that she enjoyed, such as me! She moved us out of Hartford and into the beautiful Vermont countryside when I was four, and our lives were so much better because of that. I owe so very much to my mom and to her dedication as a mother, teacher, mentor, role model, and an unselfish giver of unconditional love. But I'm sure if you've read this far by now it's rather evident that this is as much a testimonial to my mother as it is a story of my life. Other than the days that I took lessons in violin and piano, I would come home after school and don my dancewear and practice my positions and flexibility exercises. Mom started taking an accelerated interest in my development. After spending fifteen years of her life taking ballet, and dancing in regional companies for ten (while she kept impossible hours developing programming for insurance companies),she was so very capable of teaching me so much. And she did. Ballet helped bring us even closer together. After a couple months I stopped violin so that I could attend a second ballet class, this time with older girls (they were seven thru nine year olds). The teacher was aware of my rapid development, and was making every attempt to assist me in my development thru more classes. I am sure that she felt the pressure of my mom's expectations, and did her best to give me the best training possible. During Christmas break, mom was at the sewing machine touching up a hem on one of her dresses. I walked over and asked "Mommy, how old were you when you learned to sew? Is it hard to do? It looks kinda neat!" She stopped the machine and turned to me, with a sparkle in her beautiful blue eyes " Erin, your grandmama taught me when I was seven. I wasn't interested at first, because just like you all my time and energy was directed towards ballet, but as I became a teenager I found that sewing came in handy for dance costumes, plus it was fun to be creative and design my own adaptations to patterns. So when I would design and sew a dress for example, it was uniquely mine. It never wound up looking like the picture, because I wanted it to be different and made it that way. And if you do it enough, sewing isn't that hard. Why? Would you like to try it, dear?" I moved in close to the sewing machine "Can I? Can I try to sew right now?". Well, as you can probably imagine, that was the beginning of another creative skill that my mom introduced me to that I took on with a passion. From that day on I would spend a good couple hours per week working on sewing projects, starting with a potholder, moving on to pillowcases, and eventually to things to wear. I still sew regularly now. I find it very relaxing, and very satisfying. When I turned eight, I was becoming quite accomplished at ballet, and mom deemed it time to move to a higher level of instruction. So she started to take me to the school of the regional ballet company. I auditioned with children much older, and was admitted. This meant a real step up in dedication, for I would be taking class three afternoons per week plus Saturday mornings. I was thrilled. And to top it off, the teacher was the same ballerina that I had met that day when I was six and just beginning. "Erin Hendricksen, I see that you have made remarkable progress in your dancing over the past two years. Welcome to our school." Miss Tingley exclaimed. "I will work very hard, Miss Tingley, because I really want to become a ballet dancer when I grow up." I said proudly. Miss Tingley was a hard teacher and a serious taskmaster. She would not accept anything until it was performed or executed flawlessly. Or so it seemed to us. But she was also a great teacher. I learned so much from her, and respected her ability and her talent in an overwhelming way, but there were times when my presence rubbed her the wrong way. It seemed that her ideal male dancer was tough, muscled, and simply an able partner to support the beautiful movement of the prima ballerina. He must be strong for lifts, and sturdy as a ballet barre. I was very small for my age, small boned, and exceptionally graceful for a boy. Miss Tingley would offer comments to the girls that I regularly did movements with more intrinsic beauty and grace then they did. Although she admired my talent, she saw no use for it in so far as my dance career was concerned. One instance, after class, she told me that I should have been born a girl, because I had all the makings of an exquisite ballerina..my legs were proportionately longer than a boy's(even though I was small), I had small, beautiful hands, and the way I used my hands and arms for expression was better than any of the girls in class. She said it was almost as if I understood every note of music, and was translating it into a visual moving picture for the audience. I really didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but I said thank you anyway. She did tell me then and numerous times after that she thought it might be a good idea if I got my hair cut. I guess I should take a few minutes and talk about my hair, my mom, and I. As I mentioned before, my mom loved my hair long. As a tiny child, she let my blonde baby curls extend down my back until I turned five. At that time, my hair was straightening out, my blonde locks were turning towards a light brown, and she compromised on her long hair stance by cutting my hair into a dutch boy style. I kept that style pretty much until I was eight. Mom and I talked about what I wanted to do with my hair. I really don't know why but I mentioned that I might like to let it grow."Mom, would it be okay for me to let my hair grow longer? I don't think I would like short hair." Mom heard my comment and sprang to life "Why of course, Erin, you always looked so sweet when your hair was long. You have the perfect face for long hair. I think it suits you. How long do you want it to grow?" "I'm not sure mom, I'll let you decide when it looks right. You're the expert". She exclaimed "I'm not so sure that's a great idea, Erin, since I might prefer your beautiful hair to reach your waist before I trimmed it. Let's just let it start growing down your back. It's already shoulder length now. We'll keep the ends even and see where it takes us. One thing about longer hair, dear, is that it will be much easier to get into a ponytail for dance class than it is now." Well, to make a long story short, we never really stopped letting it grow until it reached mid back. But during that time, Miss Tingley told me that if I was going to continue in her class, and was going to wear my hair long, that I must adhere to the ballet tradition that hair be off my neck, so no ponytail. Mom told her that I liked my hair long, and that she wasn't about to cut it. For my next class mom french braided my hair(which certainly commanded an astute audience from all the girls in my class). Miss Tingly told me "I'm sorry Erin, I do not allow the young ladies in my class to wear their hair braided, so you, having long hair, cannot be granted an exception. If you persist in wearing your hair so long, then you must put it in a traditional ballet bun." I went home and told mom. At first she was taken back, but asked me "do you mind wearing it in a bun, Erin? I'll certainly go in and talk with Bebe if you want me to, but she's stubborn about ballet etiquette. You know, we could cut it short and be rid of the problem? What do you say?" I was aghast."Mom, are you suggesting that I cut my hair? I thought you loved my hair long. I wasn't sure for a while how much I'd like my hair really long, but mom, I really love it, and want it to stay long, I really want to grow it even longer!" "I'm glad you feel that way, Erin, I love your hair...I would have been devastated if you had wanted to cut it, it really looks so becoming on you, but I really wanted you to be honest and not just try to please my wishes. If you don't mind, I will be glad to put it in a bun for you." I was relieved. "Thanks mom, I'll do anything I need to when it comes to ballet". So that's where I wound up with my hair. I kept it mid back length until I came to New York as an nineteen year old "ready for prime time" ballet dancer. Just before I left Vermont, mom cut it shorter for me in order to enhance my chances of being hired into a major ballet company. That was a day that I'll always remember also, for both of us cried after she finished. Kind of a nostalgic sobbing, mostly over the love we shared and the feelings we both had about the coming to a close of my "childhood". She only cut it to shoulder length, but it definitely was a "shock to the system". After elementary school, mom decided that I had put up with enough abuse from my classmates about my being a ballet student and my hair, and anything else that made me different. For instance, in 4th grade we had weekly show and tell. One Friday in the winter I had just finished a sewing project. It was a black velvet vest, and I was so proud of myself for getting the buttons just right, and to be able to work with such a tough material as velvet. Mom said that I could wear it to school, so that day I wore a white turtleneck with black pants and my new velvet vest. Nobody said anything until show and tell began and when my turn came I walked up to the front of the classroom. Everyone thought I was going to pull something out of my pocket, but when I instead proudly told the class that I had made the vest that I was wearing, the classroom broke out into chaos. "You mean you sewed it, Erin?" one girl asked? "You sew? only girls sew!" cried out another girl. The boys just laughed at every remark the girls made. One girl who I'd started ballet with pointed to me and said "hey Erin, ballet boy! What else have you sewn? Are you gonna wear a dress to show and tell next week?". It didn't take long for my teacher to get upset and stop my classmates from the barrage of verbal abuse. "Quiet, everyone! There is absolutely nothing wrong with boys learning to sew. Some of the world's greatest fashion designers are men, and my father was a tailor, which meant he knew how to sew and did alterations to men's suits, and created custom shirts and other clothing for many people. I am proud of my father, and I am proud of Erin, for his accomplishment. That is a fine job, young man. You have many talents. Don't let the immaturity of your classmates deter you from the things you like to do". "Thanks, Mrs. Greene", I said as I went back to my seat. When I told my mom what had happened that evening, she said "I think we need to think about an alternative to public school for you next year. I think I know just the place". The next fall found me in a private academy about 25 miles south of our house. I was a day student, (as compared to the twenty students that boarded there) so that I could continue my ballet studies with Miss Tingley and my mom, and so that I could stay at home, because there was nothing as wonderful as my life with mom, and I really didn't want her to be alone. The school was very small, very exclusive, and very progressive. Although it was sanctioned by the state, and academic requirements were extensive, there was great emphasis given to the arts and to individual self expression. It had students there from grades five through eight. There were only eight people in my grade, and I was the only boy, although the 6th grade had two boys, 7th grade had two, and 8th grade had one. The total enrollment of the academy was forty two students, so the boys made up but 15% of the student body. None of this mattered to me. What I liked about this school was that everyone seemed to genuinely respect each other, and that we were all pretty unique in our own ways. Everyone seemed to be so good when it came to art class, and lo and behold, for gym class we took dance! Not classical ballet, mind you, but a kind of movement/modern class. I couldn't believe it. And although I was the only boy who had studied ballet, nobody made a fuss over that like at my last school. In fact, some of the girls complimented me on how good I was. For school dance class we only had to wear loose clothing, but I still wore my dancewear. Some of the others in class were students of ballet too, and wore their "ballet pink". But what was most captivating about my classmates at this academy was that it seemed everybody played an instrument of some kind, sang, studied dance, or wrote poems, short stories, etc. Every child was so very creative. It was wonderful. Instead of getting ridiculed as my hair grew longer, my classmates complimented me on how nice it looked. During lunch break in my first week, Betsy, a pretty girl with beautiful waist length hair offered to braid mine for me. And when we came back to class after lunch, no one said a word about my hair being braided. We just went on with the day. We regularly had "express yourself" days, where it was your job to come to school and "make a statement". The teachers left it up to the students to figure out what to do. At first it seemed face painting was the popular venue, then masks, sometimes outlandish clothing, costumes representing animals or famous persons, often non permanent hair color(green, blue, etc.). What did I do? Well, the first year at the school I usually wore different masks, fancy hats, and once wore a lion's costume. However, when I was in 6th grade I made a point of stepping up my sewing so that I (with the help of my mom) could design neat things to wear on "express yourself" days. I went from billowy purple pants, to a neon green tunic , to a yellow satin vest, to a thigh length creation that I adapted from a pattern for a girl's scoop neck jumper. It was sewn together from different pieces of plaids. It was so neat. I still have it as a keepsake. When I wore it three of the girls in my class asked if they could have it. Abby and Lauren told me that it was the coolest creation they had seen in a long time, and that it would be extremely difficult to top myself after that. They actually suggested that I wear it again, only the next time really "make a statement" by wearing it over a turtleneck and tights. I remember looking at them and saying ,"I can't come to school dressed like that! I'd look like a girl! What would everyone say?" "Why not, Erin, you don't have any problem wearing your hair long, do you? And you aren't ashamed to wear your tights for gym class, right? And you're not afraid to show all of us how good you are at sewing? Anyway, it would look so neat. It will be so much fun! We'll help you. Just wear your jumper" "it's not a jumper, it's a tunic! "I exclaimed with conviction. "Just wear your tunic then, on the next "make a statement" day (we had one once a month), and wear a white turtleneck and a pair of your dance tights.....white would look the best, under a pair of pants. You do have white tights, I presume? Then we'll help you with your hair , makeup, and nails". "What do you mean hair, makeup and nails? I gasped. "Well, we'd like to really do you up perfect. I even have a pair of mary janes that will fit you", said Abby. "Get your mom to drive you in an hour early that day, and we'll fix you up in my dorm room. We'll get Carol, she's my 8th grade mentor down the hall to put some curls in your hair with her curling iron, and just give you a little touch of color to your face with some lipstick and rouge, and I'll do your nails...I'm sure you have to wear makeup all the time for your ballet recitals, don't you?" "Yes, but that's theatrical makeup for stage lighting". "Come on, it will be so much fun!" Well, once again to make a long story short, I did it, and amazingly everyone thought I was perfect! That just goes to show you the freedom of expression that prevailed at the school. And that uniqueness, and "freedom of expression" that I exhibited so proudly(after an initial reluctance) was picked up by mom. I even felt so good about my "day as a girl", that I left my pants and shoes in Abby's dorm room from the morning "makeover", and when mom came to pick me up I never even thought about changing back. She looked at me with a look of surprise, but at the same time I sensed that it didn't bother her. All she said was "I see that you really "made a statement" today. Who did your hair and makeup? And your nails are done! That's a pretty pink. They did a nice job. You look very pretty, dear!" So riding home that day, she asked me about the reactions I got to my new look. "Everybody said I looked really cool, mom, and that I was really brave for going through with it". She said matter of factly "Well, how do you feel dressed like that? Wearing tights to dance in isn't really the same as wearing them with a jumper". I jumped in "mom, you know this is a tunic!" She responded immediately "when you wear it with tights and patent leather mary janes, my darling Erin, it's a jumper. Really sweetheart, I have no problem at all with what you've done. I welcome it, if that's really what you want to do. You have always been "special" in many ways.You know I've never been one to worry about boy things versus girl things, right? Miss Tingley has remarked on many occasions regarding your gracefulness, and your "beauty". You have always been a gentle, compassionate, sensitive child. I wouldn't have it any other way!" "mom, it doesn't feel at all strange to me, really. I love to sew and design, and wear things that are comfortable. " Then I said something that just came out of my mouth. "You know mom, it really felt kind of neat when the girls were spending time this morning doing my hair and makeup. And after Abby was finished putting the polish on my nails, a strange feeling came over me. When they were done, looking in the mirror, I really thought that I looked nice. Am I strange for feeling that way?" Then I started to cry. Mom pulled over, stopped the car and held me tightly in her arms. "Dearest Erin, I think you look absolutely adorable. And it is completely natural for you to feel that way. If you like, I'll show you how to do your own makeup, and I see nothing wrong with keeping your nails looking neat and polished. I'll teach you how to care for your nails tonight after dinner. If no one at school cares how you look, then I see no reason for us to worry about it. In fact, how about if we schedule an appointment to get your hair and nails done at the salon in town later this week? Debby, the owner, has done my hair for years, and if I explain that this is a "special treat" for you, I'm sure she'd be happy to concoct something extraordinary". Gee, mom, that would be neat! You don't mean that she would cut it, do you? I love it long." "No, Erin, I was speaking about trimming your ends and bangs, and then setting it full of curls. Nothing permanent, just to see how pretty your hair would look that way. You have always had beautiful hair! Then we could go home and dress you in the outfit you have on now and take some pictures for posterity". That evening I stayed "dressed", at my mom's request, and I learned all about nailcare. We decided that it would be wise to stick to clear polish most of the time, and occasionally a light pink for special occasions, but the bottom line was that from now on I took great care to see that my nails were always filed and polished. That Friday night, mom drove me to her beauty salon for my "appointment". We were the last appointment, so the salon was empty but for the three of us, and Debby greeted us with enthusiasm. "Hello Dana. Great to see you. And this must be Erin. I've heard so much about you, dear. I understand that you are quite a dancer. And, my, my, don't you have such beautiful long hair. What are we going to do with it tonight? You don't want me to cut it short now, do you?" "Oh no" I exclaimed, "I don't want my hair cut. Mom suggested that I could try out seeing what my hair looked like with curls in it". "Oh I see", Debby said with a sparkle in her eye, "are we going to give you a permanent tonight? Maybe a spiral perm would be appropriate, Dana....I believe Erin would look adorable with a head full of cascading curls!". I looked over to my mom quizzically. "No, no perm tonight", my mom said matter of factly. "I just want to treat Erin to a beauty makeover, so that he gets to see how the "other side" gets pampered. Just like we discussed on the phone". I really couldn't figure out what mom's premise was in this experience for me, but it was like I was captivated as I stood there and couldn't even move. Something in the back of my mind told me "why are you doing this", as another part of me welcomed it with open arms. Debby took me over to the sink and washed my hair. It felt so good to have her do it...it was like a great massage for my scalp. Then it was over to the chair in front of the mirror. She first combed out my hair, continuously remarking about how she had never seen a young boy with such beautiful hair. As she took out her scissors, I screamed "Please, don't cut my hair!". Debby comforted me by putting both hands on my shoulders and said "Don't worry, sweety, I'm only going to trim your ends and your bangs, okay? I wouldn't want to cut off any of these beautiful tresses. I understand exactly how you feel. When I was a girl, I had waist length hair until I turned sixteen. There was nothing it seemed as important to me as my hair." After she quickly evened my hair with her scissors, she then started taking large sections of my hair, putting a spray of some kind on the sections, and rolling the sections with large curlers. When she was finished as I looked in the mirror, my head looked quite funny. "There", she said "when your hair dries it will be full of big, bouncy curls. Let's put you under the dryer while I take care of your nails". As I sat under this big contraption that was shooting hot air all over my curler filled head ( those curlers pulled on my hair tightly; that first time was very painful),I watched as Debby pulled over a table on wheels that contained the stuff that mom had recently taught me to use for my nails. "Well, Erin" my mom said, as she sat seemingly enjoying the whole experience, "now we get to see how a real professional works on your nails". "Erin", Debby said with a hint of surprise. "it looks like your nails are already done. How long have you been doing your nails, dear? Did your mom teach you? I must say, they look very neat, very pretty. You don't mind me calling them pretty, do you? I stammered out "No Mrs. Dexter, I like the way my nails look, and mom taught me how to take care of them just last week. I don't mind if you think they are pretty. Thank you for noticing". "Why you are the most polite young gentleman I have ever come across" she blurted out. "Let's see if I can't show you a few tricks to make them look even nicer, as long as you promise to come back every so often and let me have my way with you again". Mom jumped in with "Debby, I have a feeling that this night just might be the first of many. Keep up the good work; we're both enjoying this!". Debby stripped the clear polish off of my nails, worked on my cuticles, and filed the nails into nice rounded arches. Then she asked "Erin, do you always paint your nails with clear polish?" I replied "yes Mrs. Dexter". "Well then, let's be bold tonight and go pink!", she exclaimed. "I have five different shades of pink for you to choose from. Or maybe you want me or your mom to choose?" "It's okay if you decide, Mrs. Dexter, you're the expert". "Well Erin, this is actually the first time that I have ever chosen a shade of nailpolish to put on a young man's fingernails. But I have to admit, I think that on your beautiful hands, it's very appropriate for you to have manicured nails. Let's try this medium pink. I think it's just right". She then applied multiple coats of polish. "After a half hour of drying, she applied a special clear top coat. "That will protect your nails from chipping, dear. Don't they look so pretty. Let's take you back to my station and comb out your hair. And then I'll work on your face a little. "You mean my mom told you to put makeup on me too?" I uttered quite disoriented. "Yes, dear, she requested the whole "makeover". She thought that you deserved the complete package tonight. You can decide how far we go with your makeup, but she thought that it would be good if you saw how I do your face, so that as you get older, and the time comes for you to do it yourself, that you know". "Oh yes, Mrs. Dexter, for dance productions we need to do our faces for presence on stage, under the lights" I said. "This will be good training". "Well, dear, what I'm going to do is a little bit more subtle than stage makeup...more like every day "girl" makeup, but I'm sure it will apply". She proceeded to start with a light foundation, and her brushwork was that of a fine artist on a virgin canvas. It tickled me, I was swept away, and as she moved on to my eyes, and then to my lips, I witnessed a remarkable transformation before me in the mirror. I believe that she did too, as did my mother. Debby quickly took the curlers out of my hair and brushed my hair. She used a curling iron for a few touch ups, and to curl my bangs. As I looked up, my mom rose from the chair and stood rather still, taking in my "new look" with the same bewilderment that I was experiencing. I think I even saw a few tears escaping down her cheek. "I don't know what to say" she gasped. "You look exquisite, Erin. Debby has done a magnificent job!" "I know exactly what to say" Debby chimed in proudly "Erin, you look absolutely adorable. I know that this is just a one time "special treat" for you and your mom, but I must say that between your natural good looks, how we've done your face, and your most beautiful hair, that you are prettier than most every little girl that has come through the doors of this establishment. I hope that comment doesn't embarrass you, but I just can't help telling you that. You are just so strikingly beautiful!". Well, it did and yet it didn't. I didn't know why I was feeling that way then, although I do now, but after I thanked Debby sincerely, and mom paid her, adding that we'd be back again soon, we both left the salon walking on cloud nine. Mom knew that I was happy and I sensed that mom was somehow content with what she had done. When we reached home, mom had me change into my "jumper" and tights, and spent at least a half an hour taking pictures with her camera. She and I still have those pictures. This "beautiful awakening" was just the beginning of a period of "exploration for me and mom. She enjoyed it, I was captivated by it, and there wasn't anyone telling us that it wasn't "proper". Sure I got strange looks from Miss Tingly the next day in ballet class. The only remnant of my "makeover" was my nails, but that was plenty to elicit comments from all. Did I care? Strangely no. It was almost as if my pink nails became my badge of courage. I made sure that my nails were pink for every class after that. Instead of high school, I home schooled with mom. This allowed us to spend at least two hours a day in the dance studio, not to mention six hours per week taking classes at the regional company school in the city. Mom really stepped up her own dancing, and began to take on classes and small roles with the company herself. I cannot express how important her teachings in dance were to me. Since I spent most of my time at home, mom continued to encourage my "exploration". I learned to set my own hair, and I always kept my nails well manicured and polished. Since I spent at least a third of each day in the dance studio, I spent all of my at home time when I wasn't dancing wearing jumpers, swing dresses, poet's blouses, and big sweaters over my tights. Mom bought me tights in all colors, and let me wear them when we trained at home. Of course for classes at the dance company I had to resort to traditional black. Many a postal delivery person and UPS man that came to the door responded to my arrival at the door with "I have a package for the Hendricksens, miss." But it wasn't ever like I was trying to "be a girl". It just felt "right" to wear what I felt comfortable in. Friday nights at our house were "luxury nights", and mom and I both took long baths, did our nails, and mom would give me a facial. It felt so good. You might ask, did I wear my jumpers and the like to town, or even to dance class? No, I wore sweats and jeans. Except for the one time that I went out with three of the girls from my Saturday ballet class to the mall. They thought that it would be cool if I let them "transform" me into a girl for the afternoon. I wanted to make friends, so I called mom and told her that I would be going to the mall, and that I'd be getting a ride home around dinner time. I told her that I'd be going with a few friends from class. I think mom was quite pleased, since I didn't socialize much since my days at the private academy. So we drove in Belinda's car to Whitney's house. There, they took me into Whitney's room(her parents were out) and began their handywork. They had me strip down to my dancebelt, and were amazed how hair free my body was, especially my legs. "You don't shave your legs now, do you Erin?" Belinda asked. "They look so smooth". "Well", I stammered feebly "yes, I do. I hate to have any hair showing through my dance tights for recitals". "Well, that's kind of odd now, since the last time you needed to wear white tights was four months ago when we did the Nutcracker. Didn't your hair grow back, or do you regularly shave them for that silky smooth look when you wear sheer hose with short skirts?" said Barbara in a mocking tone. "Maybe this isn't such a great idea" I said, but Belinda chimed in with "It's okay Erin, we love you just the same. It'll save us from shaving you ourselves, although I think Barbara was looking forward to it. Anyway, my aunt is Debby Dexter, and she told me all about your visits to her salon. How did you think we came up with this idea? We kinda figured you might like it. Everybody knows that you're "special" in many ways." All three girls giggled. "It's okay, really". So we proceeded on. They began with sheer black pantyhose, a first for me. "I actually bought these this morning myself for you when I was restocking for myself. It looks like I found the perfect size. Your legs are so long and well defined for a guy, Erin" Whitney stated in a masked admiration. "They really look pretty . Some girl must have gotten your legs when the stork made his deliveries, and you got hers. Boy, did she get robbed!" They then proceeded with a short pleated skirt in black. "This is my older sister's skirt. It looks great on you" Whitney said. "She's not into dance and isn't as petite as moi, but she's a perfect match for your size, Erin. Let's try a bra on him, girls. It's only fitting that Erin experience as much of the "real thing" as we can provide." I quickly offered "Why would I need a bra, Whitney, I don't have any breasts". Barbara responded quite firmly "We'll fill your bra with nylon stockings for today, Erin, so that you can add some "shape" to the form fitting blouse I've picked out for you to wear. I bet all those times when you've had your hair, makeup and nails done by Debby you must have entertained the thought of becoming a "real girl", complete with your own breasts? Come on, be honest with us!" "No, you guys, really I never did. I never wanted to be a "girl", I just like being an "individual", that's all". "Yea, right, Erin" chimed in Barbara. "Barbara, shut up. Erin is a sweet guy with a unique perspective. Let's help him today explore the possibility that it might be nice to be a "girl"...right?" said Belinda. The girls all nodded and winked. So after the bra was on, the stockings stuffed into both cups, I was given the blouse to put on. Since I had worn billowy poet blouses at home, I was able to quickly button this blouse, which of course had the buttonholes on the opposite side as a guy's shirt does. "Hey Erin" Whitney observed "you really buttoned up that blouse with ease. Maybe this isn't the first time you ever wore a girl's blouse? Do you "dress up" like a girl often?" "No, I guess I'm just pretty dexterous with my hands." "Sure you are" all the girls echoed together. "The clothes fit very nicely, Erin. How about a clunky pair of Doc Martens? My sister is about your size and she has a really feminine pair complete with a sexy ankle strap and 2 inch heels in black patent leather." Whitney said. So on went the shoes. "Walk, to see if you can maneuver in those heels, sweety" said Belinda. I took a turn around the bedroom with aplomb. "Wow, you walk like you've been wearing heels as long as we have. You would think you'd been a student of pointe the way you balance on your toes. Don't tell me, this is the first time you've ever worn heels, right?" Barbara said doubtingly. Little did they know, mom had been teaching me toe dancing for over a year by then. She thought that it would be helpful in my career...I wasn't sure why, but I never ever doubted my mom's wisdom. But I wasn't about to disclose the fact that I probably was as good toe dancing as they were to these three, at least not now. "No, I guess it's just all the years of ballet, girls, really." So now it was time to sit down, while Belinda did my makeup, and Barbara took out a curling iron to add fullness to my hair through some strategically placed curls. Barbara said as she was finicking with my bangs "I've got to tell you Erin, I do love your hair. It is so full and shiny. Even though no boy should have hair that looks this beautiful, it most certainly looks good on you." "Thanks, Barbara, I like it too" said I. As Belinda did my eyes, she noticed my lashes. "Erin, you genuinely have girls eyelashes! They are so long and pretty. And look at the natural curl in them. I can't wait until I finish with your face. What a rosy complexion you have. You have soft, flawless skin. Any girl would die to have your dimples. You are gonna turn out so pretty! I think I'll do your lips in a pink that matches those feminine finger nails of yours. I've never seen a guy's hands that could pass for a girl's hands like yours can. Are you letting your nails grow longer? When you were partnering me this morning I felt something dig into my torso on a lift. Were they your nails, dear? How long do you plan to let them get? Not too long, I hope, or Miss Tingly will have you in pink tights and toe shoes being lifted into the air by Hans, that handsome exchange student from Finland. He's a dream! You're still a better dancer though." "No, Belinda, it's just that I have to file them tonight when I get home. I'm not planning on letting them get any longer." After the three finished primping my hair and face, we tried on a short black bolero style jacket. "There, all done Erin. Let's go to the mall." said Whitney. The mall was out of town, and most people didn't know me, but the girls went out of their way to introduce me to as many friends as they could possibly run into on a Saturday. Did they tell anyone that I was a guy? No, but I'm not so sure that our "secret" remained as such after they dropped me off that evening. Before we went in I pleaded with them not to run into any guys, and to their credit, they lived up to their word. We ate lunch first, and then went from store to store trying on clothes. Did I join in? Why of course. That was part of their plan. Did I wind up buying anything? As part of their deal to keep their word about my identity, I had to buy a makeup kit and promise to come to every Saturday ballet class with my face made up(they acknowledged that I only had to lightly do my eyes; a little eyeshadow and mascara, my cheeks; a little light powder, and lips; just enough color for them to notice). I think they thought that I wouldn't be capable of such deeds, and would either renege on my part of the promise, or overdo the job and embarrass myself in front of Miss Tingley. What they didn't know was that by now I was quite accomplished at makeup, thanks to my mom's guidance, Debby's instruction and lots of practice at home, and had no trouble accommodating their wishes. Although they never asked to dress me up again, the girls actually bonded with me, and felt comfortable taking me in as a friend. We often went out for pizza together after class, and I don't have any evidence to suggest that they told anybody about our "special Saturday". Eventually I even invited them out to my house one Saturday after dance and showed them my sunroom studio, and introduced them to my mom. They loved my private ballet studio space, and all quickly did a grand jete' across the floor to the barre by the full length mirror. "This is so great, Erin" said Barbara, "I wish I had this studio at my house!" As I went to my room in order to get a CD for us to listen to out in the studio sound system, the girls inadvertently followed me. Belinda noticed the sewing machine sitting on my desk. "Erin, what do you have a sewing machine in your room for?" The other girls quickly turned to me with wide eyes and a questioning stare. I responded matter of factly "Well, my mom taught me to sew when I was really young, and I've enjoyed doing it for years now. I take a lot of pride in being able to start out with some material and a pattern and ending up with something I can wear". "Show us something you've sewn, will you please?" Whitney inquired. So I opened my closet, and pulled out a few vests. "They're very nice, Erin. I'd love to wear that dark green satin vest myself. But what else do we see in your closet? Do I see jumpers in there? Is that a velvet swing dress next to that coat?" I guess it was meant to be. I really felt no shame in how I dressed, or how I chose to wear my hair, or whether I chose to polish my nails or not ever before, so why start now. Was I going to try to hide something that I felt to be "natural" for me? I did the honest thing, as I always did, and showed the girls all of my stuff. "Wow, Erin, we thought that when we dressed you up, it was a "first" for you. Seems like you've been a "girl" for a long time at home" Belinda exclaimed. "No Belinda, I've never sewn these clothes to be worn as "girl's things". I know that sounds really insincere and far fetched, but it's really true. The clothes that I create are just to wear at home over my dancewear when I'm relaxing. Please believe me. When you girls put me in pantyhose, and a bra, that was definitely a first for me". "Sure, whatever" said Barbara. "Let me ask you Erin, if you could, would you want to be a girl all the time. I mean like have breasts like us, neat things like menustration, not!, and to lose that thing you keep in your dance belt? Seems like you're most of the way there now!" "Barbara, I never really thought about it. You three are really the first people my age that know anything about my home life". Then Whitney jumped in with "Erin, what is a pair of capezio toe shoes doing beside your bed? Are they yours, by chance? Are you going to tell us that you actually dance en pointe?" "Yes, my mom has been teaching me here at home for over a year now. She thought that I would benefit from the training." Whitney replied "well then, Erin you must show us right now! What say you lace up those pink satin ribbons and show us what you can do?" "Wait a minute, girls, let's just stop for a second.......Erin, this is a whole bunch for us to take in all at once" spoke Belinda in a serious, solemn tone. "I want you to know that no matter what you do, I think that you're a nice person, and I will always be your friend, no matter whether you stay a guy or become a girl, or even somewhere in between. Thanks for your honesty with us. And I think I can speak for my friends here that we will not make any kind of issue out of this. We always knew you as a great dancer, a little distant, and very strange. We knew about your beauty salon trips, and of course when we first got to know you....I mean how many guys does one meet that comes to ballet class with his hair in a bun and pink fingernails. So I guess even though we're kinda stunned by what you've shown us, we really can't be that surprised. But over the last few months you've shown us that although on the outside you're really odd, I mean really odd, on the inside your are a genuine beautiful person". Barbara chidingly uttered "On the outside he is genuinely beautiful too..." "Stop it", Belinda continued "But we still like you, right girls?" All three nodded their heads and I offered a hug to each. "I do have to say", Barbara chimed in "that if you ever decide to become a girl, that you will definitely make a beautiful one!" Little did she know what a few years would bring forth. I never forgot that day, and I have promised myself that I will visit my friends soon and rekindle our "kindred" friendship. As steted above, I went back to Debby for additional "salon treatments" pretty regularly. I even experimented with a spiral perm once. My mom's suggestion. Although I was entranced by it at first, it took way too much maintenance to make it look just right, and it was so difficult to put into a bun for ballet. I was glad when the curl finally went away, although it took months, and even some professional straightening. Never again. Belinda, Barbara, and Whitney stayed close, but as school activities and boys took up more and more of their time, they each stopped dancing. So our meetings became quite few and far between. Over those high school aged years everyone who knew me acknowledged my being "different", but they also acknowledged how talented I was. I felt no shame in my appearance nor in my actions. I was a dancer, first and foremost, and received the love I required from the one who knew me best, mom. I'm 20 now. I moved to New York, with mom's blessing, and spent the first 2 months of my stay looking for work. I auditioned for four different companies, and was unsuccessful in my quest to land a position as a dancer. The general complaint has been that although I am very skilled, and extraordinarily graceful for a male dancer, my body shape is a major deterrent. I was always on the small size growing up, but when you're a little boy, it's considered cute. If a ballerina's torso is disproportionate to her legs, she is rejected. The companies have told me that I have a ballerina's body....that is my legs being too long and my upper torso too small. Am I upset about the prospect of not dancing with a major ballet company? Well, I did land a position in an experimental ballet collective, and have enjoyed my experience, but I miss classical dance, and this group doesn't pay anything. Yes, I really do feel cheated out of my career, but there is a silver lining. You see that six months ago when I first got here, I met a woman in a coffee bar who is changing my life in ways I never ever contemplated, although Belinda, Barbara, and Whitney did. She's a wonderful, compassionate, understanding human being, and I have come to adore and love her. And she loves me. I moved in with her shortly after our first meeting. Her name is Ingrid, and is originally from Germany. She is 26, and is a fashion photographer. She in fact does quite well professionally, and is widely respected as "the one to call". If ballet has been my passion, photography is her's. In fact, I have been the subject of much of her personal work. She has done a series of photographs with me as her model. It started out as just some shots around the studio so that she had a record of my existence, and also for me for my portfolio (you know, that publicity shot in full Don Quixote costume in the middle of a leap). But as she started taking pictures, she noticed something that intrigued her. She exclaimed "Erin, you are a complete natural in front of the camera. You come alive in my lens! You are wasting your time dancing every day, come work for me!" I had no idea what she meant at first, but am my unhappy that I said yes? No, not at all. It's as natural now to me as when I started my journey into ballet. As I told her my life story, as I have outlined in small detail to you, Ingrid looked at me an said "It seems so natural for you to have experienced growing up as you have. I really feel so comfortable with you. You are like no other guy I have ever met. And it's what captivates me the most about you. Would you allow me to mold you into that special someone I think that we would both find contentment and satisfaction with?" "I have fallen deeply under your spell" I uttered in a loving daze, "I am at your will, dearest Ingrid. You have my permission to do anything you wish. I trust your judgement completely. But may I ask what you have in mind? I'm not sure I understand what it is you are talking about." Well, read on. So do I still dance? Yes, we have set up a space in our third story Greenwich loft with mirrors and a barre for me to work out, and I do so most days for at least an hour and a half. In addition to the experimental collective, I even take a class downtown on Tuesday nights. Except that it's a class in pointe. Toe dancing. Mom taught me en pointe at home when I was a teenager, but I never ever got to put it to use as a male dancer. But now, that's not a problem. To the women in the class, mostly young professionals who had taken ballet during their youth but only toyed with dance while they trained in finance and economics in the best institutions of higher learning in order that they might come to New York to take on Wall Street, I'm Erin, an 18 year old female who does some fashion modeling. I'm very comfortable dancing in that class, becaus