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May be posted on any non-pay, non-membership site. Camp Trans By Princess Pervette There were eight of us on the bus. When got off, we were greeted by a pleasant- looking woman in her fifties. She showed us to the dormitory and told us to unpack. It wasn't the usual kind of dormitory; there was a wide hall, and there were a dozen private rooms opening off it, six on either side. Our rooms were bright and pleasant, but they looked like rooms for girls, not for boys. In my room, the walls were painted a pale off-white with a faint rose tint. There were frilly curtains on the window. The bedspread was a print fabric, blue with little teddy bears all over it. Instead of a desk, there was a vanity with a big mirror over it. And there was a large, empty closet. I unpacked my things and put them away. Half an hour later, she was back. She took us all to a large room in another building. There were three other women there. We all sat down, and she began to speak. "I want to welcome all of you to Camp Trans. I'm Mrs. Johnson. Every one of you is here because somebody in your family knows you like to wear girls' clothes." I swallowed hard. I had known that the camp had something to do with wearing girls' clothes, but I hadn't known what. Was this going to be some kind of deprogramming place? Some place where they would beat it out of us? But she didn't sound like that kind of person. She went on: "When boys put on girls' clothes, it can mean one of two things. Either they're just going through a phase, or else they've formed a habit that will last all their lives. In either case, here at Camp Trans we know that it's a mistake to try to make the boy stop. If he wants to be a little girl, or if he just wants to play at being a girl, we feel it's best if he goes ahead and does it. "You aren't here to be `cured,' whatever that means. You're here so you can have the opportunity to wear all the dresses you want. We are here to help you. We will show you how to dress, how to walk, and how to act like girls. If anybody here doesn't want us to do that, let me know after this meeting and we will make arrangements to have you taken back home. Nobody is going to be forced to do anything here." My heart leapt up. Wonderful Mom! How had she found out about this place? Did that therapist she took me to tell her about it? **** The day Mom had caught me in Sis's dress; I had thought I was going to die. I had been sure she was going to be out all afternoon, and I had decided that this was the day I was going to 'Go All The Way'. I had put on Sis's underwear, a garter belt and her nylons, and one of her prettiest dresses. Sis was just a year older than I was, and her clothes fit me well. I was just sitting down at her vanity to try her makeup when, in the mirror, I saw Mom standing at the door. "Tony! Is that you? What are you doing?" "Er... oh, gosh!... er... oh, Mom, I can explain everything!" I couldn't have explained a thing. I had no story made up; I had no justification to offer her. (Later, thinking back, I wondered whether I could have said I had lost a bet with someone and had to do this.) Luckily for me, I didn't have to explain anything. Mom came in and sat down on Sis's bed. "Tony, come sit by me." I did. "Now, how long have you been doing this?" I couldn't invent a lie. "For a few months, Mom." "Do you like her clothes? I mean, do you like wearing them? I guess you do, don't you." Abjectly, I whispered, "Yes." "But you know that boys and girls dress in different kinds of clothes, don't you?" "Yes." "But you want to wear her clothes. Are you... are you gay?" I was ten years old. I knew what "gay" meant, but I was too young to know whether I was or not. The possibility had troubled me ever since I discovered how much I liked wearing Sis's things. But I took the safe way out: "No, Mom. I don't think so. At least, I don't feel that way." "Well, do you want... do you wish you were a girl?" I hesitated. These were awfully searching questions. Finally, I said, "I only wish I were a girl so I could wear nice dresses and things. It would be nice if I could be turned into a girl just for a couple of hours, or maybe a day or so. But if you mean, turned into a girl for good... like Wendy Carlos... no, I don't think I would want that." "Well, whatever the reason is, there's one thing you have to know, right now, right from the start. You're my Tony, and whatever you are or whatever you do, I'll always love you. Do you understand that?" I was thunderstruck. Mom was not harsh or bossy, but she had rules, and you knew enough not to break them. Here I was, breaking what seemed one of the biggest rules ever, and all she was saying was that she loved me. Wonderful Mom. It was about a week after that that we went to see the therapist. I was scared stiff. He was a kind man, though, and if he wasn't exactly on my side, he wasn't against me, either. He asked me questions like the ones Mom had asked--but he didn't ask me whether I was gay. I guess he knew I wasn't. Then he sent me out into the waiting room while he talked a long time with Mom. And when the summer came, Mom sent me to Camp Trans. The funny thing was that Dad didn't make any objection. He didn't seem happy with the idea, but it was as if Mom had some kind of hold over him. He didn't say anything. **** Mrs. Johnson went on. "This is what we call a `protected space.' You're free from interference from the outside world, and if you want to be girls, this is the place where you can be as girly as you want to be. "We want to give you complete freedom to be whatever you want to be this summer. We won't interfere unless you want us to. But we will help you to live out your feminine roles. We have a program of studies and we have facilities for exercise, but we will also leave you plenty of time just to be by yourselves to do whatever you please. "When you study with us, you will learn everything science knows about boys who crossdress. And you will learn how to do it right. If you're going through a phase, you will be sick of the whole business by the time the summer is over. And if you aren't going through a phase, we will have given you background and information that will help you all the rest of your lives. "We are always available to talk to. During any free period, we will be in our offices, and you can just drop in and chat. We can answer questions, or we can give you a shoulder to cry on, if that's what you need." You could feel the tension in the room going away while she talked. All the other boys must have been as anxious as I had been, and they must have wondered whether we were here to have our desire to dress beaten out of us or suppressed in some other way. I hadn't talked with anyone while we were on the bus, because I was used to concealing my dressing and didn't know about the other kids on the bus. We had all been silent, in fact, probably for the same reason. Certainly none of us had expected Mrs. Johnson to talk to us as she did. "Now, there is only one rule. When we're done, you're going to go back to your rooms and put on girls' clothes. We have them ready for you. They're all pretty, and they will fit you, because we got your measurements from your mothers before you came here. And the rule is that, from now on until you leave at the end of the summer, you must *never* wear boys' clothes. Not for any reason at all." It sounded like heaven to me. No more sneaking into Sis's room to dress up. And all the other kids here will be dressed like girls, too, so I would be able to walk around the camp, anywhere, dressed like a girl. I could be a girl twenty- four hours a day. Tears came to my eyes. I hadn't known life could be so sweet. "Now, if you're going to be girls, you have to have girl's names. Maybe some of you have already made up girl names for yourselves. If not, you can pick them yourselves, or if you don't know what you want, come to me and I'll help you decide." Hmmm, I thought. What name? I thought of Toni, with an i. But that was hardly any different from Tony with a y. Anthony... maybe Antoinette? How about just Ann? Annie? That was it. I was going to be Annie. "Please remember that you aren't going to be turned into girls for good. Some of you, when you grow up, are going to want to live as women. A few of you may want to go to doctors who will make you into women. But that's a long way off. "Meanwhile, while you're here with us, you're going to be girls twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. As of the end of this meeting, you are all going to be girls and we will call you girls. But when you go home at the end of summer, you're going to have to live as boys again. I'm sorry if that disturbs you, but that's the way it has to be." I wasn't going to complain. A whole summer of pretty dresses was more than I had ever dreamed of. I would worry about the fall when it came. When I got back to my room, a wonderful surprise was waiting for me. Someone had laid out a complete girl's outfit on the bed: pink frock, pink underwear to go with it, a pink ribbon for my hair, little girls' shoes and white socks. I noticed that my closet door was open; when I looked inside, there were more dresses! My boy clothes, except the ones I was wearing, were gone. That rule... Why, with all these lovely things to choose from, it would be pure pleasure to obey the rule. They wouldn't be able to get me back into boys' clothes whatever they tried to do. Since the pink things were out on the bed, I assumed that was what they wanted me to wear first. I don't think I've ever taken my clothes off as fast as I did that afternoon; I nearly tore them off, I was so impatient. I looked at the little-girl panties they had put out, and I thought of the times I had had to sneak into Sis's room to put hers on. No sneaking here! With trembling hands, I drew them on. They were pink cotton, but they had a little blue satin ribbon going around the waist. I noticed the mirror, and I went over and looked at myself, a naked boy wearing little girl's pink panties. Ecstasy! They hadn't put out a bra, just a plain pink slip. I put that on, and then I put on the dress. How nice they felt, swishing against my legs when I moved! I looked in the mirror again; there was a ten-year-old boy in a pink dress. I turned from side to side, seeing how the skirt swirled and opened out as I moved. Then the socks and shoes. I sat down at the vanity and tried to put the ribbon in my hair. But my hair was too short, and it wouldn't stay. Well... there was a question for me to ask Mrs. Johnson. Hesitantly, I walked out into the hall. There were two girls talking there. What were girls doing here? Then I realized that these were two of the boys--no, we were girls, now--two of the girls that had been on the bus. I walked over to them. They turned to me and one said: "Hi. I'm Cheryl. And this is Cathy." "Hi, Cheryl, hi, Cathy. I'm Annie." "Hi, Annie. That's a pretty dress. How do you like your room?" "It's dreamy." "`Dreamy'? Gee, Annie, you're doing all right. `Dreamy.' They're not going to have to teach you much if you talk like that already!" I was pleased. The word had popped out without my thinking about it. I was such a girl that I was talking like one already. I glowed with pleasure. We compared notes. We had come here from all over the country, and we had all been referred here by therapists. I told them about how cool Mom had been, and how understanding the therapist had turned out to be. Cheryl's mother hadn't been cool about it at all when she had discovered that her boy was getting into her lingerie drawer. She had gotten mad and called Cheryl a pervert. She had threatened to call a therapist and have her put away in an institution. She did call one, but the therapist had had her send Cheryl to Camp Trans instead. Cathy's story was grim. Her father had caught her in a dress and had beaten her, shouting, "No son of mine is going to grow up to be a faggot!" And it was only because her mother had intervened and insisted that Cathy see a psychiatrist that she was here. Her father had been dead against it, until her mom had said, "Either she goes, or I go." Cathy went. Then we compared our dresses. Mine was pink, and so was Cheryl's, but hers had a floral pattern on it while mine had little blue ribbons (to go with the panties, I thought). Cathy's was white and lacy. We turned from side to side, the way I had done in my room, and watched the skirts swirl. Cathy did a little pirouette- -I made a mental note to find out how she did that--and her skirt billowed way out. I told her how good she looked, and she made me a little curtsey. That led to about fifteen minutes of play as we took turns curtseying to one another, holding the sides of our skirts and taking care to lift our slips as well as our dresses. About that time, four other girls came out of their rooms. I noticed that each of them was as hesitant as I had been. Then one of them, Maryanne, I think it was, asked why we didn't go outside. A girl named Toni --how glad I was that I had decided against Toni-- asked, "Do you think it's all right... I mean, dressed like this?" "Toni, we're going to be dressed like this all summer," I said. "Do you think we're going to stay indoors all that time?" Toni blushed prettily. (I wonder how one can do that, I thought --to blush. Can I make myself blush?) And we all went out into the sunshine. We walked around. Debbie, another one of the girls, took my hand, and we all ended up walking about hand in hand. That was interesting; I would never think of holding another boy's hand, but here we were, all girls together, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. We went toward a wooded section of the camp. Under the trees it was cool, but still comfortable. We wandered in the woods until we came to a stream. There were benches next to the stream, and we all sat, talking quietly and listening to the sound of the water. "Do you suppose we must pee sitting down?" Cheryl asked. "I don't know," Debbie said. "She said there was only one rule. But *I* am going to pee sitting down all the time. It's the girl thing to do." "That's good," Cheryl said. "That's what I want to do," and Toni said, "This is our one time we can be girls completely, and to me that means doing everything like a girl, including peeing." "Girls kiss a lot," Maryanne said. "I don't know whether I can kiss another boy." "But we aren't boys," I objected. "All this summer, we're all girls. No, I don't want to kiss any nasty boys. But any girl here who wants a kiss can have one." Cathy came over and offered me her cheek, and without a moment's hesitation I gave her a little kiss. All the other girls clapped their hands. Just then, Mrs. Johnson came through the woods to us. "So! Our little girls are kissing now! That's very sweet. "But dinner is going to be ready in half an hour. You have just time enough to get back to your rooms and tidy up." We all raced back to the dorm. That evening, we sat in the common room and sang songs while one of the matrons accompanied us on the piano. We were all about the same age, and our voices hadn't changed yet, and I noticed that we really sounded like a group of girls singing. They were the kind of songs girls sing in summer camp, but then Maryanne wanted to sing a song called "I Enjoy Being a Girl." We all clapped our hands when she said that, and sure enough, the matron had the music for it. We crowded around the piano and joined Maryanne in singing the words. The next morning, after breakfast, we went to our first study session. Dr Frankel gave us an introduction to what little is known about men who crossdress. She talked about crossdressers, transvestites and drag queens. She also talked about something she called Gender Identity Dysphoria. "We don't know which category any of you falls into, yet. You probably don't know, yourselves. You needn't worry about that. It takes years of living before we really know ourselves, and that applies to crossdressing as much as to anything else. My advice is to spend this summer exploring how you feel about being girls. If you're lucky, you may have some of your feelings sorted out by the time you go home. Even if you haven't, you will have had a summer's experience to build on as you think about these things." Our second class that morning was in grooming and deportment. We sat in a circle and Mrs. Johnson examined us. "All right, girls," she said. "I'm calling you girls as a courtesy, but the way you look, you're all just a bunch of boys in dresses. We can't have our girls looking like that. "First, you aren't wearing your dresses like girls. Stand up, please." We stood up, and Mrs. Johnson went from one to another of us, pulling something up here, pulling something down there. She showed one girl that her slip was showing and what to do about it. "You all have mirrors in your rooms. They're there for a reason. Use them. Look at yourself before you go out and check your appearance. That's what every lady does. "Now... the way you're sitting! Get up, now, and sit down again." We stood up and sat down. "No. The first thing a girl does when she sits down is make sure the back of her skirt is smooth, so it won't wrinkle when she sits on it. Toni, stand up and sit down. The rest of you watch her... that's it! With your hand. Now everyone, stand up and sit down... That's the way. Every time you sit down you MUST make sure your skirts are smooth." She looked around. "Judy, do you realize a man could see right up your skirt with your legs apart that way?" Judy quickly closed them. "Cross your legs, Judy. No, not with one leg across the other. Put your legs together and cross your feet... Right! Now, everybody, cross your feet the way Judy did." We all crossed our feet. "That's the way little girls sit. Now, keep your legs together and cross them at the knee." We all did that. "That's the way ladies cross their legs. It shows off the legs while still being ladylike. Most of the time, you will sit like little girls while you are here, but if any of you are going to continue to dress as you get older, you have to know how to sit like ladies." Then she showed us yet another way to sit, almost like the little-girl way, but with our feet a little to one side and only slightly crossed. She told us that was the way movie stars crossed their legs. So much to learn! But I was going to enjoy practicing the different ways in the privacy of my room that evening. Then she had us practice our walks. That was the longest part of the lesson. "You have to get rid of that assertive masculine walk," she told us. "Boys take big strides and walk with a certain swagger and assurance. Girls take smaller steps... no, Cheryl, don't mince. They're small steps, not baby steps. Right!" And so it went, for the rest of the hour. We were directed to remember how we walked around the camp. "We'll be watching you and checking up. You're here to be girls, aren't you? Say it!" We all chorused, "Yes," and a couple of the girls added, "I'm here to be a girl!" Maryanne sang out her favorite line, "I enjoy being a girl!" At the end of the class, we all stood up and curtseyed to Mrs. Johnson. Then she drilled us on our curtseys--how to hold our skirts, how to place our feet, how to nod our heads and smile when we curtseyed. She then told us that we were always to curtsey to our teachers at the end of every class. In the afternoon, we had a dance class. For the class, we wore leotards over pantyhose. My pantyhose were nude colored, and I wore a light green velvet leotard with them. There was a handrail along the wall, and Mrs. MacPherson had us line up along it. Then we did a set of exercises--knee bends, foot stretches, and small kicks of different sorts. Then we left the handrails and moved into the center of the room. "This class you're taking is an elementary ballet class. It's true that boys take ballet, too- -at least, they should, although not enough of them do-- but you need to learn to move gracefully, and this is the best way to do it. Everybody should be able to move gracefully, but it's especially important for girls. Later this summer we'll go on to ballroom dancing." Then we did exercises in the center: balances, exercises in the use of the arms, more stretches, and simple dance steps. I found it delightful. Some of the steps were tricky, but Mrs. MacPherson was patient with us, and when we got so we could do them, after a fashion, they felt good. After the dance class, I went back to my room and changed back into a dress. I looked myself over in the mirror to make sure everything was right. And I felt so lovely and feminine! I posed before the mirror. Was it my imagination, or was I beginning to look more like a little girl than a boy? I silently blessed that therapist for arranging for me to be sent to this heavenly place. We had free time the rest of the afternoon. There were copies of girls' and women's magazines in the common room--Seventeen, Vogue, Elle, things like that-- and mail-order catalogs from clothing stores, too. I fell into the habit of leafing through them in my free time, looking for ideas or simply drooling over lovely dresses I would like to wear. I stopped by Mrs. Johnson's office and asked her about my hair ribbons. "Annie, dear, I'm afraid there's nothing you can do just now. Your hair is still too short. We advise mothers to skip a haircut before they send their girls here, but for some of you it still takes some time. Wait a week or two, it will grow out and you'll be able to wear ribbons the same as the other girls. Maryanne's hair is still too short, too, so you aren't the only one." The first week was pretty much like that first day. Science and medicine first; then dress and deportment; then dance; then free time for the rest of the afternoon. The second week, Mrs. Johnson got to work on our vocabulary. Adjectives like "neat" or "great" were out; things were to be "sweet," "pretty," "lovely," or "dreamy." (Cheryl gave me a look when Mrs. Johnson mentioned "dreamy.") Our parents weren't Mom and Dad; they were Mummy and Daddy. And so on, through what seemed like an endless list of words. The third week, we learned about makeup. "You're still little girls," Mrs. Johnson said, "and too young to wear makeup on a regular basis. But you can start early, so that when you're in your early teens, you will look good. Wait until you're in high school and see the girls -- the genetic girls, I mean-- wearing makeup for the first time. They don't know how to do it, and they look like sluts. I don't want my girls to look like sluts. You're pretty young ladies, not sluts." This was long and detailed, with a lot of one-on-one instruction. She would drill a girl in applying lipstick, for example, and have the rest of us stand around and watch. Then she would drill another one in eye shadow, and we would all watch. She emphasized that too little makeup was always better than too much. "You can nearly always tell a man in a dress because he wears too much makeup. He usually dresses badly, too, like a prostitute instead of like a lady. If you want to keep on dressing later in life, watch women and see how they groom themselves." But the high point for me that week was being able, at last, to put ribbons in my hair. Now, as I looked in the mirror, I began to detect a real little girl smiling back at me. That night the eight of us decided to have a panty party. We had been talking about the lovely clothes the camp had provided for us, and somehow it seemed that no two girls had the same sets of panties. So we decided to get them out and compare, and then Cathy suggested that we should all model them. We ended up in the common room, and each girl put her panties in a neat pile. Then each of us modeled her panties. Actually, there was some duplication between the different sets, but not much. I decided that, since girls are supposed to kiss girls, I was going to kiss each girl when she finished modeling her panties. They liked this idea, and we all did it. Then we tried to walk with our penises tucked back between our thighs so they wouldn't show and so we would look as much like girls as possible. We were clumsy, and any girlish walks Mrs. Johnson had taught us fell by the wayside as we inched about with our thighs squeezed together. We giggled at Cathy, whose little penis was hard under her panties. But Toni couldn't tuck hers back at all--it was too short. "That's all right," she said. "The shorter the better. When I'm grown up I'm going to have it cut off so I can be a *real* girl." We all pooh-poohed this idea. "You can't cut it off," Debbie said with immense conviction. "If you do, you die. You bleed to death." It wasn't until a couple of weeks later, when Dr Frankel told us about sex-change operations, which she called "sexual reassignment surgery," that we discovered that Toni had been right. Indeed, we learned that Dr Frankel was a transsexual. She had originally been Dr Max Frankel. She had had surgery and was now Dr Maria Frankel. After that each of us put on her favorite panties, and we all sat and sang songs. That evening set a precedent. About once a week we would all get together and have clothes parties. That first week it had been panties; the next week it was dresses, and we all modeled our dresses and compared them; and the week after that it was a regular girls' pajama party. The week Mrs. Johnson's class introduced us to bras, we had all been given training bras, and we had a bra party. The same thing when she introduced us to garter belts and nylon stockings. But for me these were less fun, because I wasn't ready to be a young lady yet; I was still a little girl. For other entertainment we would go on walks, sometimes just two or three of us, other times all of us. One afternoon we learned how to play jacks and played at that all the rest of the day. And the camp had a generous assortment of dolls and an enormous dollhouse, and on rainy days we would stay in and play with them. We were such happy little girls. **** One day the science and medicine class was dedicated to the topic of Gender Identity Dysphoria. "In some girls, it shows up in early childhood. In others, it may not show up until they are in adolescence, or even when they are adults. If any of you turn out to have GID, you can consider yourselves lucky to have started this young and to be spending this summer here with us. You're having a good time here, but the important thing is that we're doing what we can to protect you from having a bad time later in life. Because the later you start, the harder your road is." And she told us some case histories of men who hadn't realized that they were women until after they were married. The story of one wife's suffering had us in tears. "It's important to remember, girls, that when you get romantically involved with a woman, you MUST make sure she understands exactly who and what you are. It isn't easy. But any other choice leads to heartbreak. Because that isn't just like wearing girls' clothes for fun. If a husband only crossdresses, he's still a loving husband; he's her man, and he will be her man all his life. Even then, it's a good idea to tell her things early in the relationship. But if a husband changes sex, then the man she married is dead. Or, actually, he never existed." We left that class quiet and subdued. And Mrs. MacPherson noticed it, too. But she must have known why, because she gave us some lively dancing to do, so that we left her class laughing and smiling. That evening, Maryanne and I got together for some girl talk. The morning's science class came up, and the talk turned serious. "I'm pretty sure what I am," I said, looking at my fingernails. We had been taught to look at our nails with our fingers held straight out, not curled up the way boys look at theirs. "I think I'm just a boy who likes to wear dresses." "I'm not," Maryanne said. "I'm a girl. I mean, not just now, for this summer. Deep down inside, I'm a real girl." "I guess Toni is, too. Are you going to have it cut off the way she's going to?" "I don't know. Hospitals and doctors scare me. But didn't Dr Frankel say there were pills you could take?" "Yes, she called it hor... hormone something therapy." "Hormone replacement therapy," Maryanne said. "That's funny. Do you suppose that when you take the pills your thing just falls off?" Neither of us could answer that. "I hope it does," she said. "It would be lovely just to be rid of it." **** The next afternoon, outside, we decided we would like to jump rope. "All little girls jump rope," Debbie said. "It's a girly thing to do, and I want to do everything girly this summer!" We all clapped our hands at this. But we didn't have any jumpropes, and most of us didn't know how to do it. So we went to Mrs. Johnson's office and asked her. "Of course we have jumpropes! All our little girls like to jump rope." And she took us to a supply closet, got two jumpropes, and then went outside with us and gave us lessons in jumping rope. After that, we spent the next week practicing. **** One afternoon I wanted to go for a walk alone. I had so much to think about-- whether I was going to continue "crossdressing," as Dr Frankel called it, all my life --how I was going to get through my life after leaving this lovely camp-- all sorts of things. I went to the woods and sat a long time by the stream. Then I got up, stepped over the stream, and wandered on, thinking about skirts and blouses and pretty frocks and wondering whether I would still be wearing them when I was grown up. I went a long way, lost in thought, until I realized that if I didn't turn back, I would be late for dinner. And so I turned back... but realized I didn't know which way to go. I had had to take some turns to get around obstacles, and I didn't know where those had been. I suddenly realized that I was lost. I tried to guess which way I had been going before I had decided to turn back. Well... every forest came to an end, sooner or later, so all I really had to do was keep walking and make sure I didn't go in circles. But I was scared. The forest finally did come to an end, but I didn't see any of the camp. I found myself on a highway instead. So I started walking along the highway, hoping I would come to the main entrance of the camp. I didn't. And it started to get dark. There were a few cars, but nobody stopped for me, until suddenly a police car came into view. When it passed me, it began to slow down. My heart skipped a beat. I was outside the "protected space," as Mrs. Johnson had described the camp, and I was a little boy (hard to remember that after the last few weeks) in a dress. Was I going to be arrested? The car stopped. A policeman opened the door and called out. "Hello, young lady. Are you all right?" I didn't know what to say. I was lost, and here was help. But if I told them where I came from... did they know about Camp Trans? What did they think of it? We had learned in Dr Frankel's class what the world thought about transvestites, that we were sick, that in some places we might be in violation of some law or other. Was I going to get into trouble? Was I going to get Mrs. Johnson and the others into trouble? But I didn't know what else to do. When all else fails, fall back on the truth. "I'm lost, officer." "Where to you live, honey?" This was it. "I'm at camp. I'm at..." I swallowed hard "...at Camp Trans." They knew about it. I could tell from the look on the policeman's face. Suddenly I saw myself, and the Camp, and everything we did there, through the eyes of the outside world. In my mind, I heard Cathy's father saying, "No son of mine is going to be a faggot!" But all that the policeman said was, "You're a long way from there, kid." Suddenly I was kid rather than young lady or honey. He went on: "Come on, get in the car. I'll drive you back." Everything I had ever been told about accepting rides from strangers came back to me. The fact that this stranger was a cop didn't help any. He would drive me "back." Back to the camp or back to police headquarters? I was petrified. But hesitation would make him suspicious. So I slowly walked to the car, and when I reached it, he held the door for me. I may have been "kid," but apparently habit took over and he held the door as he would for a little girl--or a woman. He never said a word on the way back. Had he ever seen any of the "girls" from the Camp before? Was he curious? Did he think it was indelicate to ask? I didn't know. Since he didn't say anything, I didn't, either. We made the entire trip in silence. We went back to Camp Trans, not to the police station. We got out, he asked me which way to go, and we went to Mrs. Johnson's office. "There you are, Annie! We were so worried about you!" She turned to the policeman. "Thank you for returning our little dear. Where did you find her?" The cop --no; I have to call him a policeman; "cop" is what boys say-- the policeman explained that I had been lost. "I'm sorry she's put you to so much trouble. And thank you for returning her to us safely." After the policeman had left, I told Mrs. Johnson what had happened. Her only reaction was concern over what I had been thinking about. "Are you worried about your life, Annie?" "Not very, Mrs. Johnson. I've learned so much from Dr Frankel that I don't think I'll ever worry about myself. But I worry about..." I didn't know the word "logistics" then, or I would have said I was concerned about the logistics of living as a crossdresser. Instead, I continued, "...about how I'm going to get dresses and dress up when I want to and stuff..." Ooops. That was a slip. Only boys said "and stuff." I corrected myself: "...and things like that." "Well, girls like you always have those problems. Don't worry. We'll be teaching you about how to find your own pretty dresses and undies in a week or so. But if you aren't worried about yourself... that's the most important lesson we can teach you, and I'm happy if you've learned it." I told her how worried I had been about the policeman. She laughed. "Oh, you'll never have trouble with them. We're big taxpayers in this little town, and we have good connections with the local government. Some of the townspeople are hostile, but the people who count never give us any trouble." She laughed again, more quietly. "That policeman will have a tale to tell his wife to-night, though." She took me off to the kitchen and gave me a dinner of leftovers. And as I ate it, and later in my room, I thought about my adventure. It suddenly struck me: This encounter, meeting the policeman while I was "dressed" had been good practice. I might get caught that way in future years. It would always be scary, I thought, but I'd had my baptism of fire, and, whatever happened, I would know I had been through such an experience before and had survived. **** By the end of the summer we were all little girls through and through. We knew how to talk, how to move, how to care for our skirts and dresses, how to play girls' games. (Hopscotch turned out to be unexpectedly tricky, and some of our male competitiveness surfaced a couple of times.) We had all learned to swim. And the reward for passing the swimming test was a two-piece bikini, with breast forms for the bra. And the last night before we had to leave for home, we had a fancy-dress ball. We all got together in the dance studio; Mr. Johnson put on records, and we danced together. I had a lovely blue gown, which Mrs. Johnson said was called Alice blue. The only problem was that there were no boys, so we girls had to dance with one another. But I wasn't really interested in boys, and I had gotten a crush on Debbie and danced with her every time I could. I still remember how she felt in my arms when I kissed her at the end of the ball. But it was a sad time, because we knew this delicious, dreamy summer was coming to an end. Mrs. Johnson warned us that we were going to have to suppress all our carefully learned feminine mannerisms and remember to act like boys again. But she urged us to practice whenever we were alone, so we wouldn't forget what we had been taught. "Where we can, we've worked out an understanding with your parents, so you will still be able to wear some girls' clothes, even if it's only panties under your trousers." But I dreaded the return of the fall, simply because it mean the end of the heavenly life we had been living in Camp Trans' "protected space." I'll have to get back to that therapist, I decided. There was always next summer, after all... **** When I got back home, I was depressed. School awaited me, and I was wearing my grubby old boy clothes. I looked at my clothes. Brown pants. Jeans. White shirts. Tan shirts. Blue shirts. A couple with checks on them. No lace, no ruffles, no ribbons, no pretty prints. I almost cried, remembering what my closet at camp had been like. Mom and Dad were curiously silent. We all were. At dinner, Mom asked me whether I had enjoyed my summer. "Yeah," I said. Shit, I had gone back to talking like a boy; none of us girls at Camp Trans would have said, "Yeah." "You don't sound very enthusiastic," Mom said. "Was it an unpleasant experience?" I suddenly burst out. "Yes, it was the loveliest time of my whole life. It was just... dreamy. It's just that I hate being back." "You mean you still want to wear that stuff?" my father asked. Here it comes, I thought. Well, I'm not going to lie to him. "Yes. I want to more than ever now." "You come see me after dinner," he said. What did that mean? My appetite disappeared, and I just poked at the rest of my dinner. After helping Mom with the dishes (and wishing she at least had a frilly apron I could wear while I was doing it), I sneaked off to my room, hoping Dad would forget. No such luck. As I passed his study, he called out to me. "Tony, we've got to talk," he said. Oh, shit, here it comes. He was very uptight and nervous. This was going to be a most disagreeable discussion. "In fact, I have something I have to show you." And then, to my amazement he loosened his belt, opened his fly, dropped his trousers... and underneath... he was wearing a pair of light blue panties! I was stunned. "Like father, like son, I guess," he said, blushing. My father, blushing! "I suppose I should have leveled with you last spring," he went on, "but I couldn't. It's hard to talk about something like this with your own son. But that's crazy. I've been crossdressing since I was your age, and I wish sometimes that I'd had a father like me, who would have talked to me when I was a kid. And when I had a chance to do that for you, I chickened out. "Oh, well," he went on. "Parents are shy about talking to their kids about sex, so they usually just give them a book. And I took the coward's way out, too, when that shrink said we should send you to that camp." "That's okay, Dad," I managed to get out. "Well, this means you don't have to pretend any more. And I won't have to, either." What a man! At this rate, I won't have to wait until next summer. We can have our own Camp Trans right here at home. What heaven! We spent the rest of the evening before my bedtime talking about dresses, nylons, and shoes. Princess Pervette April 1997