All Dolled Up - Part II free porn video

All Dolled Up - Part II By Missy Crystal Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them. Jamie played with his doll for the rest of the afternoon. I wondered what was holding his interest for so long, since children usually had a short attention span. He had no experience with dolls and he lacked the accessories to create more elaborate make believe. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see what he was doing. "Jamie, Honey, can I play too?" I asked. He looked at me blankly. "I used to have fun playing with my doll, Cricket. I wish I knew what happened to her. She's probably in a box in your grandmother's attic." I pretended to give it some thought and then suggested, "It was even more fun when my sister, your Aunt Karen, played with me. It's been a really long time, so could I play dolls with you?" He shrugged his shoulders. "You don't want me to play with you?" He shrugged his shoulders again and held the doll tightly. "You don't have to share the doll, Honey. Let's just pretend we're at the grocery store. I can get some cans of food and little boxes of cereal and I think we have a cardboard box you could use for a shopping cart. We can use the kitchen table to checkout. I'll give you some coins from my pocketbook and I can be the cashier. How does that sound?" Karen and I used to play store with our dolls. Sometimes we raided Mom's kitchen cabinets, sometimes we used our play food and sometimes we pretended it was a department store using our dolls' wardrobes. For some reason, probably the same one that made her such a good psychologist, she always ended up as the customer. I made that concession to Jamie, but it didn't make any difference. Since the more subtle approach wasn't working, I decided to be direct. "Jamie," I asked as casually as I could, so as not to make him think I was concerned, "what do you do when you play with your doll?" "I don't know," he answered noncommittally. "Jamie, you must do something. Do you play a game with her?" He shook his head. "Do you talk to her?" "Uh huh," he answered quietly. "What do you talk about? "I don't know." "You talk to her, but you don't know what you say?" "Nothing." "Jamie, you can't talk about nothing," I insisted. "Do you talk about you? Do you talk about your friends? Do you talk about me?" I hesitated and then asked him, "Do you talk about your father? Please tell me." I could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes and heard a quiet sob. Obviously it was something very personal and he wasn't comfortable sharing it with me. Maybe I was right about the doll being an emotional outlet for him, a companion who he could trust not to give away his secrets. The reason I didn't want counseling was because I didn't want to explain my intimate feelings to a stranger, no matter how well meaning. Why shouldn't I give Jamie the same respect for his feelings? I got down on my knees and took him in my arms, the doll in between us. "Jamie, Honey, Mommy's sorry. Please don't cry. If you want to talk to me, you can, but you don't have to," I apologized. "I, well, I just thought maybe it would be fun to have someone to play with, like when I was a little girl and played with my sister, but it's up to you. Really, Honey. I have lots of things to do. If you change your mind, you can come get me. Okay?" I let go of him and stood up. He clamed down and, as I left the room, he was back talking to the doll. I wondered if I bought him some different outfits for his doll, would he change how he played with her? Would he dress her or did clothes not matter to him, the way it did to girls. He had the comb and brush, but he didn't style her hair either. Then again, girls are used to fooling around with their hair and boys aren't, so that wasn't surprising. I sighed. In one sense, it really didn't matter. So long as it made him happy, that was good enough; but was that all there was to it? That evening we went through the usual routine. Jamie had the doll with him when he came down for dinner, but remembered to leave her on the stairs before he came to the table. After dinner we went into the den to watch a video. We decided on Disney's Aladdin. He sat down on the sofa, while I put the tape into the VCR. When I came back, his dress, well I guess it had become that, was rumpled and he had his legs spread out. "Jamie, Honey." I instinctively corrected him, "girls don't sit like that." Or boys in dresses either, the thought came to me. "You need to tuck your dress under you and cross your legs at your knees or your ankles. Or you can sit Indian style and pull your dress down to cover your legs. It's not polite to let people see your panties." Oops, silly slip of the tongue. "I mean your underpants. Try it." Jamie stood up and looked at me questioningly. He was still holding the doll. "First, Sweetie, you need to put the doll down. You can pick her up in a minute." He put the doll on the sofa. "Okay, now take your hands and slide them underneath your bottom, then slide back on the cushions, like this." I wasn't wearing a skirt, but I demonstrated the motion for him to copy. "Good boy." Boy? "See, your dress is nice and smooth. Now you need to keep you legs together. Try pulling them up and crossing them under you. Is that comfortable?" He was awkward, but at his age he was flexible enough to get in position. "Now, cover your legs with the dress. Hmm, it is a bit short. Okay, then, tuck it down between your legs. Here, like this." I adjusted the dress so that it was about as concealing as possible. If Jamie was a girl, she would have to wear leggings or shorts under it for modesty. Since he wasn't and he wasn't going out dressed like that, I don't know why I even bothered with the lesson in feminine deportment. When I indicated my approval, Jamie picked the doll back up and I pressed the play button on the remote. The video started and, as he watched the TV, I wondered whether he saw himself as Aladdin, the brash boy who saves the kingdom, or as Jasmine, the pretty girl who inspires Aladdin to overcome his past. After the movie we went upstairs to get Jamie ready for bed. I had him take off his dress and put on his regular pajamas. When it was time for the story, the doll was on the pillow between us. When I finished, I looked down at him and decided that there was no longer any reason to take the doll away for the night. It would also avoid any more of his nocturnal adventures to retrieve it. "Jamie, I'm going to let you keep the doll with you. Do be careful with her. Sweet dreams." He looked up at me with a smile and snuggled down under the covers, with his left arm resting on the doll. I left, turned out the light and closed the door, leaving it ajar. I went to my bedroom and got undressed. As I was pulling on my old t- shirt, I thought back to when I would wear seductive nightgowns for Jim. Because he traveled so much, our time together was precious and I always wanted to look ultra-sexy for him. I had one black lace number that never stayed on me very long. I wore panties under it to keep him at bay for an additional thirty seconds, I reminded myself nostalgically. It was still early. I debated calling Karen and filling her in, but I knew she would discourage me from buying Jamie the dress until we had gone though counseling and I had already decided that I would not put either him or me through that. I picked up my book and read until I was tired, set the alarm for seven thirty and turned off the light. The alarm went off and I got up. I peeked into Jamie's room to check on him. He was still asleep. He had rolled over, so that the doll was lying on the pillow next to his head. I went back to my room and used the time to wash up, do my hair, put on some makeup, since we would be going out later, and get dressed. I looked at my nails, which needed attention, and made a mental note to get a manicure. I didn't go to the beauty salon anymore, because I had no one to watch Jamie. If he was into dolls and dresses, maybe I could take him with me and he wouldn't be bored? No, what are you thinking, Virginia, I chided myself. Dolls and dresses or not, he is still a boy and you want him to get over it, not into it. Should I buy him the dress, then? I had already told him I would and it wouldn't be right to disappoint him. Besides, wearing my old tank top for a day is one thing, but he can't be serious about dressing like a girl. Why would he want to do that? Girl's clothes, at last the feminine ones, are complicated, with what they have to wear under them, and a nuisance. He's already seen how much trouble it is to sit in a dress. Wait until he has to manage a party dress with a stiff crinoline. He'll see how much better it is to be a boy. On that note I went down to get breakfast ready. On the way I thought about the practical details of buying a boy a dress. What size did I wear when I was six? I had no idea, since my mother bought my clothes for me or I got Karen's hand-me-downs, which I would "grow into," as Mom assured me. I suppose I could call her and ask. That would be an interesting conversation. Why get her involved at all? Mom loves to gossip, so she would tell Karen, who would put two and two together and I would get an inquisitive call. Anyway, I had no idea if Jamie and I were the same size at that age. He is small, but how big was I? Misses dress sizes also vary between brands. Sometimes I wear a six and sometimes an eight. Girl's dresses probably were the same. Could I take him into the dressing room to try it on? Would they let a boy try on dresses? Probably not, if they knew. Do they have to know? He looked like a girl when I dressed him in my tank top. It was too skimpy even for a little girl to wear in public. She'd flash her panties, no matter how careful she was; but, with a little styling of his hair and some unisex clothes, like shorts, a plain top and sneakers, he could probably pass for my daughter. I remembered that a couple of months ago I had mixed some of his white underwear in with the dark wash and they had come out tinted pink. I had been meaning to get some Clorox to try bleaching them, but hadn't gotten around to it. They should still be in the laundry room. I went in, rummaged around the odd clothing pile, socks that didn't match, but which I optimistically believed would have their mate turn up, and ripped t- shirts that would be good for cleaning rags, that kind of stuff, and found a pair of the underpants and a crew-necked short-sleeved t-shirt. They would do nicely to enhance the illusion of Jamie being a girl, while he tried on dresses. I brought them to the kitchen and put them aside, while I finished making breakfast. About twenty minutes later I heard him coming downstairs. As before he had obediently left the doll on the stairs. I gave him his breakfast and sat down across the table from him. "Did you sleep will, Sweetie?" I inquired, making small talk. "Uh huh," he answered between spoonfuls of fruit loops. "Jamie," I continued nonchalantly, "do you still want to me to buy you the dress?" I was hoping he would say no after my coaching with the tank top, but he nodded his head. "Okay, then. If you really want me to, I will. But Honey, you have to remember, it's our secret. You can't let anyone know that I bought you a dress. It's, well, boys don't wear dresses. I mean they can, you can, but well, people, most people, would think there was, umm, that you were, umm, that it was wrong." No, that wasn't what I wanted to say. "Not wrong, Jamie, but, umm, different. Different," I repeated. "Sometimes people are not very tolerant, umm, patient, you know, nice, when things aren't what they expect." How do you explain prejudice to a six year old? "Do you understand, Jamie?" He gave me a puzzled look. "Never mind, Honey. Don't worry about. Mommy will take care of it. Let's go get you dressed, so we can go to the mall." I picked up the underwear and brought it with us. We went into his room and I had him take off his pajamas. I showed him the underpants and undershirt. "Jamie, remember when you were looking at the dress in the store, I told you that pink was for girls?" "Uh huh." "Jamie, you really need to use words and not sounds," I corrected him. "Yes or no and the person's name, if you know it, or Mommy, if your talking to me. Please and thank you too. That is the way polite children speak to adults or their mother. Will you do that, please Jamie," I illustrated. "Now, I'll ask you again. Do you remember when you were looking at the dress and I told you that pink was for girls? "Yes, Mommy," he complied. "Thank you for listening, Sweetie. When we go shopping today, you have to pretend to be a girl, so that we can shop in the Girls Department. I need to have you try on the dress to make sure it fits and they won't let a boy do that. See," I said, holding up his underpants. "They're the same as a girl would wear." Well, except for having a fly, but he wouldn't know that girls pulled down their panties when they tinkled. "And your t-shirt is pink too." I handed them to him. Except for the color they were identical to what he was used to, so there was no difficulty in him putting them on. I went to his bureau and found a pair of red cotton shorts with white piping. Plain white sox and his old sneakers, which weren't as macho as the fancy Nike's I just bought, completed his unisex outfit. I got my round styling brush and fluffed up his hair, pulling it forward to frame his face. I had a silly thought of using some perfume, but I didn't think a six year old should smell like Passion. Jim loved that scent on me, but bubble gum was probably what little girls wore. Or maybe a little nail polish to give him a more feminine appearance. Except that all I had was red, much too grown up. Besides, why get into that with him? The less feminine he felt, the more likely he would give up and go back to being a boy. Once Jamie was ready, I got my pocketbook and we headed for the mall. I could see that he was excited. We parked and walked to the department store. When we reached the Girls Department, I took Jamie's hand. The pink party dress was on a manikin set on top of a circular rack of the same dresses, separated by size with dividers, 4, 5, 6 and 6X. Jamie wore a boys' size six. Boys' sizes corresponded to their age, if they were average in height and weight. I assumed girls' sizes were about the same, although there was only one way to find out. I took a size six and went up to the sales counter. "Hello," the salesgirl greeted us. She was a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, very pretty, with dark hair pulled back off her face with a gold clip on either side, dressed in a faded blue denim skirt with a summery pale yellow short-sleeved blouse, open at the neck to show off a gold chain. "I'm Claire." Looking at the dress I was holding and then down at Jamie, she smiled and asked, "Would you like to try it on and see how pretty you look in it?" accepting him as a little girl, to my relief. Here," she offered, handing me a plastic card with a large number one on it. "The dressing rooms are over there," she directed us. I took the dress and held Jamie's hand as we walked to the dressing room. If Claire did suspect anything, she was considerate enough not to embarrass us. I wondered if she ever had a boy try on a dress, as a boy. Well, no reason to start now. We got to the doorway that led to the dressing rooms, which had a louvered swinging door for privacy, but underneath which you could see the legs of the people inside. At least you could have, if there was anyone else using them, but we were alone. I took Jamie into the last one on the right. Inside I hung the dress on a hook. There was a large floor length mirror on the left partition, as you went in. "Jamie, let's take off your shorts and sneakers. You can keep your underpants and t-shirt on." He reached down and undid the Velcro tabs on his sneakers and stepped out of them. I helped him pull down and step out of his shorts. Okay, the moment of truth. Truth or dare, I joked nervously to myself. Okay, Ginny, I dare you to put a dress on your son. I pulled down the back zipper and held it over Jamie's head. "Arms up, Honey." He raised his arms. The skirt was flared out by a built in nylon net crinoline, so it slipped over his head easily I settled the shoulders on him, pulling up the zipper to secure it in place. There it was, then. He was wearing the dress. I fussed with the bodice, tied the sash in a big bow in back and fluffed out the skirt, the way I would have done if Jamie really was a girl. I was standing behind him and could see him looking at himself in the mirror. "Jamie," I asked, trying to avoid using any words that would give away that he was a boy, just in case anyone might overhear me, "do you like the dress? Do you like the way it feels on you? You, you look pretty," I complimented him. I made the commitment and it seemed wrong to spoil the moment by being negative. "If you don't like it, we can find something else," I offered. To my surprise he put his hands on the skirt and swung back and forth, similar to how he modeled the tank top for his doll. A girl would have spun around and looked over her shoulder to see how she looked from the back, but Jamie was content with seeing how he looked in the dress from the front. "Jamie?" I repeated. "I like it, Mommy," he finally responded. "Can I have it? Please," he added. "Yes, I said I would buy it for you." I bent down and said softly, "but remember, Jamie, it is our special secret. You can't tell anybody that Mommy bought you a dress and you can't tell anybody about wearing the dress, either. Okay?" "Okay, Mommy." "Honey, you need to take off the dress and put your shorts and sneakers back on." I untied the sash. "Now, lift up your arms and hold still, while I undo the hook and the zipper. There." If he were doing it himself and could manage the back zipper, no easy feat, even for a girl who was used to wearing dresses, he would let it drop and step out of it; but, since I was taller, it was easer to lift the dress over his head. I put it back on the hanger while Jamie got himself dressed. I took the dress and went back to the sales counter, where Claire was waiting. I handed her the dress, which she laid on the counter. "Well, you we're right, it does look pretty on her. We'll take it." "I'm glad you like it. I wish you had come out and let me see. Pink is definitely her color with the red hair and green eyes. She's going to be a heartbreaker when she grows up. Is she in school?" "She starts kindergarten in the fall." "Oh, I'm sure the little boys will be in puppy love," she said with a smile. "You know, we have some really adorable outfits for her to wear to school. Would you like me to show you some?" "No thank you, Claire, we're all set for now." I opened my pocketbook and took my credit card out of my wallet. "Oh, Mrs. McCarthy," she read my name off of the card, "I picked out a few things. I wasn't sure if you would want some nice undies to go with the dress." Claire was obviously a very good salesperson. She held up a pair of white nylon panties with pink lace trim around the waistband and leg openings and two pink hearts appliqu?d on the front and a matching camisole. "These are so pretty," she enthused. "I just love them and they'll make her feel ever so feminine. These too." Claire held up a package of white nylon tights. I glanced at Jamie, but he didn't seem interested. I wondered if the doll wore panties. Usually they had something on under their dress. Had he looked? Did he care? Should I get him the real girls' underwear, instead of what he was wearing? Nobody was going to know, so why bother? Why not? Maybe once he wore the dress, he would pay more attention to his doll's outfit and discover that she had girls' underwear. I could always return it, if he didn't want it, the dress too, I hoped. I tried to remember what the doll had on her legs. I doubted she had tights. That would be too difficult for a little girl to manage taking off and putting back on. She probably had socks. "We'll take the panties. They are very pretty. Not the tights. Jamie has enough of those," I lied. "Perhaps a pair of anklets though? Do you have some dressy ones?" "Yes, Mrs. McCarthy, I can find some for you, but they only come in cotton, with an eyelet ruffle. Will they do? Oh, we also have some white nylon knee socks," she grinned, "but a lot of the moms think they make their girls look too much like Alice in Wonderland, if you know what I mean. Like in the movie. Do you want the socks?" "Yes, please." Claire went over to a rack, conveniently next to the sales counter, and took down a package. Showing them to me for my approval, she asked, "Are these okay?" "Yes, that will be fine, thank you." Looking at what Claire had picked out, it struck me that she hadn't asked about sizes, which was really good, because I had no more idea about girls' underwear sizes than I did about dress sizes. I assumed that she must have enough experience to either figure it out from looking at Jamie or matched them to the dress size. At least that was one problem I didn't have to deal with. I heard her mention my name. "Mrs. McCarthy?" "Yes?" "That will be $101.20, with tax, please. Shall I put it on your credit card?" I hadn't been paying attention and realized that I was so absorbed with Jamie trying on the dress that I hadn't bothered to look at its price tag or the price tags on the other items either. "Oh, may I see what you've rung up?" It was a lot more expensive than I had thought, but then, hopefully, I would be returning most of it. Not the socks, once I opened the package, and I didn't know about their panty policy. Some stores, at least women's stores, wouldn't take women's undergarments back for sanitary reasons. Even more so, I thought to myself, if a boy had them on. I could just picture some little girl complaining, "Ewww, mommy, a boy wore these panties. They have cooties." Claire showed me the register tape. The dress was $68.88 and the panties were $9.00. I didn't pay that much for my own underwear, well, unless I was trying to vamp Jim. Otherwise three to a package cotton panties at the discount store. The cammie was 12.00. The socks were a bargain at $6.50. I gave her my permission to charge everything and signed the slip. "Would you like the dress on the hanger or in a bag?" I didn't want to be seen carrying the dress through the mall, in case I ran into someone we knew. It just wasn't worth making up an explanation. "In a bag please, but may I have the hanger too?" All of Jamie's hangers were the wire kind that you got from the cleaners. The dress hanger was plastic with a foam covering and had a swivel hook. "Yes, of course." Claire folded the dress with tissue paper to keep it from getting wrinkled, slid it into a bag, did the same for the panties and cammie, put in the hanger and handed it to me with the sales receipt and my credit card. "Thank you very much for shopping with us, Mrs. McCarthy. Please do come back. Ask for me, Claire. I work Tuesday through Saturday, nine to four. It's been a pleasure." "Bye Jamie," she waved. "Say goodbye to the nice lady, Jamie." "Goodbye," he repeated as we left the department. That went well, I congratulated myself. Either Claire was fooled or she put on an academy award winning performance to make the sale. Then a thought crossed my mind. Did she try to sell underwear to every mother or was it because she knew that Jamie was a boy and wouldn't have it? Then again, if I was picking out a party dress for my son, why wouldn't she think that he must already have a wardrobe of girl's clothes at home? Not that what Claire thought mattered. I just wondered how convincing Jamie was at being a girl. We started through the store towards the mall exit and I felt Jamie stop. "What's wrong, Honey? Do you have to use the bathroom?" "No, Mommy. What about the shoes?" "What shoes, Jamie?" "Like Jamie wears," he explained. Then it dawned on me, he had seen the Mary Janes in the Children's Shoe Department when we bought him the Nikes. "You want girl's shoes too?" I said softly, looking around to make sure we were alone. "Yes, like Jamie has." I suppose in for a penny, in for a pound, as my Dad would say. As we started towards the Shoe Department, it struck me that the same salesperson who sold Jamie the Nikes as a boy might wait on us, which would be awkward. He sees lots of kid's feet, maybe he won't remember us. Then again, we've been so careful, why take a chance on the deception being discovered? I stopped. "Jamie, there's another children's shoe store in the mall," which there was. Even better, considering how much I had already spent and how little he was going to wear the dress, it was one of those self-service discount stores. That would also avoid the problem that I didn't know what size Jamie wore in girls' shoes. He wore a size 1 boy's shoe, but did girls' shoes use the same size system? As I recalled, women's shoes were a size or two larger than the corresponding men's shoes, which always struck me as backwards. Wouldn't our vanity about having small feet mean that a man's size 9 should be a woman's size 7 or 8 and not a 10 or 11? So would Jamie wear a girls' 1, 2 or 3? We left the department store and walked through the mall towards the shoe store, which was near the other end. On the way we passed the ice cream stand. Since we weren't in any rush, I asked him if he would like to stop, which he did, of course. What normal kid would say no to ice cream? As usual he wanted a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles, and I ordered the same small dish of maple walnut. When they came, I decided to let Jamie eat the cone like a boy, so I handed it to him to lick and took my cup. He hesitated and then asked me if he could have it in a cup too. Well, I tried. I asked for a cup and got a spoon and some napkins. When we finished, I picked up the bag and we continued on our way to the shoe store. The store was set up with long aisles with tiered shelves of shoes in their boxes. Women's were up front on three aisles on the left and men's were on either side of one aisle to the right. At the back were four aisles of kid's shoes and sneakers in open boxes. We went by the displays, until we came to the girl's dress shoes. There was a good selection of Mary Jane styles. As I recalled what Jamie wanted was the black patent leathers. I searched the shelves until I found a pair and took down two boxes, a size 1 and size 2. I had him sit on one of the stools scattered throughout the aisles, undid the Velcro fasteners on his sneakers and slipped on the smaller pair. They were narrower, which wasn't surprising, since girls' feet ran narrow than boys', and were tight, but then his casual socks were thicker than the anklets. I took off the 1's and tried on the 2's, which fit much better. "Jamie, Honey, try walking in those. How do they feel?" He took a few steps up the aisle and back. "Well?" "They're okay, mommy. Can we buy them?" "Jamie, are you sure you want shoes to go with the dress? You can just wear your socks around the house. You could take the doll's shoes and socks off too and both go barefoot," I suggested. "No," he said and shook his head. "Please?" "Very well, Sweetie." I took off the shoes and had him put his sneakers back on, while I packed the Mary Janes back in their box, covered it with the lid that was underneath it, took the bag and carried the box to the sales counter. The shoes were a bargain at $14.99. The salesgirl put the box in a plastic bag and I handed it to Jamie to carry, since nobody could tell what was in it. We headed back towards the other end of the mall where I had parked. As we were just about at the exit, I saw an accessory store with a display of headbands in the window. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I reminded myself to kill my father for putting that stupid expression in my head. Just kidding, I loved him. "Jamie, would you like a headband like your doll's?" The idea hadn't occurred to him, but, having been asked, he nodded enthusiastically. We went into the shop. The front had racks and cases of costume jewelry, rings, bracelets, necklaces and every style of earring imaginable. Luckily, I thought to myself, the doll didn't come with pierced ears. The hair items were in the back, a whole wall, from floor to ceiling, of ribbons, barrettes, clips, pony elastics, scrunchies and adornments. At one side there was a stand with headbands of every material and assorted sizes for infants to adults. I looked through them, while Jamie waited patiently and found a small pink plastic one with little flowers that looked similar to what I remembered came with his doll. I took it down and showed it to him. He smiled. Just to check it was the right size, I slipped it over his head and fitted it behind his ears, pulling back his hair. It stayed in place. I took it off and we took it to the front of the store. At $1.49 it was another bargain. I put the little bag in with the shoes and we went to the car. It was mid afternoon when we arrived home. I parked the car in the garage and we went into the kitchen. I put the bags down on the table. Jamie looked at me expectantly, obviously anxious to try on his dress. "Jamie, Honey, please go upstairs and get undressed. Keep on our underwear. Come into my room when you're ready and you can try on your outfit." He hurried out. I brought the bags upstairs, emptied them and arranged the dress, panties, camisole, socks and shoes on my bed. As I was finishing Jamie came in. Before we left I had put the doll back in my room. He went over and picked her up. "Are you sure, Honey, that you want to wear a dress? You know, they're a nuisance. You saw how much trouble it was to sit in one yesterday and a party dress is even more difficult." "Yes, please?" "Yes, you don't want to put on the dress or yes, you do want to wear it?" I asked to be doubly sure. "Wear it," he confirmed. "Okay. Do you want to keep on the underwear you have on?" "Does Jamie have pink underpants?" "You mean Jamie, the doll?" "Yes." "I don't know, Honey, I'd have to look. If you give her to me, I'll check." He handed me the doll. I turned her upside down, exposing what she had under her dress. They were white with gathers at the leg openings and waist that made ruffles. She had nothing on top. I showed Jamie. "I want what she's wearing, mommy." "The white underpants?" "Uh huh?" "Excuse me." "Yes, Mommy. Please." "What about the top, Sweetie? Your doll doesn't have one, but you might be more comfortable with something underneath." He shrugged, which I took to mean it was up to me. "Take off your underwear," I directed him. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and pulled down his underpants, stepping out of them. I held out the panties and he stepped into them, pulling the smooth material up his legs and settling them around his hips, since they were hip-huggers. Actually they looked cute on him, with only a tiny bulge at the crotch to give away his secret. "Arms up." I slipped the camisole over his head. It had wide straps with the same pink lace edging as the panties and the same heart appliqu?s. "Do you like the way your new undies feel, Honey? You can take them off and put on your other underwear, if you don't like them." He shook his head. "Words, Jamie, please." "No, Mommy, I like them. They feel nice." Oh well, I tried to discourage him. I slipped the socks on next and turned down the cuffs. Finally it was time for the dress. "Arms up again, please." I unzipped the back and slipped the skirt over Jamie's head, then let it settle on his shoulders and did up the zipper. I adjusted the top, tied the sash and reached under the skirt to flare out the crinoline. Last came the shoes, which I had him slip on and buckled. Now the outfit was complete. Oops, no I forgot the headband. I used my brush to give his hair some fullness and slipped it on. Looking at him I couldn't get over it. He was a real doll. Except for the fact that he was awkward in the way he moved, girls become accustomed to wearing dresses from the time they're old enough to walk, he could easily be my daughter. Not that I wanted a daughter. I was happy with a son. He was happy dressed like his doll. "Jamie, are you really sure you want to do this? You know, you don't have to wear the dress to play with your doll." Then he said something that worried me. "No, I'm Jamie's mommy." I thought back to the day in the toy store when I was trying to talk him out of the doll. I told him that girls play with dolls to practice for when they grow up to be mommies. He asked me if he would be a mommy, if he played with the doll, and I told him no, he would grow up to be a daddy. Then at the department store, I explained to him that only girls wore dresses. Did he put the two together and believe that wearing a dress would turn him into a girl and make him a mommy? Standing in front of me, wearing a dress and holding a doll, now did not seem like the right time for me to disappoint him with the reality that he was a boy and could never be a mother. "Look in the mirror," I directed him. "Are you really sure you want to wear the dress?" I asked, offering him a final chance to change his mind. He swung to and fro, with the skirt swirling out, holding the doll so to face the mirror, so that she could see he was dressed like her, and shook his head. "Okay," I agreed reluctantly, "you can play. Please stay in my room," I cautioned him. "I don't want you to get your dress dirty. It can't be washed." It also meant that he would be restricted to playing just with his doll, which might be less fun, unless he figured out that he could bring toys from his room into my room. Then again, he didn't seem to be into the elaborate make-believe girls played. "And please sit carefully, so you don't get it wrinkled." So it won't look like it was worn, in case you get tired of wearing it, and I can return it, I encouraged myself. "I'm going downstairs for a little while. I'll call you when dinner's ready. Oh, and Jamie, Honey, you'll have to change back into your own clothes to eat. You wouldn't want to spill anything on your dress and spoil it. Have fun, Sweetie." I cleaned up the tissue paper from the bed, putting it into the bag to save, in case I took the dress back, covered the shoe box, put it and the shoe store bag into the large department store bag and took them downstairs to put in the hall closet with the doll's box. Closing the closet door, I picked up the mail from the floor and went into the kitchen. I made myself a cup of tea and went through the mail, a few circulars and a couple of bills. Since I had time before starting dinner, spaghetti and jarred meat sauce didn't take very long to prepare, I took my checkbook out of the drawer and paid the bills. After I finished my tea and bookkeeping, I was curious to see what Jamie was doing, so I went upstairs quietly and stood outside the doorway. He was sitting on my bed. I noticed that he had pulled down his dress, so it covered his knees, like I had showed him, and he was again talking to the doll. I strained to listen to his conversation without revealing that I was eavesdropping. "Mommy," "Jamie," "pretty," "good," "girl," "play" and "sister," were the words I overheard. Sister? Where did that word come from? Jamie didn't have a sister. We never talked about a sister. Maybe he knew that Karen's daughters were sisters, but, if he was pretending to be the mother, then the doll would be his daughter, not his sister. Did the doll have an imaginary sibling or was he talking about someone else in that role? Me? Technically, I would be the doll's grandmother, although he was too young to understand family relationships. Karen was his aunt and she was my sister. Maybe he was confusing the two. Maybe I should mind my own business and then I wouldn't be puzzled, but I was his mother and had a right to know what he was doing. I turned and went back downstairs to start dinner. At four thirty I decided Jamie had been in his dress long enough. I went back upstairs and into my bedroom. He had moved from the bed and was sitting on the floor in front of the mirror. The doll was sitting in his lap and he was still having a conversation with her. "Jamie, Honey, it's time to change for dinner. Let's get you undressed and put on your regular clothes. Actually, you might as well get into your pajamas. Put the doll down and come over here, please." I helped him out of the dress and put it on the hanger it came on. As he watched, I made some space in my closet and put it away, closing the door. "It will be there tomorrow," I assured him. "I want to keep your panties, I mean underpants, and top in my room too, so they will stay nice." I helped him off with the cammie and waited for him to slip off the underpants and step out of them. I folded them neatly on top of my bureau. "They'll by here for you tomorrow, too. Now, scoot in your room and put on your regular underpants and PJ's." I waved my hand to dismiss him and he went out slowly, looking back over his shoulder. "Jamie, enough with the doll and the dress for today, Honey," I chided him. "Really, they're not going anywhere, I promise." Not that I didn't hope they would eventually go somewhere, back to the store. "Come downstairs when you've changed." I followed Jamie out of my room and went downstairs to finish getting dinner ready. He came down dressed for bed, as usual. I was hoping he had enough of the doll for one day, but I saw it sitting on the stairs. During dinner I casually asked him how he liked the dress. Okay, he told me, uninformatively. Did he want to keep it? Yes. We ate quietly. There isn't a lot of conversation that you can have with a six year old boy, particularly if he spends most of the day dressed in girl's clothes and playing with a doll. When he was done, he looked at me and I told him he was excused. Jamie got up and started to leave, then hesitated and turned to me. "Mommy, can I put on the dress please?" I was relieved to hear him say "the dress," rather than "my dress," which made it sound to me like he considered it more of a costume and not his wardrobe. Then again, children are not very precise in their language, so perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Either way, I had enough of dressing him up. "No, Jamie, you cannot wear the dress again today. You're a boy, not a girl, and boys don't wear dresses. I should never have bought it for you," I said angrily. "Now go watch TV or play with your toys." I watched Jamie's face as it turned from an expectant smile to sadness. His lip began to quiver, then shudders, sobs and tears began to stream down his face. Virginia, what in the world have you just done? That is twice in the same day you have made your son cry. You are an awful mother, I admonished myself. Children need consistency more than anything. You told him no, then yes, now no. If it is no, then it has to be final. Take the dress away, return it, and the shoes, get rid of the underwear, and be done with it. It won't be the last time that you change your mind or that you tell him he can't have something he wants. That's what being a parent is about, keeping your child from doing things that are harmful. Was it harmful? If it was, could the harm be undone by taking it away? Whatever you decide, I warned myself, you will have to live with it. So will Jamie. I made up my mind. I went over and hugged him tightly as big sobs continued to wrack his body. "Jamie, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Sometimes, sometimes Jamie, grown-ups, mommies, say things they don't mean. We, we don't think before we speak and when we do that we hurt people's feelings. We, we, don't mean to, we just, well, we just make mistakes. I, I, made a mistake when I got angry with you, Sweetie. I bought you the dress and it's yours to wear whenever you want to when we're alone in the house. Okay, Honey? Please forgive me. I did a mean thing and I apologize. I'll tell you what. Let's dry your tears and then I'll help you put on your dress and you can play until bedtime. You can even play in your own room with your doll, if you want to, or watch TV. You know what Jamie? We can keep the dress and doll in your room too," I offered to show my unconditional approval, "so you can have them whenever you want. Okay, Honey? Please forgive, mommy. I love you Jamie. I love you so very, very much." I could feel Jamie relax and when the sobs subsided, I released him. "Let me clean you up a little, please," I requested, going over to the sink and wetting a paper towel. "We don't want tears on your dress," conceding that it was his dress. I cleaned his face, wiping off the tears, and dried it with the dish towel. "Okay, let's go get you dressed," I offered, taking his hand. We walked to the stairs and I released his hand, so he could pick up his doll. We continued upstairs to my room, where I took the dress out of my closet, retrieved the shoes and underwear and went through the routine of dressing him up. "There," I said, standing back and pretending to admire him, like I would if he really was my daughter. "You look pretty Jamie, just like your doll. Why don't you go and play for an hour or so, while I clean up the kitchen. Then we can watch a video. Okay?" "Uh huh." "Jamie, words please," I reminded him, "the way polite boys talk. Girls too," I added, so I wouldn't hurt his feelings again, if that was how he thought about himself when he was wearing the dress. "Yes, Mommy." I went back to the kitchen, cleared the dishes, glasses and silverware off of the table, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Once the table and counter were wiped down, I put detergent in the dishwasher's cup and started it. As it began to fill, I finally had time to think about what I had just done. Jamie was happy, I told myself and that's what's important, wasn't it? My debate was interrupted by the telephone. "Hi, Ginny." It was Karen. "Hi, Karen, how are you?" "Fine thanks Sis, but I was hoping to hear from you. How'd it go with Jamie?" I paused. "Ginny?" "I'm here Karen. You were wrong." "Okay, I was wrong," she conceded. "But, if I'm going to take the blame, would you at least tell me what happened, so I won't make the same mistake again." I paused. "Ginny?" "Jamie's gay," I revealed. "Ginny, what in the world are you talking about. Jamie's not gay," she insisted. "What would you call a boy who wears a dress?" I challenged her. "Well, if it was Halloween, I'd say he was a boy in a costume. If it was Elizabethan England and he was playing Juliette, I would say he was a Shakespearian actor. Since it is neither of those, I would have to say that he was just what you described, a boy in a dress, without any additional information." "Karen, this is not the time to be witty," I chastised her. "This is serious." "I am being serious, Ginny. Jamie's not gay, unless you caught him snogging the little boy next door." "Snogging? Is that a psychological term?" "Sorry, no. It's an English term from a popular children's book. It means kissing. What you and I would call making out in our day." "Karen, that is disgusting. Jamie is only six years old. He is too young for such behavior. How could you even suggest it?" "I suggested it," she answered calmly, "because you just refuted your own contention. Being gay refers to a male's preference for a same-sex partner. Six year old boys have not become sexually active, so it is impossible for them to have a preference in partners. They can't be gay by definition. Occasionally, Ginny," Karen lectured me, "we see a boy acting inappropriately towards other boys, which is a sign that he is a victim of sexual abuse, not gay. I only tell you this to emphasize that sexual orientation does not manifest itself in prepubescent children." "I'm sorry, Karen, for being so upset with you. I appreciate your assurance, but it still doesn't explain why Jamie wants to dress up in girl's clothes and play with a doll." "Hold on, Ginny. I know where Jamie got the doll. We went over that the last time we spoke. But where did he get girl's clothes? He doesn't have a sister, so has hasn't been raiding her closet, and he certainly wouldn't fit into your clothes. By deductive reasoning, that means that you bought them for him. Why? "I don't know, Karen. I honestly don't know. One thing led to another and I guess I listened to my heart instead of my head. I made a mistake and now I don't know what to do about it." "Ginny, hearts are not always wrong. Sometimes the smart thing is not the right thing. I can't tell without knowing what has been going on. Do you want to explain? You don't have to, Sis, but I'm here, if you need me." "Of course I want your advice, Karen, but I thought you couldn't counsel a family member?" "It's not a law Ginny. It's an ethical and practical restriction to protect the patient's privacy and the therapist's integrity. Besides, I'm not offering counseling, I'm offering guidance. There's a big difference between active and passive involvement." "Oh, well, then, what do you need to know?" "Everything, Ginny. The more details, the better. Just start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Don't leave anything out, even if you think it isn't important, because sometimes it is just that type of seemingly trivial information that helps to provide perspective. Go ahead." "There isn't that much to tell, really. The day after I spoke to you, I took Jamie back to the mall to buy him some new clothes for back to school. Actually, Karen, you put the idea in my head. The way the store is laid out, to get to the boys' clothes you have to go through the Girls Department and on the way Jamie stopped and admired a party dress. It looked like the one the doll was wearing and he asked me to buy it for him." "Why didn't you tell him no, Ginny?" Karen asked. "I did," I answered her. "Then how did he end up with it?" "I, well, I thought about it and decided that I should let him try it and get it out of his system. You and I wear dresses. Mostly they're a nuisance. I expected him to realize that and go back to wearing his comfortable boy's clothes." "Ginny, your rationalizing. As grown women, dresses no longer hold the fascination for us they did when we were younger, but we both loved to wear our party dresses, because they made us feel special. Even more so with Jamie, because the dress makes him look like his doll, to which he appears to be very attached." "I know, Karen," I admitted. "I just couldn't say no to him, he's been through so much." "If he was going through the Sporting Goods Department and asked you to buy him a hunting knife, would you do it?" "No, of course not. Knives are dangerous." "So are boys in dresses apparently, or you wouldn't be worried." I sighed. "Karen, I know I made a mistake, but it all started with the doll and you said it was harmless." "Ginny, the doll is harmless. You were hoping Jamie would give it up, which he might have done, if you hadn't reinforced his behavior by buying him a matching dress." She paused. "Ginny? Did you buy him just the dress?" "No," I admitted, "he saw matching Mary Janes when I took him into the Shoe Department to buy new sneakers. Boy's sneakers," I added defensively. "And you bought girl's shoes for him too?" "Yes." "Anything else?" "When I was buying the dress, the salesgirl picked out some underwear to go with it. Honestly, I didn't ask her to, Karen. She was just doing her job. I wasn't sure if he would wear it. He seemed interested in just the dress, but I bought it just in case." "Just in case of what?" "Just in case he checked and the doll had on girl's underwear?" "As a matter of academic interest, did it?" "Yes." "So he wears panties with his dress. Cotton or nylon?" "Nylon, and a matching camisole and ankle socks too, since you said details were important. Oh, and a headband." "A headband? You bought that for him too?" "The doll has one," I explained. "So Jamie and the doll are twins, right down to their panties and accessories?" "Yes." "How often does he wear the dress?" "As often as I let him." "How often do you let him?" "Whenever he asks." "How often does he ask?" "Whenever he is home, except when he goes to bed, obviously. Then he wears his usual underpants and pajamas." "I see. Have you taken him out in the dress?" "No, I made it clear that he could only wear it in the house and that he could not tell anyone about it or they would tease him." "Secrecy and guilt are not solutions, Ginny." "I know. It was the best I could do." "The best you could do as a parent was to say no, if you thought it was harmful or inappropriate. That's what parenting is about, setting limits, even if it makes you unpopular with your child." "You're the one who said it was okay to buy him the doll. If it wasn't for the doll, none of this would have happened." "So, we're back to blaming me. Okay, Ginny, it's all my fault, if you want me to take responsibility. But remember, I didn't tell you to buy the doll for Jamie." She emphasized 'buy.' "You had already bought it for him when you called me. All I did was reassure you that his playing with a doll would not be harmful by itself. It isn't. Dressing Jamie as a girl was your decision." "I'm sorry, Sis," I apologized. "I know you're right. One thing has nothing to do with the other. Have I really messed Jamie up, Karen? What should I do? If you tell me to take away the doll and the dress, I will." "Ginny, don't do anything for the time being. Taking something important away without an explanation will only make the situation worse. Let me check around and find you a therapist. You need someone who can work with both of you to transition Jamie into or out of whatever is making him want to play with a doll and dress like it." "Into, Karen?" "This is not my area of practice, Ginny. I've read some literature about being transgendered, but I don't have either the clinical training or experience to make a diagnosis, even if I wanted to, which I don't." "Karen, what does that mean?" "Ginny, the human mind, particularly a child's developing mind, is incredibly complex. We exhibit behaviors which have multiple causes, often illogical and sometimes incapable of rational explanation, which we call mental illness. I am not suggesting or implying that Jamie has a psychiatric problem. To the contrary, there are many reasons he might be behaving the way he is. Children don't understand death. Even adults have a hard time with it, but to a child all they know is that someone who they loved has gone away. That makes them very attached to the remaining parent. They will do anything to please them, so that they won't go away too. Like I said, children do not always think logically and Jamie may have gotten the impression that by being like you, you will like him better. It could be as simple as that misperception. Or, according to what I have read, even at an early age, children can be confused about their gender. They see themselves as the opposite sex and want to behave accordingly. That's what it means to be transgendered, literally from one sex to the other. What is causing Jamie's behavior is something a qualified therapist needs to diagnose and counsel you accordingly." "Oh, do you think Jamie wants to be a girl?" "I don't know, Ginny. I doubt he knows. It takes professional training and a great deal of counseling to know. Be patient. I will get you some names. What you do after that is up to you. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need to know and I don't want to know. I'm already overly involved in this, but I couldn't let you deal with it on your own." "Thanks, Karen," I said gratefully. "You don't have to thank me. That's what big sisters are for, Ginny." "Thank you for being my big sister, then." Ginny laughed. "Thank Mom and Dad for that, not me. I had no say in the matter," she joked. "I love you, Karen." "I love you, Ginny." "Bye." "Bye." I hung up the phone and cried. I'm not sure if it was from relief or remorse. From what Karen had said about our behavior, probably both.