Andy
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Andy by Transbonder, translated by Leah from the German
THREE
Monday morning. Grrr.
Need I say more?
At least I was wearing a pair of pants. Although they felt strange in the
absence of hair on my legs.
And this pullover really did scratch. Or it was at least rough. The satin
blouse from yesterday was something totally different. So soft.
I shook my head. I had to get rid of these thoughts. How could anything
ever be normal again, if I grieved for a ultra feminine blouse? But maybe
I could...
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"This sweater - it scratches."
She felt the material. "Feels totally normal."
"Perhaps there's wool in it?"
"No. I know how you hate wool pants. This is normal cotton."
"But it scratches. The new pullovers don't scratch."
"Hmm." I could see her thinking it over. What was she taking into
account?
##
I don't know how I had ever put up with this pullover. Again it
distracted me, and again I was admonished. The last time it was because
of my feminine underwear. Now, just because I was wearing a completely
normal sweater.
Not just on that account did the hours move so slowly. I could hardly
wait until school was over and I could change clothes. And Biene was
somehow so cool to me. Was that a Monday phenomenon? On the weekend she
had been so sweet.
With so few positive factors in my life I looked forward to my job. Or
was it the clothes, that I was looking forward to? No, that couldn't be,
I was convinced. I only put the clothes on because there wasn't any other
way.
##
As I pulled on the teddy in the narrow confines of the garden house, it
became clear to me that in spite of the giant supply of girl clothing I
didn't have enough. I was lacking in the lingerie department. I only had
two pairs of rights - one a present from Biene with the mini-skirt - and
the one teddy. Really, one ought to put on fresh underwear every day.
I would have to go shopping. And I had no money. Just debts, since Svenja
had bought the clothing. I didn't even know how much it was. Going by the
quanity of clothing, it certainly must be quite a bit.
After the teddy I first pulled on my sweater. This looked so soft. Hmm,
great! I never wanted to have a different kind. Why was my skin so
sensitive? It hadn't been that way before. Or had I simply not noticed it
and was now just spoiled.
At any rate it was highly unfair that only girls got to enjoy the
fantastic soft things. At least insofar as I knew. I had never before
bought clothes for myself; I didn't know what was available. Of course I
often went shopping with Mom, but I only found that exasperating. And my
attentiveness was just about that quality. Questions that were addressed
to me as to whether I liked something, I answered for the most part with
a motion of my head. It really didn't matter to me what she bought. It
just shouldn't stand out, other standards I didn't possess.
Oh yes, it ought to harmonize. Although that was scarcely a problem with
regard to the shapeless clothes of yesteryear. Guaranteed to fit, since
too large was essentially normal. With my girl clothes that wasn't the
case at all. They weren't so shapeless, but actually emphasized the body.
Not every one sat skin tight, but they were significantly closer to my
body than with my own clothing.
I groped for the next piece. Only when I had it in my hand did I realize
that it was a pair of tights. A thicker pair than those I had on now.
Apparently I hadn't tried everything on yesterday after all. These tights
were wine red with a streak of violet and made of material more like my
normal socks. But they weren't cotton, because they were soft. Very soft.
I was happy about the thickness, because my skirt was rather short, and
it was winter. The skirt was made of wool, I saw that immediately. But
worn over the tights it wouldn't bother me. They had a coarser weave. I'd
seen something like that once on one of our university students. That was
such a college look. I felt myself significantly more grown up. Too bad
that there was no large mirror here, I thought pensively. But looking
down at myself I was very pleased with the image.
A further advantage was that the skirt didn't confine me so much. I
could take as long a step as I wanted. Nevertheless I reverted to the
smaller steps. I didn't want to lose the calming effect that they gave
me. My mantra.
Mrs. Weber looked me over, then said, "Very chic, Andrea. I must say, I
like that better than your long skirts."
I couldn't have agreed more. I felt good with the confirmation. I almost
regreted that I wore no fingernail polish. But that would have been too
difficult in the small garden house. Totally aside from the fact that I
had neither polish nor remover with me. But I wasn't disinclined to buy
myself some. Maybe in a color that went with these pantyhose?
The skirt had still another advantage: Mark couldn't simply disappear
under the edge of the skirt. I felt much more secure.
My relaxed and satisfied attitude carried over to the children. Both were
quite docile. Mark looked at me several times as though he liked what he
saw.
I'd actually come early, since I'd come directly after school and the
clothes changing went markedly faster. No wonder after all that training
yesterday, I giggled softly.
"Say, Andrea?" asked Mrs. Weber.
"Yes?"
"Can you cook?"
"Up to now I've never tried it."
"Hmm, apparently these days that's unfortunately the norm. Sometimes the
boys cook better than the girls."
"I would like to try it out."
"Really? Now I'm happy to hear that. I'm just not so sure whether that is
a good idea, if you begin while I'm away."
"I think I'm old enough to keep the house from burning down."
"Yes, you're right. I entrust my children to you, but not my kitchen
stove? What would you make?"
"No idea. What would you like then, or what's there?"
"Do you know what? Simply surprise me. If it doesn't work, then we can
always order in pizza."
##
Once Mrs. Weber was gone, I looked around in the kitchen. Hmm, what
should I cook? I had no idea. I asked Mark.
"French fries!!!"
French fries was not a bad idea, but those prepared in kitchen ovens
weren't so great. I looked skeptical.
"Fish sticks!" was the next suggestion.
OK, I liked that, too, and they were simple to prepare. But in the
freezer I couldn't find any at all.
"Spaghetti."
OK, that sounded like the best idea yet. I found a package of the right
kind of pasta. I'd already cooked this, that was no problem.
We needed a sauce. I found a jar in the cupboard. I was familiar with the
stuff; it tasted definitely below average. Something like softened red-
dyed cardboard.
We can surely do better than that? Now I felt challenged.
"Mark, do you know where the cookbooks are?"
And he did lead me to two books, but we weren't in the market for
dictionaries. After a short search I found several cookbooks. One for
Italian cooking. Bingo.
I scanned the recipes. A simple tomato sauce? Preferably not too
extravagant. But there: Spaghetti Bolognese. I loved that. I showed Mark
the picture. "Oh yes!" he trumpeted.
Now to bring all the ingredients together. Canned tomatoes were found,
Parmesan, too. But ground meat and vegetables were missing.
I was disappointed. That looked so good on the picture, and I liked it
really very much when it was made well. But I couldn't go shopping, I had
to look after the children.
But why shouldn't I go shopping with the children? In the supermarket I'd
often seen mothers with small children. And I had a lot of time.
And I needed it, too. I had to get Lena dressed, and I needed the baby
buggy. Mark had to get dressed, too, but that was likely an insignificant
problem since he was older.
Lena's diaper were just a bit damp, but I changed it anyway. That had the
advantage that they didn't smell. Lena appreciated my thinking, and a
new, dry, soft diaper was afterall more agreeable for her.
I had no idea as to what you put on a little girl, when you go shopping.
First I pulled on her romper suit. Then I found a little jacket that
along with a blanket ought to be enough in the baby buggy. After all we
weren't in Siberia. And Lena didn't have any thoughts about fashion or
about make-up. That would come a little later.
With Mark's help I found the baby buggy. In it there lay a small cap and
tiny mittens. Great, that completed what we needed to collect.
"Mark, get your shoes on, we're going shopping."
"Oh man, shopping! I don't want to." Yes, Mark was a genuine male.
"Then there'll be nothing to eat."
He looked doubtful, but then got his shoes. I sighed in relief. While
Mark got those on, I laid Lena in the buggy and covered her up. The cap
was quickly pulled on, but on the other hand, the gloves presented a
problem, Lena was not very cooperative.
Whoops, I needed to be careful, whenever I bent so far forward. One
balloon slipped out of its cup. It was good that Mark was busy with his
shoes, while I got my breasts back into their proper positions.
I was quite excited when I shoved the buggy onto the sidewalk. Lena was
quiet, but Mark was bugging me even as we took our first steps. "Can we
go to the playground?"
When I said "No," he accepted that. I took him by the hand and shoved the
buggy with the other. It wasn't so simple. I began to admire mothers.
Just as we got finally got to the supermarket, other mothers had to
admire Lena, while Mark explored the candies. Normally I would have
finished much quicker, but now we'd been there a while and I hadn't even
started to look for my things.
It was really not simple to navigate with the buggy through the
supermarket. And I had to pay attention to Mark and occasionally find the
food; this was really multi-tasking, which was really pushing my CPU.
Something like overload.
And then I saw Bernd. Oh shit! He was in my class. I froze from sheer
terror, couldn't move a single millimeter more.
He looked directly into my face -- and then at the children. He went past
quickly.
Did he recognize me? There was nothing I could see that suggested it.
Anyway I couldn't see him any more. I hoped I'd not meet him at the cash
register.
I didn't need much: ground meat and vegetables as well as tomato paste.
And yes, the most important ingredient: garlic. I loved garlic. Wanted to
see what Mrs. Weber would say about that, I thought smirking.
I survived the wait at the cash register only through bribery: Mark got a
bag of gummi bears. My poor change purse. But at least I didn't see
anyone else I knew, and we got home in good shape.
I was really proud of myself -- and felt like the mother, of whom Mrs.
Weber had spoken, that I would some day become.
##
Lena lay next to me on the corner bench in the kitchen, and Mark was
nagging again. "I'll help you," was very nicely meant, but what could
such a small child do?
First I had him open the can of tomatoes, which with his small hands was
hard enough.
In the meantime I read the recipe. "Cut the carrots into small cubes."
That sounds simple. But how big are small cubes? A statement in
millimeters would not have been a bad idea. Nor was there a picture with
the raw ingredients. I decided to just get going.
My small knife was bending while I tried to cut the hard carrots. Hmm,
there must be something sturdier here. Mark's eyes grew big when I
brought a giant knife out of the drawer.
But it was the right utensil, I noticed right away. Without injury I
transformed two carrots into small cubes.
By this time Mark was finished with the can. I gave him a small knife to
peel the garlic; he was extraordinarily proud. Eagerly he set out on his
assignment. At first I paid close attention, but he was careful with the
knife.
I cubed the celery stalks and then worked on the leeks from the package
of soup greens. Mark was finished with the garlic, and was now peeling
the onions. Unbelievably proud of being allowed to use the knife.
Finally everything was cut up small, and it was time for the preparation.
I got a frying pan and a pot ready.
Mark stood directly next to me and held tightly to my red bestockinged
leg. He didn't get under my skirt, so I let him alone.
The tomatoes came first, as they were out of the can into the pot. Looked
a little funny, but that's what the recipe said to do. I browned the
gound meat and the vegetables and put both into the pot. That was
supposed to become a sauce? Looked very strange.
I added the herbs and pressed the garlic into it all. Amply. After
bringing to a boil I lowered the heat to the lowest level, placed a lid
on the pot, and was finished for now. It was now supposed to cook for a
lengthy time quite slowly.
Naturally Mark wanted to look through the glass lid, and so I raised him
high. Whoops, I have to be more careful! My filled balloons were severely
pressed. But they held. That would be the pits, if a balloon were to
burst now.
Mark looked in fascination at the small bubbles. At least he didn't seem
to have any doubt about our success. I have to confess, it already
smelled tantalizingly good. But it didn't look like a sauce with the
large whole tomatoes.
##
Every time when I stirred, it smelled better. And looked better. The
tomatoes disintegrated more and more. After a lengthy time I turned off
the stove. Not without testing: It tasted magnificent. First time cooking
and right away so tasty! My mom's sauce couldn't come close. Although
her's wasn't bad either.
It smelled like on vacation. Above all the thyme, but also the oregano,
spread their aromas. I was hungry. And it was still so early! A true
torment.
The rest of the afternoon passed without event. Lena slept, and Mark
watched television.
I now had time to observe myself at last. In the mirror I really looked
like a university student. You could almost justify taking me for a
mother. A young sexy mother. Well yes, a little too young for Mark.
But I was pleased with myself as I stood there musing in front of the
mirror.
Then it was time for homework.
##
When Mrs. Weber came in, she sniffed the air first thing. "That smells
really good!"
"Thanks. I hope that it tastes just like that."
After greetings were over I put the spaghetti water on, and warmed the
sauce again very slowly. Mrs. Weber in the meantime changed her clothes,
and joined me in her casual but sexy Nicki jogging outfit.
"Hmmm, I'm hungry. That smells soooo good!"
"Just five minutes more."
"OK, I'll set the table."
I thickened the sauce a bit with tomato paste, so that it would become
creamy. I tried it. Great, nope, nothing more to do. The aromas of the
herbs mixed with the meat fragrance, and then in addition came a tender
hint of garlic.
As I served, she said, "But you didn't break the spaghetti into small
pieces."
"Why should I have?"
"Because of Mark."
"He can handle it this way."
I had the feeling that she didn't give her son enough credit. I showed
Mark how he was supposed to eat the spaghetti with a fork, and to the
amazement of his mother he did it. Exuberantly proud he stuffed his mouth
much too full.
After the meal Mrs. Weber said, "That was terrific. And you really never
cooked before?"
"No, that was the first time."
"I can't praise you enough, that was really good. But I didn't have any
meat here?"
"I went shopping."
"Shopping? You didn't leave the children alone?" Her tone became sharp.
"No. Naturally not. I took them along, Lena in the baby buggy and of
course warmly clothed."
"And I was really good," Mark said to break into the conversation. "And
then I helped cook." His pride was plain to hear.
I nodded. "Mark was a big help."
She looked at me startled. "We're speaking here of my son?" she asked in
doubt. "He went shopping with you?"
"Yes."
"With Lena?"
"Yes."
"And no problem?"
"No, everything was perfect."
She shook her head.
"And then he helped with the cooking?"
"Yes. He opened the can, which..."
She interrupted me. "Opened the tin can? With his little hands?"
"Yes. And then he peeled the garlic. And the onions."
"With his fingers?"
"No, with a knife, naturally."
Now she shook her head so strongly, that I was afraid, that it would lead
to serious health problems.
Then she examined his hands. Everything OK. But she couldn't believe it.
Terribly proud of myself I went home. It made no difference to me that I
was wearing a skirt. I had not only gotten compensated for the money I
spent shopping, but she had generously rounded it up to fifty Euros. I
was very satisfied with myself and in the best of moods.
##
I thought I had overlooked some make-up. Mom looked at me so strangely.
"You're just beaming."
"I'm in a good mood."
"And why?" She stepped over to the freezer.
"Well, I'm not hungry," I said in order to stop her from getting me
something to eat.
"My son isn't hungry? Such a thing doesn't happen." Shocked she looked at
me. For all that, she was the only person in recent days that addressed
me as a male. It built my ego up even higher. Today was a good day.
"I've already eaten."
"Did Mrs. Weber cook?"
"No, I did."
She looked at me even more startled insofar as that was at all possible.
Now I had to tell the story.
"Let me summarize that one more time: My son went shopping, with an
infant and a small child?"
I nodded.
"Cooked for the first time, and let that small child wield a knife?"
I nodded once more.
"And everyone is still alive, and it tasted good."
Once again that shaking of the head. Now I really ought to have added,
that I did the whole thing in a skirt, and she would have collapsed into
unconsciousness. Of that I was pretty sure.
"Good, you must prove that. On Saturday you are cooking here."
Everything positive has to come to an end.
##
Only on the next day was it clear to me, that I had actually come away in
good shape. What, if she had called Mrs. Weber? And if Mrs. Weber had
said, I look better in a short skirt than in a long one?
And one thing more positive: Two new pullovers. One made the same way as
the first two, but the other, it was almost too feminine. For Andy.
Andrea really liked it. I put it on. Super comfortable. Anyone could say
whatever they wanted to.
I didn't see how Mom looked after me as I left the house. Her facial
expression was a pronounced question mark. The sweater had been a test.
She never could have imagined that a boy would put something like that
on.
I knew of course that that was absolutely a girl's sweater, but I didn't
think of it as overwhelmingly feminine. At any rate it was brown and not
pink. The single difference from my other pullovers was that it was so
fluffy. Inside as well as outside.
"Hi, An...dy," Biene greeted me, almost calling me Andrea. "Nice
pullover."
"Mom bought it for me."
"Your mother?" Usually she wouldn't have said anything. But she ran her
hand across the sweater, and apparently approved. Then she had to examine
it on the inside with her hand, and I found that good.
##
I was supernervous. For several reasons. I had a skirt on. My jeans
skirt. I thought it was pretty nice. But that wasn't a good reason, to
wear it to the department store. Others seemed to find it good, too; I
was being eye-balled much too much.
And naturally I wasn't sure whether someone would exposed me as a boy in
disguise. In the underwear department. The one for girls.
I hadn't spent a lot of time planning. As a boy I never once dared come
here. This was the realm of girls. And yesterday the shopping went so
well. But yesterday my skirt was more modest, and I was just in a normal
supermarket. Now I was surrounded by lace and ruffles.
At least I was left alone. By the saleswomen, I mean. I would never have
been able to articulate what I wanted. Why had I ever come here alone? I
urgently needed some help. From Biene or Svenja.
I had read the label on my teddy. But that didn't help much. Nearly every
piece of clothing had different measures for size. S, M and L were easy
to understand, even if I didn't know what was right for me. Then there
were 34, 36, 38, etc. And there were single digit numbers. And further
as the size in my body, 75A.
I hadn't the faintest notion why I should choose. And the prices! You
could spend thirty Euros for a pair of panties! After some looking I
found a teddy with the same size as mine, at a reasonable price. Just
that fast, the money from yesterday was practically used up. It is very
expensive to be a girl. And with two teddys I wasn't going to get far, I
needed at least four or five.
For my lingerie alone, I would have to work a long time!
##
"Are you going to cook again today?" Mrs. Weber asked with a very
expectant facial expression.
I smiled. "What would you like?"
"I love Chili con Carne."
"I like it, too," I answered.
"And me, too," Mark chimed in.
"No fear, you won't have to go shopping. Everything is here. But don't
make it too hot. I like it that way, but Mark is still so young."
Was she deceiving herself there? Yet again? For sure it dare not be too
hot, but at least a little? I would test Mark.
##
When Mrs. Weber was gone, I had to remove Mark from me surgically. He had
apparently taken me into his heart as much as I had him. And, as young as
he was, he had a thing for my jeans mini-skirt. I shouldn't have worn it
today.
And I noticed as I stood once again in front of the mirror that my legs
had looked better in the pumps. The high heels did wonders for my calves,
stretched the legs and let them appear longer.
I had lost my original anxiety about skirts, since I had been wearing
them so often. If I weren't in public, I'd have hardly had any problems
with them. And it wasn't even a week since I had worn one for the first
time.
Now, with Lena asleep and Mark at his Playstation, was time for thinking.
I had a problem. I had thought, I was a boy like any other. I liked
sports and fooling around with my friends.
But now I was standing in front of a mirror wearing a mini-skirt and
liked what I saw. Where is this going to take me?
At any rate, I wouldn't put on this skirt again very soon. Just too sexy.
It was slowly becoming clear to me, why Biene had been so hesitent about
wearing it.
One thing was for certain. I needed a pair of pumps.
##
As I minced the paprika, Mark came to me. "Can I help?"
"Of course. What do you want to do?"
"What is there to do?"
"The cans have to be opened and the garlic..."
"Great! Garlic!"
This was a man after my own taste.
"Can I press it?"
"Naturally. But first it has to be peeled."
"Okie dokie."
It was clearly less significant work than yesterday. The meat was already
ground, and except for the paprika there was nothing else to cut up.
Tomatoes and beans came in cans.
I fried the meat, and soon all the ingredients were in a large pot. Mark
worked hard in pressing the garlic, and he didn't let up until he was
finished. And was naturally immensely proud.
This time it took longer before a seductive aroma spread out. And it was
just that much the better.
##
I had a sense of forboding when Mrs. Weber sniffed when she came in.
Suddenly her facial expression relaxed. I believe cooking now belonged to
my duties.
Actually not so bad, I thought. It was fun. And it was significantly
better than most of what I usually ate.
Earlier I had given Mark a small piece of chili pod to try out. It was
really quite strong, but he handled it just fine. So I used quite a lot.
Mrs. Weber naturally must have tested what was in the pot. "Ho, that's
really strong." She looked at me resproachfully. Yes, I shouldn't have
made it so strong, she had said.
"Mark wanted it that way."
"Mark?"
"I let him taste it."
"Yes," peeped up Mark. "It burns my tongue. That's great!"
I had nothing to add and just shrugged my shoulders.
"Mark will absolutely never eat that. If he does, my name is Moritz."
After Mark had slung down two bowls, I said cautiously, "Hi, Moritz."
She just grinned. It was a very friendly grin.
##
After the meal we talked a bit bit while Mark cooled his gums with ice
cream.
"Andrea, I hope, you don't take this question the wrong way. You dress
nicely, you wear nice make-up and it's not overdone, but you don't wear
jewelry? That's rather unusual."
Oh, man, what was I supposed to say to that? I didn't have much time for
thinking. "Uh - I have an allergy." Yes, allergies are always good as
excuses. What's the name of that stuff that is in costume jewelry? Brain,
don't leave me in the lurch!
"To nickel?" she asked.
I nodded. "I can't tolerate costume jewelry. And for real jewelry I don't
have the money."
And there she let it end and accompanied me to the door.
##
Next day in the garden house I found a kilt waiting for me. To be sure a
very feminine version, which was clearly shorter than a kilt meant for
men. I liked the Scottish pattern right away. The black tights went very
well with it, Svenja had taste.
Mark paid more attention to my clothing again than a boy of his age ought
to. What was he interested in?
The day became interesting when Mrs. Weber came home early. "I have to go
shopping and thought you would come along."
"With Andrea? squeaked Mark. "Great!"
"I wish he was so enthusiastic for me," sighed Mrs. Weber.
While she changed, I got the children ready. Lena's diaper was OK, so I
just put on her jacket. When she came to us, both children were ready.
I was about to get the baby buggy, but Mrs. Weber held me back. "That's
too impractical." She was carring a large piece of cloth. At my
questioning glance she explained, "This is a baby carrier. Similar to a
backpack, only you carry it in front of your belly."
In a trice Lena was in front of my chest. I could only think of my
balloons and I was afraid and anxious. Mrs. Weber didn't understand.
"Don't be afraid, Lena can't fall out."
By the time I had overcome my fears, I had also found it very agreeable
to have Lena so close to me. She, too.
I walked through several stores with Mrs. Weber without her buying
anything. Mark became whiney. Finally we came to a jewelry store. She
asked me what I would like to have.
I looked at the displays. Quickly I found my favorite. It was a necklace
composed of unbelievable filigree fingers, that were plaited together
like a braid with a heart-shaped locket. On the locket was a piece of
crystal that sparkled in the light. In addition were two matching studs,
each of which also had a tiny crystal.
"Put it on her, so I can form an opinion better," suggested Mrs. Weber.
The saleslady put the necklace on. Then she looked at Mrs. Weber
inquiringly.
"I would also like to see the ear studs."
"But she has no piercings," the saleslady answered.
"Andrea, would you try on the earrings for me?"
I was completely overwhelmed. What was I supposed to say? My indecisive
head motion was taken by the saleslady as agreement. I was led to a
chair, and Mrs. Weber took Lena from me.
My head was racing. What should I do now? I was paralyzed. The saleslady
probably thought I was afraid of the sting. She couldn't know that the
pain was the smallest of my problems. I couldn't go to school with two
holes in my ears! Or home!
My inactivity was quickly taken advantage of. It took just a few moments,
to make a brief piercing in each earlobe, and I had pierced ears.
Mrs. Weber looked at the studs. "Yes, that suits you." She turned to the
saleslady and remarked, "I'll take them. Andrea can wear the necklace,
too."
"The next few days the studs shouldn't be taken out, so that the holes
heal well," the saleslady told me, very satisfied with the sale. "Best
would be to leave them in a week. And to turn them regularly, that is
important."
Super. I had gold heart-shaped studs in my earlobes, that I wasn't
supposed to take out for a week. I wanted to die. Right now.
Arisha
- 18.03.2022
- 8
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