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Reluctant Boy-Girl by Pat T. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ My mother divorced my father because he beat her. He was rich, though, and got custody of me. My mother refused to turn me over, contending he beat me too. This simply wasn't true, but I guess Mom didn't want to give the bastard any satisfaction and I felt too sorry for her to tell anyone the truth. My mother hid me at one of her childhood friend's houses in Texas. The judge put Mom in jail until she revealed my whereabouts while my father hired a Private Investigator to find me. Owing to dad's high profile, the whole ordeal was deemed newsworthy. I called the woman I stayed with "Aunt" Helen although she wasn't really a relation. She, too, was divorced with a daughter named Tracy. Aunt Helen had come to hate all men and lectured me incessantly on how I had to be faithful to my mother and not contact my father under any circumstances. On fateful night, as we watched TV, my whereabouts, which had enjoyed some brief national attention, became news again. The announcer read a report that my father had contracted even more PIs and would begin contacting all of my mother's known acquaintances. My Aunt watched the conclusion of the piece and turned to me. "John," she said quietly, "I knew the time would come when they would search for you here. I have a plan, but I need your complete cooperation. Will you help your mother and me?" This was quite a lot of pressure to put on a thirteen-year-old. My mind was in frenzy. I simply nodded. "Thank you, John. As you know, some bad people will stop here soon looking for a young boy, but they won't find one. Do you know why?" I shook my head. "They won't find a young boy because you will be turned into a young girl! Tracy and I will transform you into such a convincing vision of femininity that no one will ever guess you were once a boy. Right, Tracy?" "Oh, Mom, what a great idea! John will make a foxy girl. He can probably wear most of my things and his face is almost too pretty for a boy already. Let's start right this instant. What do you suggest, Mom, skirt or slacks?" "Since we want to prevent him from being identified as a boy, we'll need to go overboard on making sure everything about him just screams 'female'. That means no pants at any time and lots of girlish touches even in his most casual moments. We have to go overboard on lace, lingerie, heels, makeup, the works." I forget most of the details of that evening except that I went to bed wearing one of Tracy's nighties. My hair had been subjected to dizzying number of processes and then wound up in enormous rollers covered by a giant pink cap. My hands had been coated with skin softener and placed in white cotton gloves for the night ad my face had been slathered in cold cream. Considering the strange sensations I was experiencing, it was amazing how quickly I fell asleep. I was awakened at six the next morning by Tracy. "Get up, sleepyhead. We've got a lot to do today. Go and wash your hands and face while I get your outfit ready." I obeyed. Returning, I saw that Tracy had made my bed and laid out a bewildering array of lacy apparel, a yellow dress and a pair of girls' pumps. She handed me a pair of pale blue panties and let me modestly slip them on under my nightie before I took the nightie off. Next came a matching bra and dark brown pantyhose. She padded out my bra with cotton balls and taught me how to put on a blue slip by sliding it over my head. At this point she wrapped a plastic cape around my neck, sat me down and brushed out my hair. "Oh, it's darling! No one will ever suspect you're a boy." I sat still while she applied makeup. The smells were strange as was the feeling of my hair tickling my neck. Finally she removed my cape and let me get up. She held out my dress and let me step into it from the top, "So you won't mess up your hair." I later learned that the style was a shirtwaist, yellow, with a hem hitting me a few inches above the knee. Tracy asked me to button the top. It was difficult because it buttoned backwards, but I finally got it right. She helped me slip into the brown leather sling-back pumps. They had medium heels and it took me awhile to walk in them but Tracy was patient. "Real girls take a long time to learn how to manage their heels, too. You're doing fine." After she was satisfied, she had me wrestle with jewelry clasps until I was sporting a gold choker necklace, a charm bracelet, an ankle bracelet and four rings. Finally she sprayed me with perfume and led me downstairs to breakfast. It certainly felt strange masquerading as a girl. I had to watch my feet to keep from tripping in the heels and I found myself attracted to the nyloned legs and feminine pumps that were mine. My aunt made a tremendous fuss when I entered the kitchen, making me stand still as she walked around me. It was weird wearing girls' clothes but I tried to make the best of it and play along. After eating I started to learn how to do 'girl' chores. My aunt slipped an apron over my head and tied an enormous bow in back. I was handed a pair of rubber gloves and told to do the breakfast dishes. I had an easy enough time of it, but I kept having to peer over my breasts. A strange feeling came over me as I realized that boys would be attracted to me in my disguise! I tried to get used to my new identity, but I couldn't ignore how the hosiery hugged my legs, how the heels changed my posture-forcing my breasts and fanny out invitingly. My bra grabbed and tugged in unfamiliar ways. Eventually I finished up the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen and joined my aunt and Tracy in the living room. "John," my aunt began, "Tracy and I were just saying that we need to call you something feminine. What's your favorite girl's name?" I stammered that I had never thought about it. "Well, then, how about 'Heather'? I just love that name, don't you, Tracy?" "Wow, Mom, that's great! OK with you, Heather?" Consistent with most of my other actions in the last two days, I simply nodded dumbly. "Well, Heather, we're about ready for your public debut. My friend Debbie runs a beauty parlor and she's agreed to give you the works. Tracy, get Heather set up with a purse." Before I knew it, I had a purse stuck in my hand and was propelled out the front door. What a clatter I made in my heels! The sight of sunlight bouncing off my yellow dress filled me with fear of discovery. I made my way as fast as possible to the car and jumped in the back seat. The drive into town was uneventful. After my aunt pulled up in front of the beauty parlor, I opened the door and slid out as I always have. The difference was that in a dress, I succeeded in having it ride up to my waist. Two boys whistled appreciably at the leg show I had provided. Tracy giggled as I turned several shades of red. We entered the beauty parlor and Debbie introduced herself. "Oh, Helen, he's adorable. We'll have him all dolled up in no time. Strip down to your bra and panties and put on a robe, honey." I went behind a curtain and, struggled out of all the clothing, put on the short pink terrycloth robe and rejoined Debbie. As soon as I sat in the chair Debbie and two other beauticians practically attacked me! One girl waxed my legs and gave me a pedicure. The second installed ceramic nails and pierced my ears. Debbie, meanwhile, cut my hair, gave me a perm and plucked my eyebrows. Although most of the procedures were uncomfortable, I still got the impression that I was pampered and sheltered. While I sat under the hair dryer, Tracy handed me fashion magazines to read. I couldn't hear over the roar of the dryer, but Tracy would point to an outfit and then point at me, indicating that I would look good in it. My hair was styled and I was sent to get dressed again. My nails made everything more difficult, but I managed to put it all back on. The pantyhose and slip felt different against my now hairless legs. I returned to the chair and waited while Debbie restored my makeup. The trip home was uneventful except for my sore earlobes. Once there, my feminine training shifted into high gear! Tracy had me put on a pair of spike heels at least 4" tall and balanced a book on my head to teach me how to walk convincingly. While I minced back and forth, she read me teenage romance novels and quizzed me on the girls' actions. "What would you have done if you were Sarah? Would you wear a long prom gown or a sexy short one? How would you have dressed for that big date with Bob? Do you think it's embarrassing wearing those little cheerleading skirts? What do you think that wedding gown felt like?" Before long I was concentrating on the questions, only occasionally thinking about managing my heels. Aunt Helen came in after about an hour and gave me few pointers. "Put one foot directly in front of the other- it will give you a devastating wiggle. And keep your legs together as you walk. You should feel your nylons rub against on another with every step." After another hour, me feet ached! Tracy let me change into a pair of pretty flats and had me practice sitting in a chair, crossing my legs and then getting up. The goal was twofold- to keep my skirts unwrinkled and to avoid displaying more of my feminine underpinnings than I wanted to. It turned out that I tended to be too modest! "A girl is used to putting her legs on display every day. We don't think twice about flashing a little thigh and the boys love it. As long as your panties don't show, it's probably OK." At last the exercise was over and I was given another teenage romance novel to study until bedtime. I had to write down each outfit mentioned and guess about what underthings would be appropriate. Finally, under Tracy's direction, I put my hair up in rollers, creamed off my makeup, took my 'vitamins' and applied the lotions. I slipped into a pink baby doll set and quickly fell asleep, dreaming of lace and lingerie. The next morning I showered with a cap on and dusted myself with scented powder. Tracy knocked on the bathroom door and told me that we were going to the mall and I was to pick out my own outfit. With my hair up in rollers, wearing a pink terrycloth robe and selecting a dress from my closet, it struck me that anyone seeing this would have a hard time believing I was a boy. I finally settled on a simple black sheath with little cap sleeves. I laid it on the bed and picked out a pair of black leather pumps with little roses on the toes. Concentrating, I slipped on a pair of nylon panties and a new pair of off-black support pantyhose. I had to slide my male equipment down between my legs to give me a credible, girlish front. I donned a padded black bra as Tracy had showed me by hooking it up in front and then twisting it around into position. Than I tugged on a black full slip and adjusted the shoulder straps. I sat down and took the rollers out of my hair and brushed it out. It still looked good! I sponged on some light foundation and managed to get my mascara on without smearing it. A little blusher and lip gloss completed my makeup. I stepped into my dress and shrugged it over my shoulders. What a time I had zipping it up! My slip got caught up underneath, and I struggled to get it back down. I stepped into the heels and minced over the full- length mirror. The dress was kind of short, but not too inappropriate, I thought. Remembering my fashion magazines, I clipped on a string of pearls and pinned on a silver broach. I would have changed earrings but my ears still were too sore. I carefully descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Both Tracy and my aunt went into another round of gushing over my feminized self. They complimented my on my choices and even made me hike up my skirts to show them my lingerie. After a light breakfast, Tracy gave me a shoulder bag and we all drove over to the mall. I was a little more confident slipping out of the car this time and even managed a smile when my aunt commented on what a racket we three were making in our heels. We visited clothing stores, one after another. Dressed as a boy, I only caught a quick, furtive glance at ladies lingerie in stores. Now, here I was not only slowly examining frilly little undergarments, but I was forced to consider actually wearing them! On one hand it was embarrassing to consider how much of a sissy I had become virtually overnight, but on the other I luxuriated in being able to experience girlhood. I'm sure I blushed as the salesgirls folded each piece and carefully packed them. The two females seemed to have unlimited energy as they helped me try on outfit after outfit. I wound up with two everyday dresses, plenty of blouses and skirts, a strapless cocktail dress and a suit. The shoe store was next and I noticed the clerk looking up my dress as he fitted me with each pair. I tried to remember Tracy's training and understand that girls really didn't mind a little ogling. My aunt and Tracy made all the selections and I wound up with two pairs of truly towering pumps, one with peep toes, a pair of strappy sandals and a pair of red ballerina flats. I was exhausted when the two relented and, loaded down with boxes, returned home. I was storing the purchases when Tracy entered my room and casually mentioned that we were going to a dance that night! The thought of a boy reacting to my girlish appearance revolted me but Tracy explained it was just practice on how to act feminine. After dinner, while Tracy was getting herself ready, Aunt Helen concentrated on me. She started with a tight bustier, complete with garters, and white glitter stockings. I wiggled into a red control panty and caught a glance of myself in the mirror- I wasn't the best-built female in the world, but I looked sexy. She seated me at my make up table and pinned my hair up in a pretty French twist complete with flowers. She made me up more dramatically than before and tied a short crinoline around my nipped waist. I was zipped into the sleeveless silver cocktail dress before buckling on the strappy silver sandals. She clipped on a fake diamond choker, silver ankle bracelet and carefully substituted long dangling earrings for my "trainers". A tiny wrist watch, several costume rings, a liberal dosing with perfume and I was ready. I didn't want to admit it, but I felt pretty! I made my way downstairs to wait for Tracy. What a strange sensation- my crinoline was making a racket under my dress while the garters tugged my nylons into wrinkle- free perfection with each step. I sat down carefully only to have the hem of my dress pop up to eye level. My aunt laughed and explained that with my full petticoats I had to sit on the very edge of a chair to keep my modesty. Tracy came down the stairs, looking beautiful, and we complimented each other. I was still admiring her when the doorbell rang. "Here're our dates," she announced with a twinkle in her eye. "Dates!" I screeched, "I can't go out with a boy!" But Tracy had already let the two in and my aunt was gently propelling me towards the one introduced as "Mike." Tracy was paired up with Dave. I sputtered out "Thank You" in a high voice when Mike told me I looked terrific. Aunt Helen wrapped a lace shawl around my shoulders and handed me a silver clutch purse. She took photos of the four of us and I tried my best to smile. Mike offered his arm and it turned out I needed it as I might have fallen teetering down the steps in my new heels. I'm sure I looked delightfully helpless and feminine. Dave had brought his Camaro and it was impossible to get into the low back seat with any modesty! We drove to the dance with me constantly fighting to keep my skirts down but only succeeding in putting on a private peep show for Mike. What a contrast it was to look down and see Mike's sturdy shoes and thick trousers next to my fragile sandals and delicate nylons with my painted toe nails peeking through. How had I gotten myself into this? What if this big guy found out I was really a boy dressed up? Feeling my bare arm against his rough jacket, I quickly decided my only option was to act a feminine as possible. Choking on my words I fluttered my eyelashes and told Mike how strong he was. He responded by casually resting a hand on my nyloned thigh. We got to the dance and again I put on quite a show getting out of the car. Tracy just smiled at my startled expression when Mike put his arm around my waist and ushered me in. I was never a good dancer, let alone in heels, but when Mike and I started a waltz he led masterfully. I just stayed on my toes while he kept balance for us both. It was humiliating to feel his hand on my back, toying with the zipper and bustier snaps. Every now and then he would grind his hips into me and even wearing a crinoline I could feel his manhood pressed against me. I, meanwhile, had my equipment tucked up and couldn't respond under any circumstances. Whenever he twirled me, my skirts rode up exposing my stocking tops, garters, and even my red panties! Several of the real girls glared at me and my brazen display. Tracy was no help at all, teasing that she'd expose me if I didn't openly flirt with Mike. I felt totally embarrassed watching the boys in their suits, knowing that I should be among them instead of wearing a pretty dress and passing myself off as a girl. Boys were supposed to do important deeds to succeed, while I had been carefully prepared to submissively present my feminine charms to anyone who cared to look. With Mike's dancing skill, however, I finally relaxed a little and tried to enjoy myself as I glided across the floor. The evening ended with me a little less frantic in the Camaro's back seat. I let Mike put his arm around me and even let him give me a peck on the cheek at the door. I felt like an utter and complete sissy and broke into tears as soon as Tracy and I got inside. Here I was, a boy, wearing a dress and sobbing into a lace hankie with mascara streaks down my cheeks. My Aunt cleaned me up and made me take a hot bath before bed. I think it was that episode that broke my will. Starting that next day I was resigned to my pretty skirts and stopped thinking about the next time I would be wearing trousers. I became more aware of women's fashions and admired a girl's appearance instead of mentally undressing her. I began thinking of the feminine finery in the closet as my own. I completely mastered the art of walking in heels and no longer felt angry when a boy admired my legs. I became addicted to romance novels, putting myself alternately in the male and female roles. My aunt taught me dressmaking and embroidery. Soon I was making some of my own outfits. The so-called 'vitamins' that I had been taking every day turned out to be female hormones. The first inkling I had of the truth was when I noticed lumps under my nipples. I confronted my aunt who explained that she merely wanted to keep my masculine drives under control and that the slight changes to my body were only a temporary side effect. Tracy was aware of the changes, of course, and made a big deal out of the first time I filled out a 34B bra without padding. My hips had added weight as well, making my panties fit better. I had been masquerading in skirts for almost four months when Aunt Helen informed me that she considered me convincing enough as a girl to risk a trip to see my mother, who was temporarily out of jail pending an appeal. This involved an unescorted plane flight and my first solo outing since my feminization. The morning of my trip found me sitting in the foyer looking out the front window. I was wearing a burgundy skirt suit and a white see- through blouse with a standup collar revealing an utterly feminine white lace slip. I had wiggled into cream-colored control top pantyhose and beige leather pumps. Tracy had made me wear an underwire bra that urged my very own breasts into prominence. Gold hoop earrings, an antique locket, a tennis bracelet and several rings completed my ensemble. I toyed idly with my necklace until it was time to leave. Aunt Helen and Tracy drove me to the airport and stayed with me until I boarded the plane with my overnight bag and burgundy purse. As I minced to my aisle seat, a wave of humiliation came over me. I had let two females take away my trousers and masculinity and now, without anyone guarding me, I was trying to pass myself off as a girl! I had allowed myself to be petticoated and then cooperated in learning to become more and more ladylike. My skirts slid up dramatically as I stood on tiptoes to store my bag. As we took off, I crossed my legs and began reading a new romance novel. The men in the adjoining seats openly admired my legs and I even allowed a wisp of my frilly slip to remain on display. The novel contained a steamy scene where the young heroine, on her way to the New World, was slowly seduced and bedded by a handsome pirate. With my male equipment tucked away and inoperative, I couldn't respond to the sexy passages in the normal way- instead, I noted with alarm that my nipples hardened and the only gratification came from bouncing my leg and swinging my pump on and off with my toes. Even unconsciously I had acquired feminine gestures! Just before we landed I took my cue from the females on the flight and freshened my lipstick and checked my hair and makeup. When we landed, there was the customary rush for the exit. I waited for the plane to empty, since I didn't want to get tripped up rushing in high heels. I normally didn't have to think about my heels, but I had only four months practice while these real women had had years and years. I collected my things and slowly walked off the plane. It wasn't hard to spot my mother; she was wearing melodramatic dark glasses as some sort of disguise. I walked up to her and whispered a hello. Her eyes went wide as she recognized me. "John! Is that really you?" We hugged like mother and daughter. I was embarrassed to realize I was so feminized that I had been concerned about my makeup as we embraced. Not knowing if we were being watched, I instructed her to call me Heather as we walked outside and took a cab to the hotel. With the driver listening, we didn't talk much during the ride. Mom spent most of the time inspecting me and smiling a funny kind of smile. When we pulled up to the hotel, I remembered my training and let men open the doors and take care of the luggage. Once in the room, my mother couldn't stop raving at my impersonation. She ran her hands over me and nodded as she hefted my breasts and patted my hips. "I know this has been a tremendous sacrifice on your part, John, but I'm so happy that you've accepted Helen's program as well as you have. Since you'll have to pretend to be a girl for awhile longer, let's make the best of it and pick out something for us to wear to dinner that will make the boys' tongues hang out!" I had expected my mother to let me revert to being a boy as long as possible, but instead I found myself spending our limited time together shopping to look even more feminine. After trying on dozens of dresses, she picked out a red chemise for me and a black beaded sheath for herself. I also bought red patent D'Arcy spike-heeled pumps while my mother was off selecting my lingerie. We took all the boxes back to the hotel and went down to the hotel's beauty parlor to have manicures and our hair styled. How strange it was to sit next to my mother and exchange girl-talk while being primped for an evening out! Back upstairs we began changing for dinner and I got my first look at the underthings she had bought for me. Nestled among the finery was a red satin corset. My protests fell on deaf ears as the hellish contraption was wrapped around me and snapped up in front. I thought the corset was uncomfortable, but bearable. That was until she began tightening the laces! She had to put her knee in my back to pull hard enough. At last she tied off the cord as I began to swoon from the lack of oxygen. I looked down and saw my breasts cradled in the soft underwired cups. In the corset it was impossible to slouch, resulting in an apparently proud, thrust-out bosom. Mom handed me a package of seamed black stockings. With difficulty, I worked them up my legs and I noticed they felt different from any I had previously worn. As she helped me straighten my seams, she explained that they were real silk. How luxurious they felt, but they had no stretch and forced my legs into an even more feminine shape! I tucked my male equipment away, wiggled into a pair of black boy-leg panties (we giggled over this) and stepped into my new heels. I walked over to the mirror. I looked like a pinup! I asked my mother why she had dressed me in such provocative undies when the last thing I wanted to do was attract men? She replied that she wanted to reward my girlishness by treating me to sexy underwear. While she got herself ready I slipped on my new chemise and felt a little more modest. The hem barely covered my stocking tops and the bias cut suspended the entire front from my out-thrust breasts. My mother lent me her diamond earrings and choker necklace. I had to admit we both looked good enough to eat as we minced out the door and took the elevator up to the restaurant. As we entered the restaurant several different emotions fought for control. On one hand I felt uncomfortable being laced into a corset and balancing in the skyscraper heels, but I also felt proud of my appearance and the way the hose and heels flattered my legs and the way the corset and dress presented the rest of me. There was no way to fight it; the outfit had been specifically designed to attract men. At regular intervals, though, I would be reminded that I was really a boy and felt ashamed at my lack of resistance to my feminization and that I willingly dressed as seductively as I did. We were seated at our table and my mother must have seen some pangs of doubt in my face. "Oh, Heather, don't be concerned- you look just yummy. Relax and let the female in you enjoy yourself." I tried to follow her advice and simply chatted with my mother as if we were two girls. I stopped compulsively tugging on my hem and just let men admire my legs as if I didn't notice. "You manage your heels perfectly, dear. Helen and Tracy must have had you practicing day and night." I actually blushed at the complement. There was a particular man who never took his eyes off of us. I pointed him out to Mom and she nodded. "That's right, Heather, you've spotted Jim Hanks- one of your father's private detectives." Seeing us both staring at him, he smiled and came over. "Good Evening, Mrs. Higgins, who is your lovely companion?" "This is my friend's niece, Heather." I whispered a 'hello'. "Heather, where is John Higgins?" I protested that I didn't know and he just nodded. "I admire your loyalty, Heather, but it's misfocused. John's father misses him and wants him back. I think I'll visit you and your aunt sometime soon and see what there is to see." He returned to finish his meal. "Well, Heather, it looks like you're destined to stay a girl for quite some time. Is it really so terrible wearing your pretty dresses and acting feminine?" I admitted that I sometimes enjoyed the girlish clothing and activities, but I missed being a boy and often felt ashamed of acting like such a sissy. "Oh, honey, I'm afraid we can't let you return to being a boy right now. The best I can do is to make your feminine life as enjoyable as possible. I'm giving you charge cards for all the best stores and I expect you to buy freely with them." After dinner we had a nightcap in the lounge and returned to our room. We undressed (I got to remove the hellish corset), removed our makeup, put each other's hair up in rollers, donned our nighties and went to bed. The next morning I had to fly back to Aunt Helen's house. My mother and I got dressed and packed up our things. I had on an underwire bra, cream nylon panties, dark brown support pantyhose, a white teddy, white silk blouse, long straight brown skirt and my new red pumps. The skirt reached mid-calf, but it had a long slit in front that showed off a generous expanse of leg whenever I moved. We took a cab to the airport, hugged each other, and went our separate ways to our flights. My seatmate was a boy about my age. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and tie, and read a collection of hot rod magazines with intensity while I scanned more fashion monthlies. What a contrast to see his casual masculinity next to me. He was studying how to create a fast automobile- something tangible, while I fussed with my skirt and worried about getting a run in my hose. Aunt Helen, with Tracy, met the plane and the three of us drove back to her house. As I unpacked and hung up my clothes, I was struck with my situation: although I was a boy, I had to wear panties and skirts- there simply wasn't anything else to choose from! Besides, even if I somehow found some boy's clothing, my blossoming breasts and hips would make me look ridiculous. At dinner, Aunt Helen informed me that she was hosting a very important tea on Wednesday, and that Tracy and I were to dress up 'to the nines' for the occasion. On the morning of the tea Tracy and I helped each other get ready. I started with a pale blue bra and panty set followed by Tracy's puckered panty girdle and a new pair of light beige nylons. I slipped on a pair of mules, wrapped myself in a robe, and ate a quick lunch. Back upstairs we did each other's hair and makeup. I wiggled into a white half slip and got into my dress- it was a floral lavender chiffon tea gown. It had a plunging neckline, highlighting my cleavage, full cuffed sleeves, and a wide belt. I carefully sat on Tracy's bed and slipped on a pair of purple slingbacks with an open toe. Tracy had chosen a creme silk suit with matching pumps. As people began to arrive, we sprayed ourselves with perfume and added our jewelry. As I waited for Tracy to finish, I inspected myself in her mirror. I patted a few imaginary wrinkles and then quickly blushed at the feminine gesture. At that moment I felt absolutely girlish. I was wearing uncomfortable underwear just to look attractive. I had spent a considerable length of time worrying about the choice of stocking color! Finally Tracy was ready and I flounced down the staircase behind her. Quite a few people were there and I flitted around the house helping serve the tea and sandwiches. As I approached a couple with their backs to me I heard the may say "I still don't understand why you got me to come here to Helen's house. Is John here or not?" "See for yourself. Here he is!" They turned and I dropped the tray I was carrying. The two were my parents. "See what your son has become? An utter and complete sissy. He wears dresses and high heels, paints his long nails and has pierced ears. He's even had a date with a boy." "Is all this true, John?" I broke down in a feminine outburst of tears and ran upstairs. My father decided he didn't want any part of a sissy son and dropped his lawsuit. I returned home with Mom and was kept in skirts until I left home. I'm back in trousers now, but every time I see a pretty girl I study her clothing and gestures. After all, I walked more than a mile in her shoes.