My Wonderful Obsession 27 free porn video

My Wonderful Obsession Part 27: Christmas Presents My schoolmates may have gotten more or less used to the new improved Sandy by Thanksgiving, but there was still one person who felt very uncomfortable around me. You guessed it - Julia! Now, I saw her pretty much every day - I mean, she WAS at school, right? And boy, did she ever look different than when I first met her back in our freshman year. Her former pudginess was totally gone, and she was now just about perfectly proportioned. Her hair was long, dark and gorgeous - exactly how mine had looked when I had my extensions. And no more overblown eye makeup either. Funny thing was, except for our hair, Julia and I now looked a lot alike. We were the same height, and we wore the same kind of jeans, and similar tops and sweaters, and our footwear was even the same type. Cindy Cohen told me more than once that Julia and I could pass for sisters! But how did I know Julia felt uncomfortable? Well, for one thing she tried her best to avoid me in the corridors, in the cafeteria - even in the two classes we shared that semester. As you can imagine, her behavior made me feel quite upset ... sometimes even to the point of feeling betrayed, if I happened to be suffering a PMS-like attack at the time. Early in December when I was feeling particularly anguished about how our relationship had broken down, I finally confronted her in the corridor between classes. Oh my God - do I ever wish I'd kept my feelings to myself! "Sandy Johnson, you've got a lot of nerve bitching at me about relationships," she barked. "If I remember correctly, YOU'RE the one who decided to bail on ME. All I wanted was a boyfriend but that wasn't good enough for you, was it? You had to be my girlfriend too!" "Yeah, okay, I know what you mean, but I thought you were ..." "You thought I was what? Bisexual or something? Well I've got news for you - I'm not into that kinda stuff, and I never will be. I gave you a chance to decide if you were gonna be my boyfriend or not, and you turned me down flat ... and THIS is what you picked!" She waved her hand in the direction of my body. "Julia, please listen to me. I KNOW how you feel about what I've done, but this is who I AM now. Can't you at least accept me as a girlfriend from now on?" She shook her head, looking exasperated. "Sandy - it'll never work. We had something very special before, and now we can't go back and pretend all that never happened. I'm sorry - I can't have you as a friend anymore ... it's over." I thought I could detect tears forming in her eyes when she said that, or maybe it was through the tears that were already filling mine. So I just nodded silently and walked away in a complete state of shock. From then on, both of us avoided each other like the plague. But each and every time I caught sight of Julia, I still got a terrible empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. ***** My first interview with Dr. Westerman, after going on hormones, was just after the Thanksgiving holiday. I had to be excused from classes, and it was just me and 'my shrink' since Mom had to work. That was totally fine by me, since he wanted to talk about how the hormones were affecting my moods, my thoughts, my desires, and even my friends. NOT topics I wanted to get into with Mom present, thank you very much. The interview started out innocently enough, with a discussion of how school was going, how work was going, and how my home life was going. Then he wanted me to tell him all about my relationship with Mark - was it different from before I went on hormones, how different, and did I still feel the same way about him? Most of that was easy to answer truthfully, but I had trouble when it came to talking about our sex life. Dr. Westerman picked up on that right away. "You don't need to give me details, Sandy," he said. "I just wanted to know whether you think the hormones have caused any changes - behavioral or physical." "Uh ... I suppose there are," I replied, feeling a little uneasy to be discussing something this intimate, especially given my age. "Like, we don't have sex a LOT or anything ... but I thought the hormones would make me feel more like a female when I'm, uh, doing that. That's how I felt before, but now I feel more like a guy having sex with a guy. I guess that's totally weird, isn't it?" He shook his head. "I prefer not to use that word, Sandy. But do you get as much enjoyment from sex now?" "I guess so ... well, maybe not quite as much. Sometimes I feel like my boyfriend's having all the fun these days ..." "Why do you think that is?" "Well, he DOES seem to want sex a lot more than I do. So I end up, uh, looking after his needs." "I meant, WHY do you think Mark enjoys sex more than you do?" "Oh - I dunno ... maybe it's 'cause he's a normal guy, and I'm not." "Do you think it might be because he finds you more attractive now?" "It could be that ... I know he's always talking about my skin, like how smooth it is ... and he really likes the shape of my body - he's always putting his hands on parts of me, and I know it gets him all excited ..." "But not you, necessarily?" "Oh, I do love when he touches me, and when he tells me he likes my body. But maybe I'm becoming too much like a female. At a women's retreat I was at a couple of years ago, they said that women don't want sex as much as men do, and sometimes they don't enjoy it as much as men do." Dr. Westerman chuckled, "Oh, I remember you telling us about that event. Isn't that where you had to wear a skirt to be a server?" I nodded and put on a wry smile. "That's where it ALL started." "Oh, I tend to think it started long before that - and it would have happened regardless. But you also said you're moodier these days. Do you think that has something to do with your lack of enjoyment of sex?" "Maybe ... but I don't really get it. Before, I was always happy when Mark was happy. Now it seems like I'm unhappy a lot, and I can be really mean to him sometimes, but he hasn't changed at all." I felt tears coming to my eyes as the thought crossed my mind that I didn't deserve that wonderful guy. Dr. Westerman handed me a Kleenex. "You say you're 'mean' to Mark. Can you give me an example?" "Uh, sure," I said, wiping my eyes. "Like, sometimes he'll generalize about something, like how people who drive pickup trucks cause more accidents, or how smokers are so rude - that kind of thing, really minor. And then I'll say 'You have no proof of that, so you shouldn't be saying it.' And other times he'll make a comment about what I'm wearing, and I take it as criticism of me and my taste in clothes, and I kind of attack him right back." "Are you telling me you try to pick fights with Mark?" "Yeah, I guess so. Funny thing is, I mostly always agree with what he's saying, and I know he's not criticizing me. I just choose to take what he says in a negative way." "Fascinating," he said thoughtfully. "You might be interested to know that my wife behaves just like you at a certain time every month." "Oh, I KNOW I'm having a PMS attack, Doctor. And I know the hormone injections are causing it. I've kinda figured out when it's safe to see Mark and when it isn't." Dr. Westerman nodded and wrote for a few seconds on his notepad. "Okay, back to what you told me about the other students. Why do you think they've accepted Sandra so quickly?" "Well, first of all they still know me as Sandy, not Sandra. Anyway my friend Kath said she thinks it's because I have a girl's voice, and I look and act more like a girl than most of the other girls at school do. So subconsciously they see a girl when they look at me, and like, not just a boy dressed like a girl, so they don't have conflict in their minds about me, you know? At least that's what SHE thinks." He smiled, no doubt at Kath's amateur psychoanalysis. "But what do YOU think, Sandra?" "I don't know what to think sometimes. I'm just really glad that it's all working out for me." "That's it? That's how you feel?" "Mostly. Well ... maybe not. I still really wish I could've been born like this ... like, for instance, girls seem to accept me as me, but I can tell they don't REALLY accept me as one of THEM." "What do you mean, Sandy?" "Uh ... I mean they know I'm not really female, so they treat me differently, you know? Like, they don't talk about boys or periods or their bodies or sex, or private stuff like that if I'm there. And I can always tell there's something missing, something they're holding back, in the way they relate to me." 'Shrinks,' I thought, 'why do they ask you keep explaining the obvious?' "How can you tell they're holding back?" "Easy. Girls who don't know my secret treat me a lot different. Like the girls I work with. I really feel like they accept me a hundred percent as one of them. And I love the feeling of belonging, being totally accepted ..." "What about how boys treat you? Is it the same with them?" "Not really. Girls are a lot nicer about it - most of them. Boys who know me - except for my closest friends - don't seem to know how to relate to me at all. Some of them can be mean, but mostly they try to avoid me - like, you know, pretend I don't exist?" He nodded. "And the boys who don't know?" "There aren't too many ... mostly the ones I meet at work. But it's TOTALLY different with them. Sometimes I WISH they'd ignore me." "So they find you attractive?" 'There he goes again, stating the obvious,' I thought. "I wouldn't mind if that's all it was. The thing is, I'm sure they want to, like, have sex with me. Sometimes I worry about getting attacked and raped if I leave work late at night, all alone. So I don't ever do that." "Interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You know, Sandra, I'm reminded of a comment you made last year, around the time I first met you. You said you wanted to experience everything a normal girl would experience. Normal girls live with that fear all the time, I'm told." "Hmm. I guess that's kind of ironic, isn't it?" I mused, thinking how profound his observation was. "It IS ironic. But I want to go back to what we were just talking about. You said things were working out well for you, but then you changed your mind and said they weren't so much." 'Don't girls get to change their minds?' I thought with a smile. "Yeah ... I'm kind of confused about that, I guess." "So you don't think Dr. Cooper's strategy is working all that well?" "You mean, like, telling everyone I have a hormone problem? It is, but it only goes so far. Like, that's not even close to being good enough for my boyfriend's parents. They want a real natural-born girl for their son, not a boy who got just looks like a girl because of some medical condition." "I thought you told me they don't know." "They DON'T - and I'm scared shitless they'll find out. Oh - sorry about the bad language." "Not a problem. So how do you know what they want for Mark if they don't know about you? Did you ask?" "As if I'm going to do THAT," I sniffed. "I'd sooner die than hear their answer." "So I suppose that's another reason you're wishing you'd been born a girl." Did he ALWAYS have to state the obvious? "Uh ... yes, you could say that's the MAIN reason." ***** By Christmas those crazy hormone injections had not only totally messed with my psyche, they'd also made a noticeable difference in my body. I already told you about my expanding bustline, but the rest of me was busy playing catch-up. My waist had lost another full inch since I started on hormones, and that inch ended up on my hips with another to spare. Yes, it did make my already-snug jeans a lot tighter, and I really noticed that in my thighs. I considered buying new jeans, but I'd paid a lot of money for the two pairs I had and decided I should make do. But my skin! I thought I had pretty nice-looking skin before, but now its very texture seemed to be different - like, it was becoming even softer and more supple, if you know what I mean. It was Karen at Turning Heads who first noticed and called my attention to it, during one of my waxing sessions. The next time I was pulling on pantyhose for work, I noticed too. My softest skin was always my inner thighs, but now it seemed even softer and smoother, with an amazing tactile quality - the result of a growing layer of fat under my skin, as I later learned. The tighter jeans weren't that much of a concern to me. After all, most girls wore tight jeans. The only real annoyance was those damn male genitals of mine, all scrunched up inside my crotch and under continuous rubbing pressure from the jeans. They were in a perpetual state of discomfort, and it was always a big production to go to the bathroom - slowly work the jeans off my hips, enough to free myself up to pee, then jam everything back in place and try my best not to break a nail while struggling to pull the jeans back up. Oh my God, skirts were so much more comfy and convenient! I could hardly wait to get home after school each day to switch to my favorite all- female garb. How I was going to make through the rest of the school year, I had no idea, but I resolved to stick exclusively with skirts and dresses after graduation. Or at least till I got the problematic body parts cut off! What I most certainly would NOT be cutting off was my hair. It had now been more than a year since Karen had given me a real haircut - all she did since then was keep it trimmed and styled. So by now I had a really pretty bob that I kept parted on one side, and my bangs were long enough to tuck behind my ears or fasten back with hairpins. Whenever I got to dress more feminine, I'd always attach a brightly-colored hairband or even a ribbon to my locks. But one thing for sure - I wanted my beautiful long hair back in the worst way and I was determined that this time it would be my very own. School ended on a Friday, six days before Christmas day, and when I got home I washed my school clothes and stowed them away, not to be worn again until a week after New Year's. Back in one of my favorite casual around-the house outfits, an off-white one-piece cotton dress with a nice short flouncy skirt and body-hugging top with wide shoulder straps (yes, I was still pretending summer wasn't over), I began making a list of what I'd need for my upcoming trip to Vermont with the McCowans. We'd be leaving on the twenty-seventh, which was perfect 'cause I'd still get to spend Christmas with my family, but if I needed to buy anything it would have to be before the twenty- fourth. Mark's dad had told me they had all the ski clothes I'd need, as long as I didn't mind using Marci's stuff, and I could rent a pair of boots at the mountain if hers didn't fit me, which with my foot size I felt was kind of unlikely. I'd also wondered if her ski pants and jacket would be a bit roomy on me, but Mark told me that his sister was larger now than the last time she wore that outfit and her clothes would probably fit me perfectly. Just the same, I resolved to try all Marci's stuff on before Christmas. I really hoped she wouldn't mind sharing them with me! My Christmas shopping had to be done in my days off as well. In past years I was always able to buy stuff during the fall, but not this year - with my crazy-busy life I couldn't even think about it till school was out. I also had to work long pre-Christmas hours at Milestones to make up for the time I'd be taking off. Good old Miles had pulled out sequin-covered Santa toques for all his girls to wear, as he did every year. That was okay with me but some of the girls didn't appreciate having their beautiful hair covered and messed up by those 'cheesy' hats. I did get over to Mark's place one morning a few days before Christmas, courtesy of my brother Phil who was also on Christmas break, unlike Mark who had to work through to the twenty-fourth. Mrs. McCowan greeted us at the front door. "Hello Sandra - how are you? Oh, and you must be her brother Philip - I've heard so much about you! Nice to meet you at last." Phil replied graciously, "It's nice to meet you too." Then, glancing sideways at me, he added, "I hope you only heard the good stuff!" I grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled him closer, saying "There ISN'T any bad stuff ... well, on second thought, he DOES watch a lot of football ..." Mrs. McCowan laughed and said, "Well that just makes him a normal guy, doesn't it?" "I suppose it DOES," I agreed, giving Phil a quick peck on the cheek to show him he was still loved, even if he WAS a sports fanatic. But then a thought crossed my mind - my supposedly 'normal' guy Mark wasn't much into sports at all. Which made him just like me ... oh, well, I remembered, he just doesn't like organized team sports. But he does love 'personal' sports like hiking and skiing. So there must be more than one kind of 'normal guy.' Mark's mom then led us downstairs, through the big rec room where we'd held our Fiddler closing night's party (which brought back some wonderful memories), and down a short hallway to a large storage room. It was finished and carpeted much like the rest of the basement, brightly lit, and there was plenty of room to try stuff on. Along the four walls was an assortment of outdoor gear and clothing - ski stuff, as expected, but also backpacks, water bottles, tents, sleeping bags, and tons of other stuff, all neatly arranged, stored and labeled to make it easy to pack for a trip. There was even a big table for sorting stuff. The compulsive organizer in me was very impressed, and I hoped that Mark was at least partly responsible for how it all looked. After all, my so-called 'normal guy' brother was one of the messiest, most disorganized people I knew, and if my boyfriend wasn't like that I wouldn't mind at all if he wasn't exactly 'normal'. "Sandra," Mrs. McCowan said, "you'll need to change into this polypropylene underwear before trying on Marcia's ski suit." She handed me a pair of very skinny-looking navy blue long-johns and a matching long-sleeved top, and pointed me in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. 'Thank God I'm wearing my gaff,' I thought. I quickly stripped off my skirt and sweater- top, leaving just my bra and panties, and pulled on the long-johns first. The legs looked so skinny, I didn't think I'd be able to get into them, but they went on kind of like pantyhose, only somewhat thicker. 'Oh my God,' I thought, 'these things don't leave anything to the imagination, do they?' Then I wiggled into the top and had the same reaction. The reflection in the mirror showed a very well-defined female body with very prominent, rounded hips and breasts. I'd feel ecstatic if it wasn't for the fact that Phil was about to get the same view! After checking carefully for any telltale bulges and finding none, I reluctantly made my way back. Of course, the brightly-lit storage room didn't hurt Phil's view at all - and I'm sure I saw his jaw nearly hit the floor when he turned to see me come in. I just knew we'd be talking about this on the way home! Mrs. McCowan, however, was nonplussed. She was holding out a white one-piece suit with fluorescent pink slashes on the legs and sleeves. "Here you go, honey - let's see how this works for you." "Thanks," was all I could say as I looked for the way in. But it was no problem - I only had to put one leg in at a time and then pull it up and insert my arms. Mark's mom zipped the suit up, and had me stand in front of a full-length mirror on the back of the door. Then she stood back to inspect the result. "It feels pretty good," I said. It looked pretty good, too. I loved the color, especially the bright pink accents - and I still looked quite shapely in it, especially from behind. "It should - it fits you perfectly!" she announced with obvious pleasure. "Marcia's a little too big for it now, I'm afraid. The waist is too small for her, and you can't let it out." I'd already noticed what she was talking about. The waist was indeed on the small side, but the rest of the suit didn't have much room to spare, either. I guessed it was meant for girls who didn't care to look like the Michelin Man as they carved their way down the slopes. The thing that struck me was how well the suit accentuated my shape - I still looked like I had a real female body! Mrs. M seemed to think so too. "You have such a perfect figure, dear," she gushed. "I'm so pleased it fits - it wasn't exactly the cheapest one in the shop. The insulation is thin but it's amazingly warm. Marcia has expensive tastes, I'm afraid." I'd already figured that one out before. "Uh, do you think she'll mind that I'm using it?" Mrs. M shook her head and laughed. "Oh no, not at all. She's already bought herself a new outfit. But she only wore this one two or three times. Frankly, I think it was a bit too girly for her tastes anyway. I think it suits you a lot better, so you're welcome to keep it - if you like it, that is." "Oh, Mrs. McCowan, I love it - but I couldn't ... unless I can pay her for it." "Nonsense, girl - she didn't buy it, we did. And we'd be very pleased if you could make use of it." "That's incredibly generous of you, Ma'am. But you're already doing so much for me ..." "Not another word, Sandra. My mind's made up. Now let's see how these boots fit you ... we've done pretty well so far. But first we should get you out of that suit before you boil over." She was right - it WAS getting kind of toasty in there. I removed the ski suit and then she handed me a pair of thin pink ski socks, directing me to sit on a chair. I slipped the socks on and proceeded to try squeezing into one of the boots, which were also pink and white and had the name 'Nordica' on the sides. I'd never worn ski boots before (but you already knew that!) and had no luck at all figuring out how to get my feet in. Phil immediately knelt in front of me to help. "It's okay, sis," he laughed, "I've done this once or twice." He proceeded to pull the tongue out as far as possible and spread the sides of the boots enough to just allow my foot to slip in. Since I was seated, I had to point my toes as far down as possible - still not as straight as I wanted but practicing was definitely paying dividends. Then he repeated the process with the other one, and proceeded to fasten the buckles on both. When he finished I stood up, feeling all at once very awkward because of my massive new footwear, and also self-conscious because my brother seemed to be paying more attention to my curves than my boots. "How do they feel?" asked Mrs. M. "Uh, pretty snug," I replied, not being entirely sure how ski boots were supposed to feel. "Do your toes touch the end?" asked Phil. "You need to have some room in the toe box. Try leaning forward - yeah, put some pressure on your shins. That should make a little more room for your toes." I did as he suggested and he was right - they didn't feel scrunched anymore. But I still thought, 'This is what concrete shoes must feel like.' There was no room to spare at all. "I THINK they're okay, Ma'am," I said. "It's kind of hard to tell." She smiled and said, "You'll find out as soon as you get on the hill, dear. And if they're not comfortable enough we can rent you a different pair." I nodded and looked at my reflection in the mirror again. 'But I LIKE these ones,' I thought. 'They're such a pretty color, and they go with my suit ...' That was classic me! More concerned with what I looked like than whether something I wore was even functional. But I had no such issues with the suit, or even the polypropylene underwear - they not only looked spectacular on me, they also fit me like a comfy pair of gloves. I was actually beginning to look forward to my ski holiday with the McCowans - I might not be the best skier on the mountain but I could be one of the best-looking! Mrs. M wasn't finished with me yet - she also scrounged up a matching pair of ski mitts and a cute patterned toque with a huge white ball on top, and even a pair of ski goggles. They seemed to have several extra of just about everything! But not skis. "We're going to rent you skis and poles at the hill," she explained. "Dad says they have some newer designs now that make it a lot easier to learn. And it'll be less stuff for us to take on the plane." I nodded and said, "That sounds okay, but please let me pay ..." Just then it dawned on me that she'd said 'Dad' and not Mr. McCowan - Oh my God, was she already thinking of me as her daughter-in-law? "Oh no, dear - remember, it's entirely our treat. It'll be our Christmas gift to you. No arguments, please." 'Some Christmas gift,' I thought. 'It's more like a wedding gift. This whole thing's going way over the top.' But I just nodded and kept my mouth shut. Mrs. M found a spare duffel bag and packed my new items into it while I changed out of the long underwear. Then she led the way back upstairs, with my brother next in line. "You have a lovely sister, Philip," she told him as we were putting our coats on. "I hope you always look out for her - she's a very precious girl, you know." Phil nodded and, glancing at me, replied, "Uh ... yeah, I do know." I hoped he'd taken that the right way! Then I thought, 'Where have I heard those words before? Oh yeah - Julia's mom, first time I met her ... and Sharon, telling Mark I was precious.' Of course, it thrilled me to death that anyone would think I was lovely and precious, and say so, because it made me feel so wonderfully feminine! But it must have been very awkward for my big brother to hear the same things about me. At least he didn't respond like Julia did that time, and tell Mrs. M she was mistaken and I was really a boy! On the drive back home Phil was quiet for the first few minutes. Then he opened up. "Uh, don't take this the wrong way, Sandy, but you kinda blew me away back there." Of course I knew what he was getting at but asked anyway, "What d'you mean?" "I mean you don't look much like my brother anymore ..." Phil didn't know a lot more than Mark about what was going on with me, but he Mom HAD told him about my 'condition' - and my treatments. "I hope you're still okay with everything," I said, a little nervously. "Don't have much choice, do I?" he chuckled. "My friends are the only trouble I'm having." "Your friends?" I asked in surprise. "How would they know? What are they saying?" I didn't get it - all Phil's buddies would've graduated at the same time as him, long before I ever showed up at school in drag. "You've been big news lately, Sandy," he explained. "You know Dave Morris? His little sister's in some of your classes. She's been all excited about your big transformation - can't stop talking about it at the dinner table, I guess. And Dave ends up telling Rick, and Rick tells Chris, and Pete, and before you know it everyone's asking me how I feel about it, like I've got something to do with it." Three things crossed my mind while Phil was talking: first, I hoped the 'big news' was confined to Phil's acquaintances; second, Susie Morris was the world's nosiest person; and third, my brother's friends were terrible gossips. And I thought women were supposed to be like that! "I'm sorry - I didn't know this was happening ..." He laughed, "You got nothing to feel sorry about. Nothin' I can't handle. You might be a little different, but you're still my brother ... uh, I mean sister. No worries!" I reached over and squeezed his arm. "Thanks, big brother. You're the best." I said that even without thinking, but I knew it was true, in spite of all the negative stuff I've told you about him. And over the next few years, Phil would prove it over and over again. ***** Christmas was typically wonderful. All three of us helped with the decorations and Mom and I did our usual baking blizzard. We opened some gifts with Natalie on Christmas eve and the rest the next morning, as was our tradition, and I was pleased to receive some very nice winter accessories like gloves, scarf and hat, and gift certificates to my favorite stores like Macy's and The Gap. Much as I liked unwrapping real gifts, I had to admit that gift certificates were perfect for where I was at in life. My family totally knew how fussy I was about my clothes! We had a nice quiet Christmas dinner, just the three of us, but on Boxing Day Phil was invited to his girlfriend's for dinner and Mom and I headed over to my boyfriend's. Mrs. McCowan had previously called and invited us all for Christmas dinner, but Mom declined, saying it was our family's custom to spend the whole day together. So the parents settled on the following day, even though Phil wouldn't be available, and Marci wouldn't be around either. It would have to be an early meal, since we'd be leaving for the airport the next morning. As for me, I was both excited and apprehensive to have my mother along - what if she slipped and said something incriminating? Then I'd have to kill myself and I wouldn't get to go skiing, would I? But it was all good - well, mostly. Mom and I wore our nicest Christmas outfits: she in a very pretty, tailored red and white dress with a creamy- white cardigan on top and and me in a black knee-length knit skirt with black tights, and a red scoop-necked fitted sweater with mid-length sleeves. We both made sure our hair was perfect, our nails matched the red in our outfits, and we wore our best jewelry. It was always such fun getting dressed up with Mom! Of course Mrs. McCowan had to gush all over us as we removed our winter coats and boots - I was almost getting used to her compliments. "Oh, you two ladies look so perfect - you could be sisters! I see where you get your taste in clothes, Sandra." "Thank you, Elizabeth - but I'm sure Sandra developed that all on her own without any help from me ..." "Oh Mom, you know that's not true," I giggled, putting my arm around her. "She's totally my role model, Mrs. McCowan. I've always loved her sense of style." "What a nice thing to say about your mother!" she exclaimed. Then she whispered, "I think you should spend some time with Marcia, dear - maybe something will rub off ..." Mark's dad appeared just then and greeted us, explaining that Mark was upstairs showering. We were ushered into the big living room and offered Christmas goodies and something to drink. I'd caught sight of their huge Christmas tree a few days earlier when I came with Phil, but now I could appreciate it in its full glory. It must have been eight feet tall and it was real - unlike our short fake one we'd been using since I was small. I'd brought along a bag with gifts for the McCowan family, and after the expected 'You shouldn't have' protests I was allowed to arrange them under the tree, where I couldn't help but notice three still-unopened gifts of their own. While I was doing that, Megan appeared. "SANDY!" she almost screamed as she rushed over to give me a big hug. "Merry Christmas, Megan," I said, hugging her back. She wouldn't let go until her mom told her to say hello to my mom. "Megan thinks of your daughter as her 'other' big sister," she explained to Mom. I looked at Mom's face to see how she took that and she just gave me an amused smile. "Sandy, c'mon up to my room and I'll show you what I got for Christmas!" Megan chirped excitedly. I didn't think I could say no, but Mrs. McCowan came close. "Megan? Remember, Sandra and her mother are here to visit with ALL of us. Please don't monopolize her." "I won't, Mom, I promise," she said as she took me by the hand and dragged me away. I'll give you one guess what Megan got for Christmas. Right! More Barbie stuff. Apparently her wish list included mostly accessories like clothes and furniture, but she also received a new ski-bunny Barbie who was decked out in a pink-and-white ski suit and came with a pair of realistic-looking white skis with boots and bindings that really worked. My first reaction was that I'd look just like this! "I love her!" I giggled as I examined all the doll's attributes. "Are you bringing her on the trip?" "Oh yeah - I've got a Barbie suitcase. It holds like ten Barbies and lots and lots of clothes and stuff." Images of non-stop playing dolls with Megan went through my mind. I wondered if I'd get any time with Mark! Speak of the devil - just then he appeared at the doorway and said, "Can I interrupt, Megan?" Without waiting for an answer we both embraced and kissed, right in front of her. "Merry Christmas," he said softly. "Same to you. Mmm, you're clean - you smell so good!" I told him. "And your face is nice and smooth." "Shaving does that. And how about you - if I'm not mistaken you're wearing my favorite perfume again." "My Christmas present to you," I said as I kissed his lips and his smooth face again. "Eeww - do you two have to be so mushy?" Megan complained. "Yeah, we do - and Mom wants us all downstairs now," Mark told his little sister. We all headed back down to the living room. When we got there Mom was showing Mr. and Mrs. McCowan some photos, and to my horror I realized they were of me! When I was little! Mrs. M looked up at me from one of them. "Aren't you ever so cute!" she exclaimed. I leaned over and saw myself as a two-or-three-year-old, wearing a pink party dress, white leggings, and a big wide smile on my face to complement my huge brown eyes. My hair, though not short, was barely long enough to suit the wide pink ribbon and bow tied high on the top. Phew - at least Mom had brought the RIGHT pictures of me. In no time everyone, me included, was checking out the images and making comments. Then Megan accidentally dropped one on the floor and as I leaned over to snatch it back up for her, I noticed 'Alexander - 3rd birthday' written in faded pencil on the back. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, and I clung to that shot like glue while looking around to see if I could make out anything written on the back of the other pictures people were inspecting. Trying to keep a lid on my emotions, but feeling my composure slipping, I did my best to get hold of each of the other photos. They all depicted me in different outfits, so they were taken at different times, and to my relief I didn't find any others with incriminating writing on them. But did Mr. or Mrs. McCowan see the back of the birthday one? I DEARLY hoped not. Another near-disaster averted, the rest of the afternoon and evening went pretty well. The two moms talked non-stop, mostly about family, food and stuff like house furnishings and d?cor - typical Ladies Home Journal topics, I thought with a smile. Megan and I talked about school, dance and theater, and I also spoke with the two men for a while about our upcoming ski trip, now just one day away. By the time dinner and dessert were over, I'd managed to put the earlier scare to the back of my mind. Then it was time for opening gifts! We went back to the living room and I ended up sitting on the sofa between Mom and Mark. My boyfriend immediately put his arm around my shoulder and I snuggled closer, hoping we weren't making his parents feel uncomfortable. As I'd suspected, the McCowans had bought gifts for Mom, me and Phil. Mom was given a very nice bracelet set and a matching pair of earrings, which we both spent a few minutes admiring, and I unwrapped a very pretty pink and white patterned turtleneck sweater, made of the softest, fuzziest lamb's wool I could ever imagine, and a sleek pair of black stretch stirrup-pants. I recognized the name on the gift box as an exclusive Scandinavian outdoor clothing store. "We thought you might like an apr?s-ski outfit," explained Mrs. McCowan. "Why don't you try the sweater on, dear? You can use the powder room to change." I happily obliged, and when I pulled the new turtleneck on, I couldn't believe how wonderful the material felt against my bare skin. I returned to my little audience to model the beautiful garment. "Oh, Mr. and Mrs. McCowan, this is incredible! I love how it feels - it's SO soft." I was stroking the beautiful material, and Mom and Mark couldn't resist touching it too. "But I thought you said the ski trip was the gift ..." Mr. M laughed and replied, "You needed something to open, and you can't giftwrap a trip, can you?" "But you already gave me a ski suit ..." "Sandra - THAT doesn't count," said Mrs. M in a way that signaled 'no discussion.' I couldn't believe that family - they were spending a ton on me and what had I done for them? Except lead them down the garden path? At that point I was wishing I'd spent my life savings on their gifts, which Mom was in the process of handing them. Megan opened hers first. "Oh, I got a book - it's all about modern dance," she said as she scanned through the coffee-table-sized volume. "This is so cool. Thank you so much, Sandy!" "You're very welcome, Megan. I hope you like it - it's about the history of the kinds of dance you do." Then Mark unwrapped a navy-blue men's travel toiletry case, which I'd custom-filled with useful things like extra shavers of the type he liked, a really nice men's conditioning shampoo I wanted him to try, a new toothbrush, floss and toothpaste, and the piece de resistance: a bottle of Hugo Boss men's cologne which, after sampling it in Dillard's, I was especially looking forward to enjoying on his body during things like, oh I don't know - maybe sex? Oh my God - did I just write that? "Sandy, are you trying to tell me something?" he chided me as he checked out each of the dozen or so items I'd pre-packed in the case. "Maybe she thinks you need to take better care of yourself, son," laughed Mr. McCowan. "Oh no, sir," I giggled. "Mark's the cleanest, tidiest guy I've ever met." I immediately thought of what he when we embraced and kissed earlier that afternoon. "I just thought he could use a little something extra on special occasions." Mark came to the cologne and was sniffing it. "THIS smells interesting," he said. "You have to put it on your skin, silly man," I laughed, taking the bottle from him and spritzing a little on his hand. "Now pat it on your cheeks and neck," I instructed. He did as I said and I put my face near his, excited to be able to experience Hugo Boss for real. "Mmm, it's totally wonderful on you, Mark." Mrs. M and Megan came over to check out Mark's new fragrance and they both thought it was nice too! I was extremely pleased with my choice. Next came Mr. and Mrs. McCowan's gifts. Mom and I had bought Mark's dad a set of three ties and his mom a three-scarf set. They seemed to like them, thankfully enough. We only visited for another half-hour before Mom and I thought it was time to excuse ourselves so the McCowans could finish getting ready for the trip. It was only about five o'clock but darkness had already fallen. Mrs. M walked Mom to the door and I was a few steps behind with Mark, still wearing my new turtleneck. I distinctly overheard his mom tell mine, "You have such a lovely daughter, Isabel. We all love her so much." Those words again! If there was any lingering doubt about how Mark's mom felt about me, that pretty much dispelled it. "So we'll see you at the airport at seven, right Sandy?" Mr. M asked. Then, to Mom, he said, "Are you sure you want to drive her? It's no trouble for us to pick her up." "Oh, thank you but I'd feel better taking her. I won't be seeing her for a week, you know." Mark gave me a hug and a kiss and said, "See you in the morning, beautiful." "You too, handsome. And you smell really nice, too." On the way home I dumped on Mom for bringing that picture of me with my real name on the back. You could say I was a bit steamed. "Mom, I can't believe you'd do that without checking," I complained. "I don't think my nerves can handle another scare like that." "Sandra, please calm down," she pleaded in reply. "You're over-reacting. No harm was done ... and I still honestly believe the McCowans would love you just as much if they knew the truth." "Not in a million years," I moaned. To be continued ....