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Late Bloomers By Rosie It's true what they say about dressing up - everything's more fun when you're in drag. The pile of dishes that had accumulated over the past days started seeming an easier task once I put on my mother's new suit. Correspondingly with the fashion changes, this outfit was different from her usual work clothes in the way that the knee length skirt wasn't straight but a full, even flouncy one. I'd been wearing that light golden brown skirt and blouse set all day. For doing the dishes, I put on my mp3 player and became quit engrossed in the work. No wonder I didn't notice my mother come home. I only saw her when she came to the kitchen. I froze, but what could I do? Run? Shriek? Cry? It was an extremely unpleasant situation, mind you. Lots of transvestites have been caught by their mothers, I suppose, but this usually happens when you're 13, 14 years old. Not 24 like I was, for Christ's sakes. Mother seemed pretty much unsurprised. "Put on an apron if you're wearing my clothes," she said, wrapping one around me and tying it at the back. "Make me a coffee when you're done," she added and went away. My hands were trembling and I was thinking shit-shit-shit-shit-shit-shit but there was no going back. When I was younger, I sort of expected to get caught sooner or later. However, as I got older, I also became increasingly careful (ironed clothes after I'd worn them and such) and I dressed up less and less often. I only did it when my mother would be away for a longer period of time, as should have been the case this time. She had come back early, though. Also, this was not really a good time to get in trouble with her. More trouble, to be exact, since I wasn't doing too good at the university and couldn't enroll in the next semester. I kept saying how I'd get a job, but didn't. Not that I didn't try, mind you, but I could have tried harder. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon," I said when I brought her the coffee. "Obviously," she said and sipped from her cup. I kept standing before her, not knowing exactly what to do. "Didn't you make any for yourself?" she asked. "Not really," I said, "There's some coffee left in the pot, though." "Well, pour yourself a cup and sit down." I came back moments later. Put the cup down on the coffee table so that both my hands were free to smooth the skirt along my thighs as I sat down. I realized what I was doing halfway through and blushed furiously. Mother sensed my embarrassment and smiled, but other than that made no comment. We drank the coffee, mother listing trough the mail, me nervously twisting my fingers. "Aren't you going to say something?" I finally asked. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I supposed to throw a screaming fit when I come home to find my son dressed in my clothes?" she said sarcastically, "Is this what you want me to do? Yell at you?" "No," I answered sheepishly, "But you know... You don't seem very surprised, that's all." "That's because I'm not," she replied matter-of-factly. "You knew?" I asked in disbelief. "Not really knew," she said, "Suspected, more like it." "Oh," I said, "Still..." "Look, I'm sorry if you're disappointed by my reaction, but I assumed you were shocked enough for one day," she said, "What do you want me to do, anyway? Say that I didn't buy this three hundred dollar set for you to splash dishwater on?" "I'm sorry, I had no idea it was this expensive," I apologized, not knowing really what to say. "It will come out," she shrugged, "You've been taking satisfactory care of the clothes, otherwise." "Oh, God," I sighed, "How can you tell?" "Nothing's ruined," she replied, "I mean, on the assumption you've been wearing them frequently." "Well, I..." I began. "You handle these heels really well," she pointed to her three inch pumps I was wearing. "Thanks," I said shyly. "It takes a lot of practice to learn that, so unless you've been doing it elsewhere, I can only assume you learnt it by wearing my shoes. Am I right?" "Well, yes," I admitted. "What I'm surprised about though, is that my shoes fit you so well," she said, "I'd have imagined they'd be too small or at least to narrow." "You're not exactly a dainty woman," I shrugged. That was true. Unlike me, my mother was quite a big woman. Not fat mind you, nor overly muscular, just strongly built. Broad constitution. She had the height to carry it though and looked very attractive. Me, on the other hand, had a slim built. And was two inches shorter than my mother. I suppose I took after my father, but since I'd never known him - and mother never mentioned him - it was only a guess. I tidied up the coffee cups and saucers then went back to the living room where mother was. "I guess I'll get changed into my clothes," I said. "No, I don't think so," she said. "Huh? What do you mean'" I asked. "What you're going to do," she continued, ignoring me, "Is to shave your legs." "What?" "What?" she said, "Did you happen how your hairy legs look under the nylons? I'm not very happy with that. Shave your underarms while you're at it." I stared blankly at her. I wasn't sure I liked where that was going. "Well? Need a written invitation?" she asked, "Use my foam and razors from the cabinet. Now get moving, please." Stepping out of the shower - hairless and smooth - I heard her knock on the door. "Just a minute," I said. "Don't worry, I'm not coming in," she replied, "I've put some clothes on your bed for you to put on. And rinse my lingerie and nylons that you've just worn, please." After rinsing out her panties, bra, slip and pantyhose, I went to my room and put on the clothes my mother had laid out for me. The lingerie was quite erotic - basically just a black lace teddy with lots of transparent lace insets, along with dot-patterned black pantyhose. I had always enjoyed the feel of nylon against my legs but with my skin hairless, the sensation was simply indescribable. For a brief moment I forgot about the shock and embarrassment of facing my mother and my skin became one unified erogenous zone that energetically responded to the soft caresses of my teddy and my nylons. Over the lingerie, I put on a dark red silk blouse, a grayish-blue pinstriped pencil skirt that just about covered my knees (though when my mother wore it the hemline was above her knees) and grey court shoes with a two inch heel. Putting the tight skirt on also felt much better than before, the cool rayon lining tantalizingly sliding against my nylon-clad skin. If I had not twisted my penis backwards between my legs inside my teddy, there would be a very unsightly bulge in my skirt. I was about to go back to the living room when I suddenly stopped in the bathroom. Nervously, I took out my mom's cosmetics, and then carefully applied a moderate coat of dark red lipstick. Next, I used mascara on my eyelashes and dark blue eye shadow. At first I wanted to do the eyeliner as well, but I decided not to. I knew from past experiences that I wasn't skilled enough in that area. I also skipped the blush as I had never seemed to do a decent job so far. I ran my fingers through my just-above-shoulder- length hair, but didn't quite know what to do with it. Recently, I had had - upon mother's insistence - my hair cut. I used to have pretty long hair however, I let it go unkempt which displeased my mother. She wanted me to get it cut short, but I didn't quite follow through and only had it cut to about shoulder length. This didn't go down too well in her books, but it was an improvement none the less. The reason I didn't have it cut shorter was that I was afraid I'd get mocked by my friends for cowing in to my mother. There were no dressing motives hidden in my disobedience as I never really knew what to do with my hair in that respect, even when it was longer. "I didn't know you also used makeup," my mother said when I came back to the living room. I shrugged and smiled shyly in reply. "Though you didn't wear it before, did you?" "I don't really use it very often," I said. "No offence, dear, but it shows," she replied, "But here, let me help you." She took a pack of moist tissues from her purse, took one out and wiped my face clean. Then she took out her compact and started reapplying my makeup, explaining to me what she was doing. When she was done she put a satin band in my hair. "You know, I wish I caught you before you cut your hair," she said. "Aren't you glad though I didn't have it cut completely?" I replied. Mother's face darkened and I instantly regretted saying it. "Listen," she said coolly, "Just because I'm letting you continue wearing my clothes doesn't mean I'm not severely disappointed in your accomplishments of the past months. But we'll talk about that later, let's get the pleasant things done first." She fussed with my hair for a minute more, then led me to the mirror we had in the hall. I could hardly believe the reflection - I looked like a girl. Except for some obvious differences - I had no breast and my hips weren't that well pronounced. Other than that, there was no sign of maleness in the image. Even the clothes fit me almost perfectly, although if you looked closely you could see that the blouse was a bit too big. All in all, I was very pleased with the outcome. Excitedly, I kissed my mother on the cheek and hugged her tightly. "Thanks, mummy," I whispered. "Okay, okay," she said. I noticed the mark my lips had left on her cheeks and smiled even more. After that we went to her bedroom. "I'll look out some of my older clothes for you to wear," she said. For the next half an hour or so it seemed that I was in heaven. My heart was beating like mad with excitement as mother handed me an outfit after an outfit that I took to my room and hung in my closet. At the end she gave me a few pairs of shoes and some lingerie. "I'll look out some more in the morning," she said, "Right now it's time we had a little talk about your near future." My excitement being replaced by unease, I sat down on her bed, my hand in my lap. "Like I said, you've disappointed me a lot lately, but I'm willing to call bygones bygones and put that behind," she began, "That doesn't mean I'm suddenly pleased with what you're doing, but I suppose it will be easier if we just focus on the future. Okay?" "Okay," I replied, feeling like a child that had just been yelled at. "First thing," she continued, "You will enroll at the next semester. You also will finish your studies in the shortest possible time, but let's focus on the more immediate future right now. Tomorrow you'll give me a list of all your obligations concerning the enrollment and we'll make a schedule how you'll accomplish them. Also, you'll be giving me progress reports regularly. I don't like resorting to that any more than you do but you've left me no choice. I won't press you to get a job, actually I would prefer if you just focused on the studies. Next, you will also take a bigger part in the housework. You will keep your room clean at all times, starting by making the bed in the morning. You'll take care of the clothes I've just given you - keep them clean and neatly ironed. Also, if you see anything that needs to be done, do it. Like the dishes, for example. Each night I expect the sink to be empty, except maybe for an occasional teacup or so. But we'll talk more about that tomorrow, okay?" "Okay," I quietly replied, starring at my lap. I felt like a little child, and humiliated because of that. I wasn't that far from crying. On the other hand, though, I was glad that she had taken control of my life once again. As it had been in the past, I knew that what needed to be done would get done. "One more thing," she added, "Since you obviously enjoy wearing women's clothes so much, you'll keep wearing them all the time until the next semester. We'll see how much you'll like it then." "What?" I asked in disbelief. "You heard me," she replied, "Starting now you'll be wearing the clothes I gave you. And all the rest that goes with it. Keeping you legs shaved and wearing makeup is the bare minimum, anything else is up to you. I'll help you with the cosmetics, but I expect you to learn to do the basics of makeup yourself. Oh, we'll also have to do something with your hair." "But I can't..." I tried to object. "Of course you can," she stopped me, "You're capable of much more that you think," she added, leaving me to question whether she was being earnest or sarcastic. "I'll let you wear your men's clothes to the college, when you're taking exams or meeting with your professors, but other than that, you'll dress like a lady," she said. "But... But..." I tried again. "Of course, I can't foresee everything, so if something comes up, we'll talk about it," she said, "If you think that there's a reason that you should wear men's clothes, like visiting the doctor or something like that, I'll allow it." I could not believe what was happening. On one hand, I certainly didn't look forward to not leaving the house for the next three months. On the other, the thought of being dressed all that time made my heart flutter with excitement once again. Moreover, I finally had someone to share my secret with, albeit only my mother. "However, there's one thing you should keep in mind," she went on, "If you ask me to let you wear men's clothes to do something and I decline, you'd better be ready to do it in women's." She paused for a second as I looked at her quizzically. "For instance, you want to go out drinking with your friends - supposing you'll have any time left for that - and you ask me to let you wear men's clothes for the occasion," she said, "I might say yes, depending on how pleased I'll be with your recent accomplishments. However, if I say no, you'll still go out with them in a dress and makeup, even if I have to drag you by your hand to the pub. Understood?" "Yes," I weakly nodded. "Good, I'm glad we had this little talk," my mother almost chirped, her tone changed completely, "I'll make myself a cup of tea. Want to join me?" "Sure," I said, relieved by the sudden change of her tone. We spent what was - for me at least - a very pleasant evening. In a way, our relationship had decisively changed - we talked more that evening than we did in the past two weeks combined. Also, we talked about things we never would before, discussing latest and past trends in fashion, etc, and my dressing habits. We talked about when Shyly, I even told her about which types of her lingerie I preferred. At bedtime, she sent me off to sleep with a selection of some of her older nightgowns. Although I woke up early the next morning - 9 am at it was Saturday, mother was already gone. I dressed myself in a knee length brown pencil skirt and a blouse of white silk with an autumn colored pattern. Slipped on a pair of white shoes with a fairly low heel, then went downstairs to the kitchen. Made myself some breakfast, then cleared up the table and washed the dishes. Almost went outside to check for mail but remembered just in time what I was wearing. Went back upstairs, washed my teeth and face, then applied some makeup. Made my bed then sat down at my desk and started working on the list of all exams and assignments I had to do in order to resume studying at the next semester. As I worked the list I became both horrified by how much work had really accumulated and glad that something was finally going to be done about it. After a while I heard my mother come in so I went down to greet her. She had just put two bags of groceries on the kitchen counter. "Hi," she said as we kissed, "Put these away, will you?" "Lots of food," I observed when I came out of the kitchen, my task finished. "Well, we can't live on love alone," she replied, "Hand me the phone, please." "Who are you calling?" I asked, passing her the receiver. "Lisa," she said. Lisa was my mother's younger sisters. They were four years apart and very close, closer than most sisters. Possibly because they shared similar fates, then again, that might have been the consequence of their closeness. They were both successful in their careers, Lisa was a lawyer while my mother was a manager of a travel agency. Neither of them had any luck with them. My father was with my mother just long enough to conceive me and then disappeared. A year or so later the same happened to Lisa. However, with joined forces they did a superb job of raising their children, we never lacked a thing. As for men - each of them became close with one now and then, but never close enough to bring home for more than an evening, let alone marry. "Hi, Lisa?" she said into the receiver, "It's me, Sarah. Yeah, I'm back already. No, no, everything was fine, it's just that I did what I planned early and I didn't feel like hanging around there. How are you doing? Really? Listen, you have any plans for today?" I began to realize what my mother was about to do. With silent pleading motions, I begged her to reconsider. As she listened to Lisa over the phone, she grabbed me by my hand and held me close to her. "Why don't you and Jenny come over for some lunch?" she said. I shook my head in horror and tried to break loose from her hold. Annoyed, she pulled me down on her lap and placed a finger across my lips. The message was sufficiently clear that I stopped making verbal on non-verbal protests. "What? Oh, no, no, nothing, that's just Roger being a smart guy, but it's taken care of. So around two o'clock, like usual. Okay. See you then, bye." There was a moment of silence after she hung up. Still in her lap, I was plucking courage for facing the reply to my next question. "I don't suppose I can wear men's clothes for the occasion?" I asked finally. "Of course not," she replied. For a moment it seemed I could handle it. For a moment it seemed that appearing before Lisa and Jenny in my new image was going to be not only an endurable but actually a pleasant experience. The moment soon ended and I cracked. "Please, mom, I can't be seen like this," I begged. "You should have thought of that before you started wearing my clothes in the first place," she said. Although I didn't say anything she could easily guess what my worries were. "Oh, Jenny will just love seeing you all dressed up like that," she teased me. Silently, I tried to keep my composure. For a few minutes I seemed to be doing fine, then I started crying softly. Mother gently pulled my head down on her shoulders. Jenny was my cousin, Aunt Lisa's daughter. We hadn't been in close contact lately, but we had had a close, if not always pleasant relationship in the past. Just as our mothers shared the burden of raising a child without a father, we shared the discomfort of our gender roles. Although she was almost two years younger, she had virtually always been stronger than me. In early childhood I of course had my advantage to her solely because of the age difference, but she kept catching up more and more each year. When she was about six years old it was obvious that not only she could beat me in most physical contest, but also overpower me when push cam to shove. This was a shock to both of us. My embarrassment was clear - I was beaten by a girl, and a younger one at that. As for Jenny - on one hand she enjoyed the turnabout, but on another, I was a role model for her up to that point. Realizing that her cousin was physically inferior to a girl most have been just as shattering as it was for me or even more. She had her own way of coming to terms with the new power balance, I suppose. She kept picking on me, demonstrating her physical dominance over me whenever it was possible, especially when she had audience. Our mothers kept her out of my hair when she got too rough, but I still had to endure her verbal teasing. When she called me a girl or a sissy, the responses would never be anything more severe than a mild 'Be nice to your cousin, Jenny.' Her physical dominance became even more apparent when she had overgrown me. Although by that time I had long been entertaining thoughts of dressing up in women's clothes and being bossed around by members of the gentler sex (in other words being a sissy), I never admitted that to Jenny, even fought her fiercely, albeit in vain. It seemed that as much as she enjoyed her power over me, she was also disappointed by me as a boy and if I just meekly gave in, the ensuing humiliation would be worse than if she had to force me in submission. It made sense, in a way. She was a big girl, bigger than most of her peers and also some of mine. It was natural that I'd lose against her, but by putting up a fight, I retained at least a little respect that I wouldn't have otherwise. Also in the eyes of my friends - some of them mocked me, but none was willing to take her on. However, in time we both had to accept the obvious. With her being the dominant by default, our relationship became a much more peaceful and enjoyable one. Sure, she still picked on me from time to time and pinned me down, but not nearly as much as before. None of us was embarrassed when she protected me from the bullies on the playground either. As we entered puberty, and late became young adults, the physical strength lost its value as the argument of power, but our relationship remained basically the same, albeit less pronounced. Even though strength wasn't of that much importance, she - unlike me - did lots of sports and had the physique to show for it. Even more so when I, to her great annoyance, finished my growth a good inch taller than her. She had stronger built, though, her shoulders were broader than mine. She liked to flex her muscles for me and having me do the same, to show how inappropriately our genders were distributed. Quite true. By that time I had already been dressing up secretly in my mother's clothes while she, at least outwardly, showed no real interest in being a girl. In her childhood she did wear dresses and such, but that was a choice of her mothers. Once she had began making her own choices, her clothes were at best unisex, if not down right men's. Her hair wasn't a boy's cut but that doesn't mean it was feminine. For formal occasions, such as the graduation ceremony at her high school, she put on a ladies' pantsuit and let her mother touch her face up a little with some cosmetics - very conservative - but was clearly uncomfortable like that. It seemed that she didn't know how to act like a girl, which although at first didn't even concern her, became quite a handicap and a source of embarrassment for her in her later teens. Beside the fact that it began to bother her, it also angered me. Here she was, a girl, with the birthright to wear all the pretty clothes that I felt guilty for even thinking about, let alone wearing, yet she wouldn't touch a damn thing! However, unlike her, I couldn't openly express my anger - that would also mean admitting my proclivities. I imagined that after she'd have seen me dressed up, I would fall to an even lower rank in her eyes. Maybe she'd be angry she wasn't the one to catch me, or the one to make me dress like that. Maybe she'd be angry at me for allowing the last vestiges of my masculinity slip away. Either way, I feared she'd start treating me like dirt again. After a while I stopped crying and got off my mother's lap. She wiped the black tear marks from my face and helped me repaint my eyelashes with mascara. "What's for lunch?" I asked, my voice steady again. "Whatever you're making, the kitchen's yours," she replied. "Okay, then," I said and went to the kitchen. From the cupboard I pulled out an apron and wrapped it around my waist. For a few moments I thought about what I'd make, then got to work. I kept myself busy for about two hours until everything save the last phase of the cooking was done. "Got a minute?" mom asked. "Yeah, why?" I replied. "To change," she answered, "I don't really want my sister to see you wearing my clothes, at least not today." "I thought you say I wasn't allowed to do that," I said surprised. "I said you couldn't wear men's clothes," mother said. "I'm not sure I'm following you here," I said. "You don't have to," she replied, "Just take this bag and put on what's in it." In my room I emptied the contents of the bag on my bed. Up to that moment I hoped that there would be male clothes in it after all. Although the grey (suit-like) dress buried that hopes, I wasn't exactly disappointed when I unfolded it and held it against my body to see what it was like. Next I took out a simple cotton blouse, colored in a very pale shade of pink (almost seemed white), and then white lingerie and white nylon stockings. White pumps with a three inch heel. There was one package left in which I found a pair of rubber foam falsies. I took off my mother's clothes and got dressed in mine. The lingerie was again not the type one would expect to get from their mother. It was made of shiny white satin with lots of lace around the edges. Furthermore, along with the full-cut panties, bra and camisole, there was also a suspender belt included. First I put on the bra, and fitted the fake breasts in. Next I put on the suspender belt, rolled up my stockings. As I attached them to the tabs I noticed my fingers were trembling with excitement. The rest of the lingerie followed, then the blouse and finally the dress and the shoes. Very pleased with the results, I went back to the living room. My mother had changed too, out of her jeans and cotton shirt into a silk dark green blouse and skirt set, similar to the one I'd worn the day before. The skirt was longer and the bubble hem wasn't that pronounced. "Thanks for the dress, mom," I said, "I love it." "I'm glad, honey," she said, not really paying that much attention to the dress, "Do the falsies fit?" "Just fine, I suppose," I replied. "They were all I could find at this time," she said, "I'll get you some proper silicone breast forms in the near future." I shuddered as the thought of appearing in public as a woman re-emerged. Not for long, however. "But mom?" I said. "Yes?" "Stockings and suspenders?" I asked shyly. "You did say you always wanted to wear them, didn't you?" she replied, "Besides, you have a point, they do feel better than pantyhose." "Huh?" "Here, look," she said, smiling, and pulled the hem of her skirt until she revealed her stocking tops and black suspenders attached to them. For a moment she held it in that position, then let it fall down around her legs. We giggled like crazy while she rearranged the hem by shaking out her skirts, making seducing rustling noises as she did so. Giggling soon gave way to increasing anxiety as I waited for our guests to arrive. When they finally came, mother opened the door while I stood by not far behind her. "Dressed up, are we?" I heard my aunt say to my mother who was covering me from my aunt's view. "Well, I didn't want to fall behind," mom replied and stepped back. Although relieved, I was also partly disappointed by the lack of reaction I feared. "My, my," she said, kissing me on the cheeks, "You've grown." Lisa was shorter than my mother, about my height, but as she often wore heels, we got used to her being the taller one. "You're dressed up yourself," I shyly commented. As usual, her appearance was immaculate. She wore a dark red skirt suit with a black silk blouse. It struck me that for the first time we were equally tall even when she was dressed in something else than leisure clothes. "I had to pop in at the office," she said, "So what's your excuse?" I blushed and adverted my eyes. "I'm just kidding," she whispered into my ear, patting my ass, "You're looking great, honey." Jenny was less talkative than her mother. "Hello, Roger," she said, mockingly emphasizing my name - the only male thing left about me. I shuddered inside my tight dress, awaiting further humiliations. In the past she'd make no bones about loudly pointing out my inadequacy as a man. However, in the past months, I suppose, she became increasingly awkward because of her appearance and thus more pulled back, reserved. As if to attract as little attention as possible. On the other hand it seemed to me that she was starting to actually look more and more like a girl. Not that she was wearing a dress - she still was in her jeans and sweater. But there were other, smaller things. She had let her hair grow out, for instance. It wasn't a decisively girl's cut, but a definite step forward from her usual genderless mop. Thus it was that our mothers did most of the talking. The lunch was just about ready to be served which - to my relief - kept me in the kitchen, but I had to admit that even out of the kitchen, it was nowhere as awkward as I expected it to be. If anything, I was even disappointed that the fact I was wearing a dress wasn't the topic of the conversation. What's more, it wasn't even mentioned. They all behaved as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Well, at least mother and Lisa did. As I came and went (my heels clicking announcements of my presence) they were engrossed in their conversation while Jenny sat by mostly silently, getting only a word in every now and then. Unlike her mother or mine, she kept starring at me each time I came in her sight. At first her gaze made me feel uncomfortable and avoided making eye contact with her. However, as I served the food I gradually realized that her gaze wasn't one of mocking but of admiration. She could hardly keep her wide open eyes off me. Like she had looked at me when we were little kids, I realized, when she still used to look up to me. After lunch I put on my apron again and washed the dishes while everyone helped to clear off the table. When I was finished the scene in the living room was about the same as before lunch - mom and Lisa talking to each other with Jenny sitting idly by. "Honey, why don't you take Jenny to you room?" my mother asked, "Otherwise she'll die of boredom, listening to old women chattering like that." "Sure," I said, then turned to Jenny, "Let's go." Despite her changed attitude towards me, I was wary of being alone with her. She did seem harmless with my and her mother present, but I still feared what she'd do to me with them away. Still, I thought, the sooner we get it over with the better. I couldn't have been more wrong. "Guess I was wrong about you," she said as I closed the door behind us. "You always called me a sissy and a girl," I said bitterly, "Why are you so surprised now?" "Yeah, but to actually dress up like one," she replied, "That takes guts." I almost confessed to her that mother had forced me to wear the dress, but stopped just in time. I figured it was better to have her think I was dressed the way I was on my own will. In a way, it was true, after all. I shrugged. "What would you know about it, anyway?" I asked vengefully, "It's not like you've ever tried to look like a girl yourself." "Hey!" she said. I twitched - for a second I though she was going to hit me. "But you're right, that's pretty much what I meant," she said in a calmer tone, "I feel like I'd die of embarrassment if I put on a dress, and I'm a girl. You on the other hand, I mean, you never were exactly macho, but you're a boy none the less, and then you put on a dress and heels and makeup like it's nothing... Think what you want, it's more than I could do." I took me a moment to process what she had just said. For the first time in god knows how long, I actually got a compliment from her. "Wow. Thanks," I said quietly, "Look, I'm sorry I was mean to you just now." "It's okay, I guess I deserved it," she said, just as subdued, "I'm sorry I was mean to you all that time." I shrugged. I did want to say it was okay, but in reality I felt a quick apology, no matter how heartfelt, wasn't enough to redeem her. We shared an awkward moment of silence, avoiding each other's gazes. Jenny spoke up first. "This is a little embarrassing," she said, "But are you also wearing women's underwear?" "Yeah, of course," I replied, "What else?" "Can I see?" she shyly asked. "I don't think so," I smiled. "Oh, come on," she persisted. "Uh-uh," replied, then thought of something, "Though I can show you something. Here, check this out." I started slowly hiking up the narrow hem of my dress. Jenny smiled expectantly, it seemed to me that her eyes reflected the gleam of the dress's lining that I revealed. I stopped raising my hem when I uncovered the tops of my stockings and an inch of the garter straps. All of the sudden her expression changed. Her gaze was fixed on my garters, her mouth opened just slightly. She swallowed hard. "Can I touch them?" she almost whispered. "Okay," I said, "Just don't get carried away." Silently, she moved closer towards me and carefully probed the tight nylon layer around my skin, the tabs of the garter, the lace edges. "I didn't think women still wore these," she said after a while. "They're my only pair," I answered, "Otherwise I only have pantyhose." Some time passed before either of us realized what she had said moments ago. "Oh god, I'm sorry, I didn't mean 'women' like that, I meant, I... I..." she started awkwardly apologizing. "It's alright," I said, not wishing to go into that discussion. "Hey," I decided to change the subject, "Look." I stood up and pulled my dress all the way to my waist, revealing my panties. I held them on display for a second or so, then quickly pulled the hem of my dress back down. Giggling, I sat back down. "You're so pretty," she said, almost moaned. "Thanks," I said, feeling myself blushing. "Do you have a girl name?" she asked. "What?" "A girl name," she repeated, "Or do you have people call you 'Roger' when you're dressed like a girl too?" "Oh, that," I said, "Actually, I haven't been out like that, so..." "Can I choose it for you?" she asked, "Please?" "Okay," I shrugged. "How about Angela?" she said. "Angela..." I repeated, trying out what seemed would be my name for the next few months. As I thought about that prospect, a fiendish idea sneaked into my brain. Suddenly, I felt I could pay Jenny back for her mistreatment, at least a little. "You know, you could make a pretty girl, too. I mean, not that you're not pretty now, just that, I mean..." I stuttered, trying to make my awkwardness sound genuine. "Don't worry," she said, smiling at my apologies. She paused for a second. "You really mean that?" she asked. "Sure," I said, "I mean, you look good, you have an attractive figure... If we put that ass of yours in a cute skirt, you'll be a real knockout." I could see her mulling over the idea. Before she could change her mind, I jumped to my closet, opened it. "Let's find you something," I said, rummaging through the clothes my mother had given me. "Just don't make it too feminine," she said. "Don't worry, these are practically men's clothes," I replied. Jenny awkwardly came up behind me. "You have pretty clothes," she said. "Actually, they're my mothers," I replied. "Oh," she said. Afraid not to loose her already weak enthusiasm, I quickly selected an outfit. A tight knee length pink skirt that flared out just above the knees and a white silk blouse with a ruffled bodice. "Come on, I can't wear that," she said when I showed her what I had chosen for her. "Jenny, please," I said, plucking at my dress, "You're talking to a guy in a dress here. You damn sure can wear that, and will too." "Okay," she said quietly. It amused me to see her so subdued all of the sudden. "Well, go on then. What are you waiting for?" She stood motionless for a few seconds. I waved my hand as to tell her to speed up, then she started taking off her clothes. She really did look good. Nice, shapely legs, a flat tummy, firm breasts, maybe a bit too broad shoulders, but they corresponded well with her muscular physique. The only thing that spoiled that image was her underwear. Drab, almost shapeless bra and a boring pair of panties. "Hold on," I said, "You need proper undies as well." "What?" she asked, "Come on, Rog... I mean, Angela." "Hey, you want to do this properly or not at all?" I replied, already having found what I was looking for. I gave her a set of pink satin lingerie, panties, bra and slip, all delicately ornamented with white lace, and a pair of shiny white pantyhose. She stood before me in her underwear, looking at the frilly pair of panties in her hand. "Maybe I should go to the bathroom..." she said. "Like hell you should," I replied, "You've seen mine more than enough times, don't you think it's time you showed me yours." I was referring how she used to, sometimes, after manhandling me onto the ground, pull down my pants and reveal my privates. Reminding her of that, I suppose, aroused her guilty feelings and she sheepishly took off her panties, replaced her with the pink ones. After she had put on the new bra as well, she started putting on the pantyhose. Or rather pulling it on, as she just stuck her foot into the top and tugged at the waistband. "No, no, don't do it like that, you'll ruin them," I stopped her, "Look, you have to bunch them up on your fingers like that, then just roll them up your leg. Much easier." "Oh, thanks," she said shyly as rolled the pantyhose up her one leg, then let her do the other. Next was the slip, then I helped her with the blouse and skirt. Although the sleeves were a tad long for her, my mother's blouse fit her much better than me, since Jenny's shoulders were about as broad as my mothers. The skirt really did wonders for her posterior, unlike her bulky jeans, it tightly clung to her every curve and invitingly displayed her firm, round buttocks. "Let's find you some shoes," I said. It turned out that her feet were a size or two smaller than mine or my mother's, but I found a pair of sandals that I could strap tightly at her ankles and that held her feel in place to a certain extent. "See if you can walk in them," I said. Although the heels weren't very high, at least not by my standards, not even two inches, she almost fell down at her first step. She got the hang of it after a while. Not perfect, but enough to keep her on her feet. "The boys will be all over you," I said. "You really think so?" she asked. "Sure. Especially once we get some makeup on you," said, leading her to my chair. "I'll just be a minute," I said, then went to the bathroom. Came back with a handful of cosmetics. "Are the boys all over you?" she asked shyly. "What?" I replied, "No, no. I mean... I don't know..." "I'm sorry, it's just that, you know," she apologized, "I thought since you dress like that, you were into... I mean, you were..." "Gay?" I asked. She nodded. "No!" I said forcefully, "I like girls." "Okay," she said, "And how do the girls like you... like that?" I shrugged. "I've never really been with one dressed up like this... I don't know. I guess this will be a problem," I said, then wanting to change the subject, asked "What about you?" "What about me what?" she asked. "Well, do you like boys or girls?" "Boys," she said, "But I've never really been with one." "Don't worry, that will soon change," I said, applying makeup to her face. Having her open up to me like that almost made me sorry for what I was doing to her, but I subdued my pangs of guilt by remembering her mistreating in the past. It wasn't long until I was done. I took a few steps back. "Stand up, let me have a look at you," I said. Truthfully, I made her look better than I had intended. The clothes fit her almost perfectly, the blouse discretely revealing the lace details of her lingerie, the skirt pronouncing her lithe figure. It was only the, albeit slightly, oversized shoes and the makeup that worked for the look I was trying for - the little girl who dresses up in her mother's clothes. With a scarlet satin ribbon in her hair and a thick, a little smudged coat of bright red lipstick, two obscene red circles of rouge on her cheeks, she looked exactly like I wanted her to. "Well, let's show you to the world," I said, grabbing her by the arm, making sure we didn't stop by any mirrors. "Ladies, allow me to present you the new Jenny Whitehead," I announced, leading Jenny into the living room. As Jenny made her unsure steps towards them, mother and Lisa did all they could not to laugh. It wasn't enough and after a few stifled giggles, they were openly roaring with laughter. Shamefaced, Jenny looked at me and caught a glance of her in the mirror behind me. I couldn't help but flash her a satisfactory grin of revenge. "Oh my, Sarah," Lisa said after finally having calmed down, "Looks like the bug is spreading." "Yeah," mom replied, "I guess we'd better take our children to the store, before we're all out of clothes ourselves." "To the store, the hairdresser, the beauty salon..." Lisa said. "You know," mom began as we were getting in Lisa's car, "I've heard of late bloomers. But this is just ridiculous." The End.