My Wonderful Obsession 32 free porn video

My Wonderful Obsession Part 32: Shopping Adventures I know what you're thinking - that Sandra girl's SUCH a flake, isn't she? One minute she's pledging eternal love and commitment to her steady boyfriend, and the next she's coming on to the first good-looking guy that crosses her path. Then, when her whole world caves in, due to her own recklessness and naivet? no less, she decides her life is over and plays the victim card. But only until someone dangles another carrot in front of her, then off she goes on a new tangent. Okay, I plead guilty as charged. But give me a break - like, I was only seventeen! How many girls have YOU met who could make all the right life decisions at that age? Sure, I know - I wasn't really a girl at all, so why am I lumping myself in with that fifty percent of the population? Easy - because by the time I was seventeen I'd spent so much time immersing myself in female culture, from the clothes and makeup I bought, to the magazines I read at the salon, to the girls I worked with (and partied with!), that I truly believe I was thinking, acting and reacting much like any normal teenage girl would. Add to that my obsession with experiencing all things female and the powerful hormones I had in my bloodstream, and you have a recipe for one completely screwed up teenage male who could be very self-destructive when it came to his closest relationships. But like I said, I was acting just like a teenage girl. And young girls always do things they know aren't good for them - like me sabotaging my relationship with Mark and his family, or Kath having unprotected sex when she of all people should have known better. I still wonder how much of that behavior comes out of a subconscious desire to rebel, or maybe to escape from a difficult situation. In Kath's case, her home life with overly controlling parents; in mine, the dead-end I imagined myself coming to with Mark's family. And another thing: why was I so ready to cleave to guys I barely knew? Dr. Westerman suggested it was because I never really had a father figure in my life. That made a lot of sense to me - I'd heard about all kinds of girls whose fathers had split when they were little, and often my kind of behavior was the unhappy result. At least I had the good sense, or maybe good fortune, to pick men who treated me well. That couldn't be said for a great many girls who grew up without fathers. For that I credit my wonderful Mom, who instilled in me enough of a work ethic, and the self- confidence that comes from it, with keeping me from doing anything truly idiotic. ***** Speaking of clothes (one of my fave subjects!), there were two fun and exciting shopping outings in my immediate future. The first was way overdue - replacing my collection of bras with ones that would actually fit. At my last appointment with Dr. Cooper, she informed me that I'd added a whole extra inch and a half to my bust line since she put me on hormones - and it was all in the breasts, thanks to the progestin I was taking. 'How exciting!' I thought, and for a brief moment those injections seemed worth all the trouble and pain. That night when I got undressed for bed, I'd admired my nude profile in the tall mirror and felt quite pleased at how my body was developing. Except for that annoying thing sticking out between my legs, which I could hide from view by rotating my hips slightly, I definitely had the exact shape of a young woman. My boobs looked so perfect - nice and perky and my nipples were getting bigger too! So I was really looking forward to seeing myself in new, well-fitting underthings. And I'd already decided I'd only buy the prettiest ones I could find. Mom drove us to the lingerie shop one afternoon when I didn't have Kate rehearsals after school. I'd elected to stick with my school jeans and wear one of my snug-fitting scoop-necked pink tank-tops, and take a couple of my favorite tops and dresses along in a shopping bag so I could see how they looked with the new bras. I also tossed in the gel inserts I'd bought the year before. Before leaving I made sure my hair, face and nails were in perfect shape - this would be one of those rare times when my body would be under an older, experienced woman's close scrutiny, so I didn't want to give the slightest hint of my true gender. Mom had called ahead for an appointment, and when we arrived Marianne greeted us and offered us each a cup of herbal tea, which we gratefully accepted. I don't remember noticing the previous time we were there, what with all the weirdness in my life then, but this time I was in a frame of mind where I could appreciate the shop's d?cor. The place had an ultra- feminine feel and there was a very pretty, spicy-floral fragrance in the air. There were several other customers and two or three other sales staff, but not a male within miles, unless you feel like counting me. "I think I remember you, Sandra," Marianne said to me. "You and your mom were here last spring shopping for a bra to wear with an Indian princess costume, weren't you?" "Yes, that was me," I replied, feeling pleased that I'd made an impression. I dug into my bag for the inserts. "You sold me these too - they worked great and I've used them a lot since then." "I'm glad," she smiled. "A lot of my clients swear by them. Most dresses and tops don't drape your body properly if you don't have a little extra going for you up front. But your mother told me you're still growing, and it's time to get fitted again - is that right?" "Uh-huh," I replied. "None of my bras fit me anymore. The ones I use with the inserts don't either. Oh, and my Mom needs some new bras too - right, Mom?" I wanted to make sure she didn't miss out on the fun! She opened her mouth, probably to disagree I thought, but Marianne spoke first. "Well, I'll be more than glad to help, Sandra. But you know, honey, we don't get too many young women coming here for fittings." I looked back at Mom and she had a wry smile on her face. "My daughter happens to be very spoiled - she prefers to shop where the other girls don't ..." "MOM!" I giggled, putting on my best frown. "I'm not spoiled ..." "You aren't? And just how much do you spend on makeup, and clothes - and the salon?" She had a point there. Maybe I WAS spoiled - but I liked it that way, and I sure didn't feel any great need to change. So I just shrugged as if to say, 'Guilty as charged.' "I'm sure she just has high standards for herself - that's all!" Marianne laughed as she gestured for us to follow her, so I didn't feel the need to reply to Mom's question. "So, ladies, why don't we all go back to the fitting area and we'll get started. May I take your coats?" We handed them over and she hung them in a closet next to the fitting rooms, then we were led through an arched opening. Beyond that there were four sets of double caf?-style arched-panel louvered doors in a semi- circular room. Three of them had "Occupied" signs hanging from hooks in the middle. "Oh dear," said Marianne, "There's only one room available right now. Are you comfortable sharing? There's plenty of space. Or if not we could fit one of you at a time ..." Mom and I looked at each other and we both shrugged. "It's up to Sandra," said Mom. Not wanting to be difficult or take up too much of Mom's valuable time, I said "Oh, I don't mind sharing." But the idea was pretty awkward and scary just the same! Mom added, "I guess we ARE related, after all ..." "I should think so!" chuckled Marianne as she opened the doors for us and we stepped inside. The room was kind of pie-shaped, with the double doors on the short end and floor-to-ceiling mirrors on the long end and sides. "Well, why don't you both get settled and take off your tops and bras," said Marianne. "I prefer to measure my clients au-naturel. If you're a bit shy with each other you can put on a silk cover-up." She pointed at a satiny white garment which looked kind of like a man's short-sleeved shirt, hanging on one of the decorative hooks on the opposite wall. "I'll find another one for you," she said as she slipped out. After hanging my purse on one of the hooks, I turned my back to Mom and slipped my tank-top over my head, then slid the straps over my arms and spun the bra around so I could unhook it. Hanging it up, I quickly snatched the silk shirt and slipped it on. But there weren't any buttons so rather than try to hold it closed with one hand, I just left it open at the front. And then when I turned around I got a full view of Mom's upper body, bare breasts and all. Her face had a bit of a stunned look on it, and I'm guessing mine did too. I don't recall ever seeing her like that before! Just then our bra expert returned and joked, "Okay, ladies, why don't we do Isabel first, since she's probably the one who's paying." Marianne had Mom raise her arms slightly and she stretched a fabric measuring tape around Mom's chest, above and below her breasts. She marked the figures on a notepad, then measured around her breasts proper. I was transfixed! "So what size is she?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. "A comfortable thirty-four-D." 'Wow,' I thought, 'a D-cup!' My mother's bust did look impressive. Her breasts were full and they weren't very droopy at all, maybe only sagging a bit from their own weight. For her age and petite body, Mom really did have boobs to die for. Marianne noticed too because she commented, "You have a very beautiful bust, Isabel. How old did you say you were? Twenty-five?" "I'm FORTY-five," Mom replied with a wry smile. "But thank you anyway." "Have you been fitted for bras before?" "Never - I always buy them in a department store. I save a lot of money that way ..." "You can - if you know what you're doing and shop carefully enough. But I find that most women end up spending the same or less if they get a proper fitting. Your bras will last longer and you'll wear them more, because they're so comfortable." "I don't think I've ever had a bra I'd call 'comfortable'," Mom stated flatly. "Most full-figured women say that," chuckled Marianne. "And that's what WE'RE here for - we guarantee a perfect fit and a comfortable bra. I'm hoping you'll become one of our regular customers." "We'll see," said Mom, who didn't exactly sound convinced. But I thought what Marianne said made a lot of sense, and I found myself wishing once again that one day I'd have a bust like Mom's, so I could test that theory for myself! Marianne turned to me. "Can we get you measured up now, Sandra?" "Sure," I replied, eager to see if Marianne's number agreed with Dr. Cooper's. "It'll be easier if we can take off your cover-up. Does Mom need to look the other way?" "Uh, no ... I don't mind if she sees me." Actually I really DID mind - it'd been almost two years since Mom had last laid eyes on my chest - but I didn't want to make a big deal about it. So I let Marianne remove the shirt. The silk felt delicious as it slipped over my bare skin! Mom stood there with her arms not quite covering her breasts, staring wide-eyed at me ... and for a delicious instant I forgot who I really was and reveled in the feeling of being a real girl, and her real daughter - and actually belonging in that amazing situation. Marianne repeated the measuring process with me, and as I looked down I couldn't help but notice her long, slender fingers and her perfectly manicured nails. I also detected a really nice fragrance, and her voice, though mature, was soft and feminine. As her fingers brushed my bare skin I got lots of little tingles up my spine, and I even felt a stirring inside my gaff. I couldn't help it! The experience was pretty erotic, you know what I mean? And when I looked up, there was Mom still gazing at my chest. I could only wonder what was going through her mind. As if to answer that, Mom asked, "And what size is Sandra now?" Of course I'd wondered about that too, but to have my Mom asking how big her son's bust was? It just felt like the weirdest thing, but at the same time so cool. "She's a little bit more than a thirty-four-B," replied Marianne. "That's up from an 'A' last time she was here," said Mom, sounding content with the new measurement. But I felt a twinge of disappointment - only a B? At this rate, it'd take forever to catch up to Mom. And another unhappy thought - maybe I'd have to resort to surgery, like Erica did, to get the bust I wanted. But Marianne, who may have sensed how impatient I felt, had something encouraging to say. "Sandra, you're developing quite beautifully. I think you'll probably be more like your mother in a year or two." "I'm just a bit slow, that's all," I replied optimistically. "Only in this area, I'm sure. Well, ladies, now that we're all measured up, what styles are we thinking of? Any interest in push-ups? We have a new line we just started carrying - they're amazing." Then she looked at me as she continued, "They add a whole cup size to your appearance. I'd love to see you try one on, Sandra, but your mother may not need the extra help." Mom started to say something, but I had my mouth open first. "I'd love to. I've never worn one of those before ... never had enough to fill it with!" "I think I'll stick with something more conservative," Mom said when she got the chance to get a word in. Marianne nodded and left, and a minute later she was back with several regular-looking bras for Mom hanging from one wrist and maybe half a dozen skimpy-looking bras, all in white, hanging from the other. She held out a plain-looking one for me to try on, helped me fasten the front closure, and used her fingers to carefully arrange my breasts so they sat just right in the cups. "So how does this look strike you, Sandra?" she smiled, as she turned to help Mom with hers. In the mirror was a sight I'd never seen before - Sandy Johnson, the plain, ordinary teenage kid, had ultra-sexy boobs! The bra definitely made them look a lot bigger, and it gave me some real honest-to-goodness cleavage too! I turned from side to side and drew my shoulders closer together, amazed at how one eensie-weensie little bra could totally transform my bust line. "It strikes me very well!" I gushed in my best little-girl squeal. Mom seemed to be awestruck, too. But not so much that she couldn't suggest an improvement. "I think you should try one with some nice detailing instead," she suggested. "That's more your style, isn't it?" I'm sure Mom always noticed my lingerie hanging on the drying rack at home - most of it had lace details or white eyelet paneling - my all-time fave! Marianne obliged and helped me put on a really cute all-white bra with lace edging on everything including the narrow shoulder straps. The new sight almost took my breath away! Even with my school jeans on, that one little piece of lingerie made me look and feel so pretty and feminine - just the way I always liked to feel, but way better! I reached for my tank-top and pulled it back on. "That looks completely different on you with this bra," said Marianne. She was so right - my newfound cleavage was there for all to see above the low neckline. I just couldn't get over how super-girly push-up bras could make you look. "I think you should try on that white dress," Mom suggested while she was changing bras. "I'd like to see the combination." 'That white dress' was something special I'd bought myself early in the fall - it was clearance-priced at a high-end women's wear store in the mall and I just had to have it, even though it was still a little pricey and out of season to boot. I've told you how much I like to wear white, haven't I? I just think it looks so amazing against my skin tone and hair color. Well, this dress fit me nearly perfectly, except it needed my bra inserts to look right in the bust area. It was sleeveless (of course) and very fitted, with a low, slightly scooped neckline and a slim-fitting almost-knee-length skirt, no pleats or any fabric details like that but a lot of delicate white beadwork on the bodice, shoulder straps and hemline. It could be worn strapless or not, and when you did use the two-inch-wide straps they attached with hidden hooks at the back and front. Really, though, what I'd bought myself was a cocktail dress, and I'd figured it would be just the thing for a nice romantic dinner date with Mark. But I never got to wear that dress on a date or for anything else - there just wasn't the time or opportunity, and now it seemed even more unlikely I ever would. Just the same, I'd brought it along more to have the chance to put it on again than to find a suitable bra to go with it. But first I had to lose everything except my undies, and Marianne obliged me by leaving to find a couple more bras for Mom to try out. By the time our saleslady returned, Mom was already zipping me up in back. "Oh, Sandra, you look spectacular!" she gushed. "That bra is PERFECT with your dress." "I like it too," was all I could say. And did I ever - now the dress fit properly everywhere and its low neckline exposed perfect-looking cleavage ... or maybe - what's that fancy word - d?colletage? Whatever - you couldn't see the bra at all, but you could certainly see what it accomplished. It literally scooped up my breasts, held them out in plain view for all to see, and brought them closer together so they were almost touching each other. And it made them look much more prominent than they actually were. It was exactly the effect this dress demanded for maximum impact. I knew I'd found the perfect look for a romantic date, if I ever got to go on one of those again. But in the meantime Marianne wanted to show me off, so she found me a pair of white heels and dragged me out of the fitting room into the store proper, where I got used as an example of how the right bra with the right fit does wonders for a beautiful dress. The other salesgirls, who were all younger, were full of compliments and all the attention made me feel like a zillion bucks, even if my love life WAS in a shambles at that point in my life. Not wanting to take that dress off just yet, I spent the next little while helping Mom with her bras and giving her my impressions of each one. And checking out my reflection in those mirrors! I especially liked the view when I leaned over, and even better, for the very first time I noticed that my boobs did that wonderful little 'jiggle' as I walked around in the heels. You could say I was in seventh heaven! But I still needed some everyday bras, so off came the shoes and dress, back on went my boring jeans, and for the next hour or so I got to try on and model a whole selection of styles and colors. Did I ever tell you how much I love bras? They're just so fun to wear - and they make you feel so female! After all, a brassiere is the one piece of clothing you NEVER see a guy wearing. At one point there must have been a hundred bras piled up and hanging on every hook in that fitting room. Talk about an intensely wonderful mother-daughter experience! Speaking of Mom, she couldn't help but notice how I went about putting a bra on - by fastening the hooks at the front, then rotating it around and slipping my arms through the straps, and finally settling my breasts into the cups. "Sandra, why don't you just do it up at the back?" she asked with a chuckle. "'Cause you never showed me how, Mother?" I replied with mock exasperation. I'd noticed how it took her like two seconds to fasten her bras, where she couldn't see and had to do it just by feel. She smiled and shook her head, and Marianne laughed, "I see you two needed this time together." Then she asked Mom, "Shall I show her?" Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head, "No thank you - it's MY job, apparently ..." She had me put the bra on 'properly' - the right way around - and guided my hands to the closure at the back. "Now take the straps like this ..." But my fingers could barely reach and after fumbling with the hooks and loops for a minute or so, I said, "I give up. How do you DO this anyway? I can't even tell which are the right ones ..." "Here dear, let me help you," Marianne smiled. She showed me how to count the loop positions with my index finger and fasten each hook one at a time. "You just need a little practice, that's all." "Thanks," I said uneasily. It still felt like more trouble than it was worth, though, and I began to wonder if my problem was that, as a boy, my limbs just weren't flexible enough for this simple manual task. But I could imagine that taking a bra off that way might look sexier to your boyfriend ... or even better, maybe he could do it FOR you! A mental image of Erica and her 'hubby' Ted in that kind of situation flashed through my mind. 'Lucky girl!' I thought with not a little envy. I must say, getting properly fitted for new bras is very time-consuming. Marianne went to huge trouble to make sure our choices fit exactly right, traipsing back and forth between the fitting room and the display racks like a yo-yo. She had us stretch and bend and hold our arms in every conceivable position, closely examining the garments to see how they responded, and more often than not rejecting the ones that didn't measure up to her standards. I remember thinking, 'I hope she's making enough money off us' - but if Mom's expression whenever she checked a price tag was anything to go by, that probably wasn't going to be an issue. "Are we wanting to keep the inserts, Sandra?" she asked at one point. "If you think you'll use them again, I'd be happy to find you a new bra or two ..." That made me stop and think. Hmm ... my boobs were finally starting to hold their own with the rest of my body - but what if they never grew any bigger? I'd still want to look good in certain kinds of clothing and situations - like work, for instance, where I always wore my inserts. And what if I stopped now? Some of my regulars would probably make comments, knowing them ... "Uh, that would be good. Do you think they're still okay for me?" "Let me see," she said as I handed them to her. She took one and positioned it on one of my breasts. "Oh, I think they should be fine for a while longer... maybe until you're a full C-cup." "That's great," I said, relieved that I wouldn't need to re-spend THAT money. Then I held out one of the new bras I'd already chosen, a lacy white number. "Can I get a black bra like this to wear with them?" It would be for work, of course. "Maybe a pink one too ..." It was too bad, I thought, that my inserts wouldn't work with a push-up bra. Imagine how sweet THAT would look! "Sure, honey - no problem at all." And off she dashed to start a new search. About two-and-a-half hours after we arrived, Mom and I were finally carrying our purchases out to the car - four new bras for Mom and a total of seven plus five new panties for me - every single item a perfect fit and so very pretty to boot. But I was a bit worried about how Mom was feeling about the prices, so I decided to do some positive reinforcement. "I really love those two brightly-colored ones you got, Mom," I said. "They're so amazing on you. How do they feel?" That was a reasonable question, since she'd kept one of them on for the drive home. "Not too bad," she replied with a thin smile. "Time will tell." It would at that, I mused. I was wearing one of the two lace-trimmed pink ones I'd bought, the one that was almost see-thru, and I thought it fit like a second skin. This was my first-ever underwire bra - I'd always heard that big-chested women, who needed the extra support hardware, found them to be a real chore to wear. 'Maybe they need to shop here,' I thought. On the other hand, not every woman had the means to buy their unmentionables at a shop like this one - but in reality neither did I! Marianne had assumed wrong - I had to pay for most of my own stuff by that time in my life, especially luxuries like custom-fitted bras. And I was beginning to realize that a lot of the money I counted on saving for my operation was going to feed my obsession with my female appearance. So I guess Mom was right after all - I WAS pretty spoiled. Maybe it was a good thing I'd never get married, I mused - my husband would probably go broke in no time! ***** Well, I had to sweet-talk the lady at the dance studio into letting me into the class a week after they'd already started. If I hadn't already been a client the year before, I don't think they would have gone for it. Kath was thrilled, though - her best friend could go with her again! I was in a good mood too - when I tried on my dance tights for the first time since the previous spring, and checked myself out in the mirror, I can't tell you how happy I was to see my new shape. 'Look out, girls,' I thought with a big grin, 'Sandra's back in town!' On my first night back, Kath drove the two of us there and she couldn't resist telling me how brain-dead I'd been, refusing to go, when our spring musical needed all the good dancers it could scrape up. But if I was expecting some new modern dance instruction I was in for a surprise. Kath tipped me off that they'd started the season out by covering some decidedly older dance styles - stuff you'd expect to learn in a ballroom dancing course. Like the jive, for instance. Kath and I got to practice that one as a couple and it was a total scream! She told me it was too bad I'd missed the previous class, 'cause they learned the waltz and foxtrot. "You're gonna have to do the waltz in the show," she reminded me. "Then you'll just have to show me how," I told her. ***** Nothing gets past Kath. We were practicing lines together at my place one weekend and I was wearing one of my new push-ups under a tank-top. Of course, she just HAD to make a snarky comment. "So you didn't think you were sexy enough already?" she smirked as she reached out and grabbed one of my boobs with her hand. "Are they even REAL?" "Yes, you perv, they're real!" I exclaimed indignantly. "As real as YOURS." "Careful who you call a perv," she laughed. "At least I come by mine honestly!" Someone else might have taken offence, but she was my best friend, so to me that comeback was hilarious. When I stopped killing myself laughing I told her about my shopping trip with Mom, and why I wanted to buy new bras. "You should've taken me along," she said. "All mine are getting worn out ..." "Prob'ly Ben's fault - why don't you just tell him to be more careful when he yanks them off you?" Kath shrieked with laughter. "Is that the voice of experience talking? I'll have you know he's very careful with my bras - just like he is with what's inside them." "Oh, so you couldn't resist bragging, could you? Just 'cause I don't have anyone to fondle my boobs anymore ..." "Well I just did and you called me a perv! You need to make up your mind, Sandy Johnson." That got us both going for another few minutes. But after I calmed down I just had to ask her something about what she'd just said. "So he likes your, um, breasts? Does he like to ... you know ..." "Fondle them? Oh - I know what YOU mean ... you mean suck them, right?" "Uh-huh ... I was gonna say kiss them ..." "Yeah, he does that sometimes." "Do you like it?" "You're asking some really personal questions - why? Are you jealous?" "KATH! I just wanna know how it FEELS. Like, I'm finally getting boobs of my own, so ..." "You mean Mark never got around to doing that?" "Well he DID, but only like once ... and I was a lot smaller then." "So you'll just have to go out and find yourself a new boob man. Don't look at me - I'M not gonna do it for you ..." "Some best friend YOU are - can't even do one simple thing ..." "Well I tried fondling you and you complained, so now you can get lost. I know when I'm not appreciated." I shook my head, trying not to laugh any harder. "KATH! You know how much I love you. Okay, so if you must know I AM jealous." She was more serious for a moment. "Yeah, I get that. You need another guy in your life. Uh, how about Michael?" Michael Bell was the male lead in Kiss Me Kate. I'll admit it - I HAD thought about him once or twice. Like, he was a nice enough guy, not that bad looking ... but he was kind of a flake. Mister McCowan had really spoiled me! Mark was such gentleman - so kind, so well spoken, such a solid kind of guy. And then there was Rob Hewitt, as masculine a guy as a girl could ever ask for. Not to mention those piercing eyes that could make you melt into a little puddle on the floor! Still, beggars can't be choosers, can they? "Do you think he'd actually date ME? I'm sure he knows ..." "He'd probably date anybody. But he'll probably never ask, so you might have to make the first move." "You make him sound like such a catch!" "Aw Sandy, come on - he's okay ... he's just a bit different, that's all." "I can hardly wait." "You're so negative. You know, there might be something positive about dating Michael." "If you mean having a guy who'll kiss my boobs, I'm not THAT interested." "No, you silly girl," she laughed. "Maybe when Mark finds out he'll be jealous." "Yeah, he might be ... until he finds out who I'm dating." "Well it's worth a try, isn't it? I'll put in a good word for you with the man himself, if you like ..." "No thanks ... I can do it myself. Hey, aren't we all supposed to go out for appies or something next week?" "Wednesday. I'll make sure you're sitting next to him, and you can do the rest." "Like I said, I can hardly wait." ***** As it turned out, though, I had a really fun time sitting next to Michael. He was actually quite entertaining! Nearly everything he said contained some amusing turn of phrase, and he knew a lot of really funny jokes. The best part was, he was really nice to me. Mind you, he was really nice to everyone else too, but I always take well to people who are like that. I chatted him up as best I could, like Kath and I had schemed, and I was pleased that he responded to my attentions. I even managed to wrangle a ride home with him after our get-together, and we sat in the car in front of my house for an hour or so getting to know each other. I found out he came from a non-practicing Jewish family and his parents were both teachers and accomplished classical musicians. The subject of my real gender never came up, thankfully, but there was no doubt in my mind that he knew the whole story (after all, people like to talk, don't they?). But I was able to forget all that and I didn't even have to remind myself that I looked and sounded for all the world like an attractive young woman, because he never once made me feel like I was anything else. Well, okay ... if you want to be picky, Michael never exactly said or did anything to make me feel like anyone of any particular sex. Good thing I didn't expect, or for that matter want, a new love affair to develop with this guy. Still, as I was getting ready for bed I felt a pang of guilt. It probably wasn't the nicest thing for me to be using Michael to try getting Mark back, I thought. And even without the Mark angle, it wasn't like me to be pursuing him just for the sake of having a guy to date. Or maybe it was ... ***** Out of the blue, that very week, I got a nice email from Erica. She said how much she enjoyed meeting and getting to know me, and that she hoped I'd managed to patch things up with Mark. "The two of you should go on a nice, romantic date on Valentine's Day," she wrote. Erica went on to describe what she and Ted usually did that day, which was to either go out to an expensive restaurant and go dancing afterwards, or if the 14th was on or near a weekend, to fly somewhere extra-special like New York or even Paris. 'I'd die if I ever had the chance to do that,' I thought. 'How romantic!' But I felt that my only option was to be perfectly honest, so I emailed back and told her straight-up that it was all over between Mark and me. And the nail-in-the-coffin part about Pamela, too. Then I wished her and Ted the best Valentine's Day ever, and reminded her to wear something extra-special. To my surprise, a reply came back less than a minute later. Erica expressed how deeply saddened she was to hear the news about Mark, and that I shouldn't regard that door as being completely shut, because who knows what might or might not happen between him and Pam, given his 'orientation' as she put it. Then she said thanks for the Valentine's wishes, and that she was planning to get her hair color changed to red for the occasion. And she told me for my own Valentine's gift I should go treat myself to a nice relaxing session at a spa, or at least at the beauty salon. "Always does wonders for me!" she said. "I hope you have a good one, even without the man. Tons of love, your friend Erica." "Oh sure," I said aloud - "How very 'rotic' ..." As I could have easily predicted, everyone had a way better Valentine's Day than me. I didn't get a single card - just like the year before, and the year before that. Erica's emailed wishes were the closest I came. Just for once, I thought, why couldn't I be in a relationship during the month of February? ***** My second big shopping trip wasn't quite as much fun as the first, mainly 'cause I never got a chance to try anything on, let alone buy. Just as well, I suppose, given my depleted bank account. But it was pretty novel and exciting just the same. Here's what happened: One Saturday morning in early March, I got up early and showered, did my hair up really pretty with a short ponytail tied with a pink ribbon, applied makeup, pink lipstick, and perfume, and put on my cutest pink-and- white dress - all to go perfectly with my nails, which I'd spent an hour on the evening before. Why all the trouble? Well, I figured, if you've been invited to help your best friend (or even your future sister-in-law) shop for her wedding dress, what a great excuse to get all dolled up - especially if you were the bride-to-be, who'd naturally want to look her best while she's modeling those extravagant gowns. Not just because it's so much fun, but for a practical reason too - you want to get an idea of what the complete picture will look like, right? The bride-to-be stopped by to pick me up around nine-thirty. "Sandra, you look so pretty!" Natalie exclaimed when I opened the door. "But why all the fuss, honey?" "You should talk!" I responded. She, or her mom, had obviously spent a lot of time putting up her hair, and her face was picture-perfect, as was her skirt-and-blouse combo. Phil, who couldn't exactly be described that way 'cause he'd just dragged himself out of bed when he heard his fianc?e's voice, appeared from behind as I was putting on my shoes and coat. "Darling, would you like to come dress shopping too?" she kidded him. "Not a chance," he replied in a mock disgusted voice, gesturing at the two of us. "Not if you have to dress like that!" "Aw come on, Phil," I needled, "you'd look so nice in a pink skirt ..." "Not with these legs," he deadpanned. "Anyway, one cross-dresser in the family's more than enough." On that awkward note, we said our goodbyes. "He's not supposed to see your dress till the wedding day, anyhow," I pointed out. "Yeah, but it's so much fun to bug him!" The car in the driveway was her parents', and behind the wheel sat Mrs. Wagner. I knew Natalie's mom was coming with us, but I was still apprehensive about meeting her. And there was a girl about Natalie's age seated in the back, whom I assumed was the maid-of-honor I'd heard was visiting from out of town for the weekend. Natalie made the introductions as I slid into the back seat beside her. "Sandra, this is Christine - she's my best friend from when I was growing up back in Pittsburgh." Christine and I exchanged greetings as I buckled up. She was only wearing jeans, so that was the first indication that I'd overdone it. I began to feel nervous! "And, this is my mom ..." "Hi Mrs. Wagner," I said as cheerily as I could. "It's so nice to meet you!" "Hello Sandra - nice to meet you too, at last. Your brother has told me ALL about you." From the way she said 'ALL', that didn't sound too encouraging. "Only the good stuff, I hope, Ma'am." "Oh, just about everything," she replied in a cheery voice, which made me worry that she really DID know my secret. Natalie had previously explained to me that, when she starting dating Phil, she'd told her parents that he had a little brother, but later informed them that she'd made a mistake because of my nickname, Sandy. When she actually met me, she told them, she found out I wasn't a boy after all. Lucky for me, she could fib at least as well as I could. But I was still on edge! Natalie had made her appointment at the bridal salon for ten, when the shop opened for the day. This way, she reasoned, the staff would be all coffeed-up and raring to go. "They'll need to be," she explained. "I expect to try on at least five dozen dresses. And my appointment's only for two hours." "Natalie, are you serious?" I exclaimed. "That'll take the whole weekend." "Nonsense, Sandra," said her mom. "Natalie knows what she likes and doesn't like. I predict she'll find her dress in the first hour." "Well, I hope we can still tell her what WE think," I said. "Of COURSE we can, honey. That's our job - and it's traditional. But she makes the final decision." We arrived just before ten, and were let in the front door even though the shop hadn't opened yet. While we were waiting inside, two more girls showed up - the rest of Natalie's bridal party! Like Christine, they were both wearing jeans and as soon as saw them I began to worry I'd committed some wedding faux pas by dressing up, and that made me even more nervous. I'd met both of these girls - Keri, Natalie's friend who worked at Dillard's, and Cindy, the friend I'd met at the grad banquet when I was doing catering - the first time Natalie ever saw me in a dress. We all exchanged hello's, nice-to-meet-you's and nice-to-see-you-again's, as well as girlfriend-style hugs between all of us. Mrs. Wagner's face had a pleased look. 'Maybe she really doesn't know,' I thought hopefully. A minute or two later we were being escorted further into the salon by a well-dressed middle-aged blonde woman who introduced herself as Jennifer. Her long hair was put up in a classic Hollywood style, and she was quite petite, but with her super-high heels and hairdo she was almost my height. "I understand the big day will be in July," she said to Natalie in a businesslike voice. "You're a very smart girl to be shopping early. We usually have our June wedding rush in April, so you have a very good selection to choose from - not that you'll have any trouble finding dresses to suit THAT figure." I had to smile at her compliment. Not a bad idea to butter up your customers, I thought. Like the lingerie shop, this store was also decorated in feminine touches like soft fabrics, lace and fresh flowers. The walls were a pale mustard-yellow, and huge creamy-white moldings adorned every door opening, arch and ceiling cove. And like the lingerie shop, the air was scented with a pretty fragrance. After being relieved of our coats, we were led into a brightly-lit room about fifteen or twenty feet square, with inset-paneled walls with gold- painted picture-frame moldings - French chateau style as I learned years later. A French-country sofa and two matching wing-back chairs were arranged along one wall, and there was a raised round platform in the center, not quite a foot above the floor. Several ceiling-mounted spotlights were aimed in the direction of the platform. "Why don't the bridesmaids and the mother of the bride get comfortable and we'll get started?" Jennifer suggested, or maybe instructed is the better word. Keri, Cindy and Christine complied and parked themselves on the sofa, while Mrs. Wagner and I each claimed a chair. Natalie left the room with the saleslady and the rest of us chit-chatted for a few minutes. "I love your dress, Sandra," exclaimed Christine. Keri added, "And I see you've learned your makeup lessons very well." "I was trained by the best," I smiled, still nervous around these women, but appreciating the compliments. "But I didn't know what I was supposed to wear today? So I thought I'd play it safe." Cindy laughed, "That's okay, Sandra. It's your first wedding, isn't it? You don't normally try to upstage the bride." "Oh, now I feel awful," I groaned. "I should've thought about that ..." "I think you look very pretty, and I'm sure Natalie doesn't mind at all," interrupted Mrs. Wagner, who apparently felt she needed to jump in and defend me. "You other girls should take a page from Sandra, and try wearing something other than jeans once in a while." Now, she wasn't wearing a skirt or dress herself, but she did have a smart-looking pair of black dress pants on. Just then Natalie re-entered the room, followed by Jennifer. She stepped up onto the platform and into the lights so the rest of us could get the full effect. Natalie's first dress was a simple off-white strapless gown with a full skirt and an unadorned bodice. I noted with approval, and not a little bit of envy, how small her waist looked, and how her breasts were uplifted and put on display by that dress. She turned slowly around and I was surprised to see a dozen or more white clothes pins holding the dress tightly closed along the back. But then my attention went back to the dress itself, and the beautiful girl who was wearing it. "Natalie, it's just gorgeous on you," I gushed. But the others didn't seem to agree. "I think it makes your shoulders look too wide," said Keri. "The waist looks a bit too low for you," commented Cindy. "I don't like that color with your skin," Christine sniffed. "It's too plain. You should try something with more detailing," added Mrs. Wagner. 'What IS this?' I thought. 'Are we supposed to criticize everything she tries on?' "I don't think this one's right for me," said Natalie, and with that, Jennifer nodded and led her back to the change area. What followed was a procession of wedding gowns of all styles. The only thing they all had in common was they were floor-length, which I already knew was non-negotiable with the bride. And wouldn't you know - each gown received at least one or two critical comments from the other bridesmaids and Natalie's mom, or from Natalie herself. Sure, there were some dresses I didn't particularly care for on her, but you know? I thought they were all beautiful, and it was just so incredible to be there at all, sharing in that exclusively feminine ritual and trying to imagine what I'd look like in every one of those amazing dresses. I guess Mrs. Wagner did know her daughter pretty well, because an hour had barely gone by and there stood Natalie in the dress she'd be wearing at the altar beside my brother. I had to admit, it WAS the most beautiful one she'd tried on that morning - a formal, strapless A-line gown of pure white organza with ruching around the hips, an empire waist, and platinum- colored beadwork in a wide tiara-like pattern just below the bust ... and it had my favorite, a sweetheart neckline! The hemline was SO pretty and feminine-looking, and it trailed out several feet behind her. Of course I was mesmerized, and all I could think of was how incredible it would be if I ever got the chance to try something like that on - or even better, wear it to my own wedding. But you know how optimistic I was about THAT ever happening. How much did the dress cost? I have no idea, but judging by the heated discussions Natalie and her mom got into outside the room, it couldn't have been cheap. In the end, though, she had this huge smile on her face and I could tell Mrs. Wagner had gone for it. Jennifer also looked happy, so it must have been expensive! After all the paperwork was wrapped up, if not the dress which would need alterations and at least two more fittings, we all decided to go somewhere for a celebratory lunch. By then I'd forgotten my earlier case of nerves and was able to enjoy just being 'one of the girls.' Remember how I said I loved feeling accepted? Well, this was such a great example. I was going to be one of Natalie's four bridesmaids! And even though the other three girls barely knew me, I could tell they thought of me almost as a sister. The best part was, Mrs. Wagner treated me just like one of the other girls, so I had to conclude she didn't have a clue I was really her future son-in-law's little brother. Now if we could just keep that a secret forever ... There WAS one other thing that had me wondering, AND anticipating: when would we be shopping for bridesmaid dresses? During a lull in the conversation I got up the nerve to pose that question. I guess I should have kept my mouth shut! "Oh Sandra, now we KNOW you've never been in a wedding party," laughed Keri. "The bride always chooses the bridesmaid dresses - we just have to go for fittings." "We get to pay for them too," added Cindy. "You'd think dresses THAT pricey wouldn't look so cheesy!" Christine piped up, "Hey - now, Natalie promised me no frumpy-looking dresses. Or expensive ones either. And she said we'd look nearly as good as her - right, Nat?" Everyone's eyes turned toward the bride-to-be. "When did I say that?" replied Natalie, feigning surprise. "C'mon, Chrissy ... you know how traditional I am ..." "No dumpy dresses," Christine deadpanned, "or no bridesmaids - right, girls?" "Right!" we all laughed in unison. But there was never any doubt in my mind that Natalie would pick something decidedly un-frumpy, and that thought made me feel all giddy inside. ***** It was later that same month that Kath shared something confidential with me on the way home from one of our dance classes. "Ben asked me to keep it hush-hush, but like, you're my best friend," she said. "I don't think it's fair to you if I know something about Mark and you don't." "What about Mark?" I asked apprehensively, trying to imagine what bad news might be coming. Maybe I didn't WANT to hear it. "Oh, it's not that big of a deal, Sandy. It's just that he and Pam are dating again, that's all." "I already knew THAT." "You mean you know they went on a date. But now they're, like ... going steady." This was the bad news I was afraid of, and I was silent for a while as I pondered what it all meant for me. Kath must have thought I was upset by the news. And she'd be right about that. "I'm sorry, Sandy. I just thought you should know what I know." "Yeah ... it still hurts a lot, that's all. But you're right, I'd rather know ... thanks, Kath." She nodded slowly. At that point she changed the subject, and we just chatted about school for the rest of the drive. After we got home I went straight to my room and had another good long cry. All the awful feelings of pain and loss - which were only just below the surface - came back again in waves. And betrayal too - like, how could Mark, who professed his love for me so many times, and who as much as admitted that he liked boys better than girls, turn around and take up with his ex-girlfriend just like that? And after all that shit about not wanting me to change my sex ... That night I convinced myself that I'd lost Mark for good - and that no 'normal' man would ever love me. After all, I was nothing but a freak ... not really a girl, and no longer a real boy either. And I could never have kids like a real woman OR a real man. I remembered how Mom had told me how hard it was for real women to find decent men - so where did that leave me? Screwed. I must have gone back and forth in my mind at least a dozen times - on the one hand concluding if I couldn't have a man who loved me as a girl, I'd be better off staying male and trying to marry a real girl, like Julia... at least then I might have a chance at love and maybe even a half-decent sex life - and on the other deciding that would never work ... I'd already gone too far physically, and she'd probably end up having an affair with some stud like Alex. And if that didn't kill me, I'd probably end up doing the deed myself! So I might just as well stay the course - a freak of nature for sure, but at least I'd have my clothes and makeup addictions to keep me from going off the deep end. Or maybe, I thought, I could find a nice, successful gay man like Erica's Ted. Not by any means the ideal relationship for me - especially if I still wanted to have the 'operation' - but probably the only type of person out there who could ever really love someone like me. That would be kind of ironic, though - I'd kind of rejected Mark because he was only slightly gay, and here I'd be looking for a man who was totally of that persuasion. Oh my God, talk about feeling conflicted! What about Michael, I wondered next. He was nice enough looking. AND he had a great sense of humor. He even talked a bit like a gay guy. And being of Jewish background, he might go into a profession like law or medicine - careers guaranteed to keep his wife in the style she'd like to become accustomed to. Just one little problem, though - I didn't think either of us felt that 'spark' when we first met or any time later, even when we spent some time together after the cast get-together. I knew we could be good friends, but that wouldn't be enough for me. Then there was that OTHER little problem ... I probably would have stressed about this stuff all night long if an idea hadn't come to me. "Erica!" I exclaimed aloud. Of course - why hadn't I thought of that before? Hadn't she told me I could call her any time? That she'd like to see me again? So I got up, rinsed my mascara-streaked face and put on my housecoat, then crept quietly downstairs to Mom's office, where I sent Erica an email asking if we could get together again - like, ASAP. ***** Thank God for spring break. Life had become more insanely busy than ever, even without a girlfriend or boyfriend to complicate things. On my plate I had my waitress job, helping Mom with her business and the house, voice lessons, dance classes, Kate rehearsals, and more homework and other school assignments than ever before in my life. Somehow I was supposed to look after myself and keep my important relationships alive and healthy, all at the same time! Looking back, though, I'm pretty sure that's why I didn't spend much time wallowing in self-pity over Mark - there was barely any time to think about him! (Note to self: If that kind of disaster ever happens to me again, just take on way more commitments than I can handle.) Actually, the only thing different about spring break was no school. I still had everything else, though, but at least I'd have all my weekdays to maybe sleep in, get caught up - or so I hoped. But good old Miles ended up scheduling me for a lot of extra hours to cover for a girl who wanted time off. At least that was good for a few extra bucks in my purse, all of which probably went into my spring wardrobe and my esthetician's cash register. And Mr. Nelson, who never felt his cast was working hard enough, had some of us in at various times over the break to rehearse our scenes, our lines, and our songs - especially me, I thought. He seemed to feel that I needed a lot of one-on-one coaching, and many times it was just him playing the piano and me singing, a lot like my lessons with Mrs. White. At first I was a little apprehensive about that arrangement, what with the comments that others like Kath had made questioning his sexual orientation, but nothing unusual came of it and I had to conclude that he just wanted me to do really well in the play. What I DID notice, though, was how differently he was treating me at that point in my senior year. He sometimes referred to me as "Miss Johnson" instead of Sandy when others were present, and used endearing terms like "sweetheart" when they weren't. But he never once made a pass at me or anything even remotely like that, so over time I became more relaxed and was able to concentrate on following his direction and 'giving it my all.' Which was a good thing, considering how much I had to learn to pull off two leading roles. But you already know how dearly I loved performing on stage, and I was determined not to let this incredible opportunity come and go without putting every last ounce of my singing and acting abilities to work. To be continued ....