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GRANDMA'S HOUSE By Lisa Lovelace Over the river and through the woods... It all started late one sunny afternoon when I was eleven years old, while Mother was getting dressed to take Father to the wedding of the daughter of one of her close friends, way down in Pullman. She called to me from her bedroom. "Liam! I think I left my tea in the kitchen. Would you bring it to me, please?" I did, and walked into my parents' bedroom to find Mother dressed in a short dressing gown. Laid out on the queen-sized bed were the clothes she planned to wear that night. Panties, a bra, a full slip, garter belt and stockings and a dress - a beautiful tea-length frock in fluttering layers of chiffon or some equally light fabric with a large floral print in pastel blues and greens. On the floor by the bed stood a pair of white sandals dotted with tiny crystals. "Set the tea on the chest of drawers, honey," Mother said. I did. I turned to go, but my eye was caught by the sheen of the slip's fabric. Without thinking, almost involuntarily, I leaned over to run my fingers over the slip. "That's really pretty," I said. "Don't touch!" Mother snapped. "Ladies' underwear is not for boys to handle. You'll get it dirty." I jerked my hand back, as if I'd touched a hot pan, and left the room, annoyed. My hands were not dirty! I'd just finished washing the breakfast dishes. When Mother emerged from her room, she looked gorgeous in a long, clingy halter dress of champagne silk. Her hair was in a simple but lovely updo, and she wore her sparkly diamond necklace and bracelet. I'm sure they were fake diamonds, but they sparkled brilliantly. She told Father to put on his suit. He did, grumbling that he barely knew the bride, had never met the groom and didn't see why he had to waste a day driving from Coeur d'Alene to Pullman and back, but she ignored him, got him dressed and shooed him out the door. "We'll be back late, honey," Mother told me. "Just follow the directions on the frozen pizza. You can watch TV or play games if you want, but don't leave the house, and don't have anyone over." She closed the front door behind her. I was on my own for the next six or seven hours, and wondered what to do. My mind drifted back to the scene in the bedroom, seeing all of Mother's pretty underthings laid out on the bed, and the sensuous feeling of the slip. It probably wasn't the only slip she owned. If I could find another one, I could... feel the fabric. Maybe even put it on. Find out what girls felt under their dresses. I could find more than a slip. Panties. A bra. A dress. Stockings, even. I had plenty of time. Pretty things were too delicate for boys to handle? Ha! I would carefully put everything back exactly the way it had been, and Mother would be none the wiser. I stripped in my room and examined myself in the bathroom mirror. At eleven I didn't have any body hair to speak of, so I didn't need to shave. I took a shower, shampooed and conditioned my collar-length hair, then washed with some of the scented gel that Mother kept for guests. I came out smelling like a field of flowers. Wrapping a towel around my chest the way girls did, I entered my parents' bedroom and walked over to Mother's chest of drawers. My heart pounded. I was somewhere I shouldn't be, doing something I shouldn't do. I opened her top drawer on the left. Panties! There must have been two dozen pairs in different styles and colors, neatly folded in rows. I looked at them carefully and pulled out the last pair in the back row. It was folded like all the others, so it would be easy to put it back the same way. Top right drawer. Bras! They were all tangled up, not stacked neatly. I saw one that seemed to match the panties I'd chosen, and carefully extricated it from the pile. I wouldn't be able to replace it exactly the same way, but I doubted it mattered. Next drawer down. Slips! Full slips, half-slips and camisoles. I saw a full slip that looked like the one Mother was wearing, the one I'd touched. I carefully noted how it was folded and slid it out of its place. Next drawer. Garter belts, stockings and pantyhose. Mother had chosen a garter belt and stockings, so I did too. I could see how the garters hooked onto the stockings, but I'd never put on stockings before. I would have to be careful not to put a run in them. Now for the dress. I looked in Mother's closet and recognized them all. She was a little taller than me - I hadn't had a growth spurt yet - so I picked out one of her shorter dresses that I liked, a cotton day dress in a vintage style, with a close-fitting bodice and full skirt. I put on the panties and then the garter belt and stockings, and found that I couldn't pull down the panties past the tops of the stockings. So I undid the stockings, threaded the garter straps under the panties and reattached the stockings, and everything worked fine. It took me a while to hook the bra behind me. I stuffed the cups with tissues, but didn't adjust the straps because Mother might notice. On with the slip, then the dress. I found a pair of black pumps with a low heel and was able to get my feet into them. Fully dressed! But not fully put together. I hadn't brushed my hair, and I wore no makeup, nail polish or jewelry. Those were things I never had to do as a boy. I parted my hair in the middle and let it hang down on both sides. I'd never done makeup and settled for just lipstick. I put on too much the first time and had to wipe it off and redo it. I decided against nail polish because of the smell it would leave. I also decided to leave Mother's jewelry alone. I walked over to Mother's full-length mirror and inspected myself. I looked pretty! Not like a real girl, but a lot more like one than I expected. I swung my hips, and the dress swirled around me the way it would around a real girl. I loved the feeling, loved the way the dress slid over the slip, loved the way the slip felt on my body. If this is how girls felt, I wanted to be one. Not really, of course... but the clothes felt wonderful. I spent the afternoon wearing Mother's dress and underwear while doing other stuff, like folding and putting away the basket of clean boy's laundry she'd left in my room. The longer I wore her clothes, the more I liked them. They were so soft, so thin, and the layers slid over each other so nicely. In some places they hugged my body closely, while in others, they swirled freely around me. It was a completely different experience from wearing boy's clothes. My physical pleasure was tempered by emotions of fear and embarrassment. Fear of being discovered: My parents wouldn't be back until tonight, but what if the police or someone else knocked on the door? Embarrassment at what I was doing: Dressing up in female clothing was something no boy should ever do, something no real man would ever do. There was something wrong with me, but I wasn't sure what it was, because dressing up felt so intensely right. I decided to change out of the clothes before I made the pizza, so that I wouldn't spill sauce on Mother's dress and underwear. I sat on her bed and started removing her clothes and putting them back exactly where they came from. As soon as I took off the slip, I saw it: a run in the stocking on my right leg, down to the knee. Oh my God. It was impossible to hide or fix. I would have to throw away the stocking, and presumably its mate so that there wasn't an odd stocking left over, and hope that Mother didn't notice the pair was missing. I peeled the stockings off, removed the rest of the lingerie and carefully returned the garments to Mother's dresser and closet. After putting on my boy clothes again, I stashed the ruined pair of stockings in a small paper bag, crumpled up the bag and dropped it in the trash bin in the garage. At the last moment I remembered the lipstick and scrubbed it off, and combed my hair the usual way. It was as if I'd never dressed up at all. Except for the missing stockings. My heart rate returned to normal. I cooked and ate the pizza, spent an hour killing orcs, and tidied up and went to bed before Mother and Father got home. I woke up the next morning to find Mother sitting on my bed. "Good morning," she said. "Good morning, Mother," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Father has gone to work. There's something I want to talk to you about," she said. "Come with me." I got out of bed in my boys' pajamas and followed her downstairs, getting more nervous with every step. We entered her bedroom. On the bed she'd laid out everything I'd worn last night, including the ruined stockings. How did she find them? How did she know? Did I do a bad job of putting them back? "Do you recognize these things?" she asked. She knew. No point in lying. "Yes... they're your clothes." "What's special about these particular clothes?" "I don't know, Mother." "Don't lie to me! Tell me the truth." I choked up. "I... I put them on for a while last night." "Why did you do that, Liam?" "I guess I wanted to see how they felt." "Did you like how they felt?" "Sort of," I said. "Did you think it was OK for you to wear my clothes?" "N-no, Mother." "Did you ask me whether you could?" "No. I'm sorry!" "Do you remember that I told you not to touch them?" "Yes, Mother." "But you touched them anyway? In fact, you put them on and dressed up like a girl?" I began to cry. "Yes, Mother." "So you think you don't need to obey me?" "No, Mother! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" "Would you like me to tell your father about this?" she said. "No! Please, Mother, don't tell Father!" "Why not? Don't you think he deserves to know that his son is a sissy?" "Please, Mother! He'll hate me even more. He'll beat me." "Are you proud of yourself for wearing girls' clothes? Panties and a bra and a slip and a dress? Oh, and stockings that you ruined? You, a boy, dressed as a girl?" "No! I'm sorry!" "Are you ashamed of yourself?" "Yes!" "Are you..." On and on she went for most of an hour, by the end of which I faithfully promised never to touch her clothing or wear girls' clothing of any sort ever again. I was lying, of course, and knew it. I would have said anything to make her stop making me feel like a nasty, naughty little boy. But nothing would stop me from wanting to dress up again. ~ ~ ~ I'd been interested in girls' clothing from a tender age. I always admired my mother's clothes, thought she was beautiful in them, liked to see pictures of feminine underwear. Whenever I walked through a department store, my eyes would linger on the Girls department. I sensed early on that this was not right for a boy, and was too ashamed to tell anyone how I felt, or to do anything about it - not until that awful night when I was eleven. Mother had caught me, I'd never found out how, and after that I didn't dare wear her things. I would have to acquire my own girly things somehow. That was a problem. I was too young to have a credit card, so I couldn't order them online. I couldn't buy them with cash, because I didn't have enough. I couldn't swipe them off a clothesline - no one in our neighborhood used one - and I wasn't about to break into someone's house and steal them. In the end, I gave up and stole a pair of Mother's panties. She had four pair in the same style and color, pink briefs with lace panels and a tiny bow, and I took one of them and hid it and didn't touch it for weeks, and evidently she never noticed it was missing. A month later, I stole one of her nightgowns. It was one that Father gave her years ago, but I'd never seen her wear it. It was ivory satin with ivory lace insets, and I thought it was pretty, but she must have thought it was too girly and stashed it in the back of a bottom drawer full of things she rarely wore. I hid it and didn't touch it or the panties for another month, but the other shoe never dropped. And so, the next time my parents left me alone - just for a couple of hours, long enough for them to go out to dinner - I pulled out my purloined panties and nightgown and put them on. I paraded in front of the mirror and rubbed them over my body and felt wonderful. I stopped before I got too excited and took them off and put on my boy's clothes and hid my pretties in one of many video game boxes at the back of my closet shelf. I knew Mother had not forgotten my transgression and sensed that she was watching me, and I had to take great care to leave no evidence of my secret habit. I stayed out of her bedroom and didn't touch her clothes. Even so, she was leaving me alone less often, and found reasons to check on me if I was upstairs in my room for a long time. I was lucky to be able to dress up once a month, if that. ~ ~ ~ Six years passed. Mother never caught me dressed up again. Father was a workaholic, Mother was starting her personal cocktail hour by four o'clock, and the happiest times in my life were the two weeks I spent at Grandma's house every summer. She lived in a beautiful house on the Lake Coeur d'Alene south of town and was a happier, nicer person than either of my parents. She let me do what I wanted, and didn't mind if I spent a gorgeous summer day reading inside. By then I was a senior in high school, but still had a boyish figure. I was short and skinny, with no sign of facial hair, broader shoulders or bigger muscles. The doctor preached patience, patience, patience, but when I turned seventeen and my manly parts were still boy-sized, my parents finally agreed to get a second opinion. The endocrinologist ran some tests on me and diagnosed a disorder that had delayed my puberty. I was supposed to start taking testosterone to get things going, but some insurance or billing snafu had delayed the start of my therapy for months. I was miserable at school. I was surrounded every day by boys who were bigger and stronger than me and girls who were just my size in clothes I would have loved to wear but couldn't. I was desperate for the relief that dressing up brought me, but didn't dare indulge. I even thought about wearing the panties to school on days I didn't have gym class. I dared to do it once, and nothing bad happened. I was simultaneously thrilled and terrified all day and was distracted in class by the delicious feel of nylon and lace sliding over my boyish parts. I pushed my luck by wearing my panties to school again a week later, and disaster struck. I used the toilet and, when I was done, mistakenly tucked my t-shirt inside my panties. When I returned to class and sat down, my jeans sagged enough to expose the narrow elastic waistline of the pink panties. The first I knew of it was when I felt the panties getting tighter around me, pulling me backwards. Behind me sat Serena Saliva. That wasn't her real last name, but I heard girls call her that behind her back. She was a sophomore cheerleader, and she sort of had a reputation. She whispered, "Ooh, Liam, what's this?" I realized what had happened, pulled out my t-shirt and tried to pull the panties away from her, but it was too late. She kept her grip on the waistband. "After class," she whispered, and let the elastic snap back into place. I hastily rearranged my shirt. No one else noticed anything. After class, Serena grabbed my hand and pulled me into an empty classroom. "Well, well, well, Liam," she said softly. "Do you always wear panties to school?" "No," I said. "Liar. I'll bet you wear them every day. I'm afraid I'm going to have to report you for wearing panties, Liam. Not to the principal or any of the teachers. They're no fun. I'm going to have to report you to my girlfriends. They'll be very interested to know we have a sissy at school. They like to play games with sissies. Sometimes I think they like the games more than the sissies do." "Wh-what kinds of games?" Serena grinned. "Dressing-up games, baby games, spanking games, sissy strip poker... all kinds." "Please don't tell anyone else!" I begged. "Why shouldn't I? Hmm - have you ever been to a girls' sleepover?" "Of course not. I'm not a girl." "Aren't you? Then why are you wearing those pretty pink panties? Let me see your front. Oh, my goodness, look at that pretty little bow. Maybe we'll have to invite you to our next sleepover. You'll love it. We'll wear our prettiest nightgowns, watch chick flicks, do each other's hair, play with makeup, practice dance moves, talk about boys, and gossip gossip gossip." It sounded like it might be fun, except for talking about boys, but I wasn't about to say so. "No, thanks." "I could call your mom and invite you to a girls' sleepover. I'm sure she'd ask you why." If she did, I was doomed. I realized it was a mistake not to bring a pair of boys' underpants to school, for emergency changes in situations like this. I'd be at risk for the rest of the day. If she told anyone... She let me go, and I hurried to my next class. At lunch, I had the bad luck to run into Serena and her boyfriend, Dick Long, who was on the football team - I didn't know what position, knob end or something. They walked up to the nerd table where I sat. "Hey, pussy," he said. "Whatcha wearing today?" Shit shit shit. Serena had told him. Had she told her girlfriends, too? I was in serious trouble. I tried ignoring him. "I said, whatcha wearing today?" I stood. "Clothes," I said. "I gotta pee." "Be sure to sit down!" Serena said. "What are you talking about?" someone asked. Serena began to chant. "Liam's wearing panties, Liam's wearing panties, Lame-o's wearing panties..." Dick grabbed me and made me bend over. I tried to protect myself, but other kids pulled my pants down, exposing my panties for all to see. My face was probably as pink as they were. "You goddamn pussy!" Dick said. He smashed his knee into my face. I dropped to the ground, blood spurting from my nose and lip. He, Serena and the kids around us scattered before a teacher noticed and came to investigate. She helped stand, pull up my pants and hobble to the nurse's office for first aid. Someone called our house, because Mother was there in half an hour. She gasped at the sight of my bandaged face and bloody clothes. Instead of comforting me, she questioned the teacher about what had happened. Afterwards, she drove me home, interrogating me en route. "You were wearing panties to school? Why? Just asking for trouble! Where'd you get them? Have you been wearing my clothes behind my back all this time?" She paused to catch her breath. "What am I supposed to tell your father? That you accidentally ran into someone's fist? I'm afraid I'm finally going to have to tell him about your dressing up. He's going to be furious that I didn't tell him years ago. And he's going to be disgusted with you and the whole sissy thing." She was right. Father berated Mother for not telling him years ago that I was a sissy. If he'd known, he could have done something - sent me to military high school, martial arts, the Boy Scouts, something, anything. Mother didn't argue with him, just meekly accepted it the way she always did. To my surprise, Father didn't shout at me. He didn't speak to me at all. It was weird. He just sort of canceled me, didn't acknowledge my presence except with a scornful glance. It wasn't like I was expecting him to understand me or offer any support, so I guess I was just thankful that he didn't shout at me or hit me. I wished Grandma were here. I decided then and there that I wouldn't return to that school. I told Mother and Father that I wouldn't go, couldn't feel safe there. Father wanted to make me go anyway, but Mother talked him out of it. Instead, she arranged a family meeting with the school counselor, a middle-aged woman named Ms. Williams. Ms. Williams told my parents that the school district's policy was to let students express their diversity by dressing any way they wished, as long as they didn't violate the school's dress code, which no longer distinguished between the genders. She also said that the principal would warn the students that it was against district policy for anyone to harass me for how I dressed. That's what the counselor said, but the way she spoke and looked at me made it clear that she personally was disgusted by the idea of a boy dressing as a girl, and thought I was a pervert. I just had to sit there and endure her attitude. The last thing I on earth I needed was for the principal to warn students not to harass crossdressers. People like Dick Long and Serena Saliva would instantly make my life a living hell, even if I wore only wear boys' clothes. Mother told Ms. Williams the same thing in nicer words. Father didn't like the idea of me dressing as a girl anywhere, and said he didn't think it was the school's job to encourage it. No one asked me what I wanted - and I'm not sure what I would have said. So the meeting was pretty much a failure. On the way home, my parents rehashed it. They agreed that I wouldn't go back to school right away, but couldn't agree on how I should dress. Neither of them wanted to see me in girls' clothes, but Mother felt obliged to at least try the school counselor's advice. Father forbade it. He said I could not wear girls' clothes in his house and refused to let Mother get them for me. As usual, Father won the argument, and our unhappy home became even unhappier. I was unhappy because my parents were unhappy, and because I could not satisfy a need deep inside myself. Mother was unhappy because Father and I were unhappy, and she was afraid for me - afraid I'd harm my future social status, marriage prospects, even my chances of getting a good job. Father was unhappy because he thought his son was a pervert and a failure and a disgrace to the family. After a week of this, a ray of hope appeared. Grandma came to visit. I'm not sure why she came. Maybe Mother called her and asked her to intervene. In any case, I was happy to see her. Grandma had a calmness and a tendency to see things in a positive way that my parents didn't, and she always had a tender spot for me. "Oh, Mom, I'm so glad to see you!" Mother said. "I simply don't know what to do about Liam." Mother and Father often talked about me as if I wasn't in the room. I hated it. "I don't know what we can do," Father said. "Once a fag..." "George!" Mother snapped. "Don't! Liam's not gay. He's probably straight. He just likes wearing girls' clothes." "No son of mine -" "Oh, stop it, the two of you!" Grandma broke in. She waited for my parents to stop sputtering. "This isn't just about Liam," she said gently. "The real problem is that the two of you are just too wound up. Too much tension, too much stress. Partly because of this, but not just this. You haven't taken a vacation in years." "We saw my parents the summer before last," Father said. "For a week, and I'm not sure I'd call it a vacation," Mother said. Father looked angry, but before he could reply, Grandma said, "You both need to relax. Get away from it all. Take a vacation, a real vacation, a long one. Don't worry about Liam, I'll take care of him." Wow! I liked the sound of that, and was careful not to show it. "You're stressed out from always having to be Father and Mother," Grandma said. "You need to take time to be George and Ren?e again." "Oh, George, could you?" Mother said. "All I have is PTA, the book club and choir practice, and they'll get by without me." She also had me... though this wasn't the moment to remind her. Father frowned. "Well, my deputy just got back from four weeks in Florida and needs a challenge... it'd be short notice, but she'd jump at the chance to run the place while I'm away." "Perfect!" Grandma said. "You should go somewhere beautiful. How about England and France? I'll pay for airfare and rail passes." "Oh, you shouldn't!" Mother said. "I insist," Grandma said. "Well... George, please, let's go," Mother said. "I've always wanted to see London. Stonehenge! Paris. That crazy castle in the ocean... Mont- Saint-Michel... Italy..." "Liam can stay with me," Grandma said. "Don't worry, I'll take proper care of him." Mother looked up at Father. "Can we?" she said. "Just the two of us?" "Just the two of us," Father said. "Yes. Let's. We can't leave him here alone, but he'll be safe with your mother." "I promise I'll keep a close eye on him," Grandma said. "You two make the arrangements, and let me know when to pick him up." A week later, Mother and Father were packed and bubbling with excitement, about to fly to Seattle to catch a nine-hour nonstop to London. I was packed, too, in a suitcase that Mother made sure contained only boys' things. She pulled me aside that morning and, ignoring my protests, checked my jeans to make sure I was wearing boys' briefs. Grandma arrived, and I lugged my suitcase out to her car. Mother gave me a hug and told me to be good and not give Grandma any trouble. Father just told me to do as Grandma said. I climbed into the passenger seat of Grandma's car, and we were off. It was cool to get to sit up front instead of always sitting in the back seat. Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we went, and on the way, we had a talk. "So, Liam, do you want to dress like a girl?" I didn't know what to say. If I said yes and it got back to Father, I'd be in deep trouble. "Don't worry, dear, I'm not going to say anything to your parents. You can tell me the truth. I won't be upset." I hesitated. "Well... yeah... kind of." "Do you know why?" "Not really. I mean, girls' clothes just feel nice. They're softer and prettier and more comfortable. I like it when one layer slides over another layer, like a slip over panties. I like the feeling of a dress swishing around my legs." "So do I," Grandma said. "So much more flattering than all the yoga pants or leggings you see these days, on women who should know better. But more comfortable? Have you ever worn a bra or a girdle or high heels all day?" "No," I said. "Would you like to?" "Well... my parents told me not to. I don't want to get in trouble." "You won't, dear. I already told you, I won't tell your parents. What happens at Grandma's stays at Grandma's." I hesitated. "I'll... I'll wear whatever you want me to wear." "Good girl," she said. "I'm not a girl, Grandma." "Would you like to be one? For as long as you're with me?" I took a deep breath. Did she mean it, or was this a trap? I wanted to say yes. I was afraid of what would happen if I said yes. She'd said twice that she wouldn't tell my folks. She was pretty much encouraging me to do it. Maybe this was an opportunity I'd never have again. I wanted to trust her. I decided I could. I decided I would. "Yes." I felt tied up in knots inside, hoping I hadn't said the wrong thing. "Good girl," she said. "We're almost home. First thing we'll do is get you out of those ugly boys' clothes. Then a bath, and then some prettier things to try on." "Oh, Grandma!" I was so happy that I started to cry. All those years of fear and humiliation and stifled desire, all those years of sneaking behind my parents' backs, all my anger at my parents and myself - it all began to flow out of me, and I felt a twisted mix of relief and sadness. Grandma wisely said nothing. She navigated the winding, tree-lined local roads, and at last I recognized her beautiful house near the end of the street. Grandma pressed a remote, a garage door opened and we pulled inside. The door closed behind us, and at that moment I finally felt safe, happy, secure against the outside world. I wiped my eyes and stopped crying. "Are you all right now, Liam?" Grandma asked. "I am now!" I said, suddenly giddy. My emotions were swinging up and down, back and forth. I got my suitcase out of the trunk and followed Grandma inside and down a long hallway to a bedroom door. "This is your room," she said. I set down the suitcase and opened the door. "Oh!" I cried. It was a girl's bedroom. Not one of those sappy baby girl's bedrooms that I'd read about on fiction sites, but a proper bedroom for a girl my age. Cream-colored walls and carpet, with lilac trim. A queen-sized bed with no silly canopy or bedposts, covered with extremely soft cotton sheets and pillowcases instead of satin. Pretty window treatments with ruffled valances to give them a feminine touch. Clean, Scandinavian furniture instead of stereotypical French Provincial - the bed, an armchair, a large chest of drawers and a vanity with a lighted mirror. On the walls hung a full-length mirror and posters of female soccer stars and superheroes. A shelf held a small collection of dolls and unicorns, some the worse for wear, memorabilia from an imaginary girlhood. A door led into an elegantly tiled bathroom with a shower enclosure and standalone tub. Another door opened into a walk-in closet with some clothes on hangers. I didn't want to take the time now to inspect the contents of the closet or dresser drawers, but couldn't wait to do it later. "Oh, Grandma! It's beautiful!" I said. "It's grown up, but not too grown up." "Just like you, dear. Now then, we have work to do. You're a mess! We need to get you into a bath, and shampoo and condition your hair, and properly moisturize your skin to keep it soft and smooth." She ran the bath and poured in capfuls of crystals and oils until it was filled with bubbles and smelled like flowers in spring. Grandma undressed and inspected me - "Oh, good, nothing to shave" - and helped me into the water. She scrubbed me and washed and conditioned my hair, and when I got out, she showed me how to wrap my hair in one towel and my body in another, covering my chest the way girls do, so as not to expose boobies that in my case didn't exist. I'd taken a girly bath - and now I hoped she would put me in girly clothes. She took me back into the bedroom. Laid out on the bed were a pair of lacy briefs, a matching bra, a full slip and a garter belt and stockings, all in white. I caught my breath, felt almost faint. "Lose the towel, and let's start with your bra," Grandma said. "Hold out your arms." She slid the straps up my arms and fastened the bra behind me, then adjusted them to make it fit right. From another drawer she pulled out two blobs the color of my skin that turned out to be silicone breast forms as heavy as real breasts, and lifelike enough inside the bra. I ran my hands over the bra cups, feeling the lace and embroidery decorating the cups and the tiny white bow between them. "Now the panties, Grandma?" "No," she said. "Garter belt." I picked it up, put it on backwards and pulled it around my waist until the six garters all dangled at the right locations. "Your mother said you ruined her stockings, so I'll show you how to put them on properly." Grandma demonstrated how to bunch up the stocking, insert the toe, slowly draw the delicate nylon up the leg, pull it taut and fasten the garter straps. I put on the other stocking and adjusted the garter straps until they were evenly taut. Grandma inspected my hosiery and made some minor adjustments. "And now your panties," she said. "Always put them on over your garters, so that you can pull them down when you go to the bathroom, or for any other occasion." She spoke matter-of-factly, but I felt myself blush. I could think of several possible occasions to drop my panties, all of them embarrassing and none of which I expected to occur in the foreseeable future. "Hands up." Grandma dropped the slip over them. It slid down my body to cover my bra, panties and garters, smoothing everything out nicely and finishing me off, ready to put on a dress. I adjusted the straps to make the slip fit perfectly over the bra and ran my hands over the delicate fabric, admiring how it turned the twin cups into a pretty bosom and created the illusion of cleavage. The bodice and hem of the slip were decorated with beautiful lace that would make me feel feminine even if it didn't show, and would attract the eyes of both sexes if it did, under a sheer blouse or dress. Grandma opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a particularly feminine article of underwear: a knee-length petticoat. Three tiers of rustling taffeta over an underskirt of nylon netting, with an elastic waist and lace-trimmed hems. She had me step into it, pulled it up to my waistline and fussed with it until it lay evenly. "Swing your hips," she said. I did, and the petticoat whirled up around my thighs. The boy in me was embarrassed and enraptured in the same moment. I loved the feeling of the clothes, but was sure I looked ridiculous. It dawned on me that whatever Grandma intended me to wear, it involved the petticoat. That meant a dress for sure. Knee-length, with a full skirt. "The petticoat helps with your skinny hips. You move nicely," Grandma said. "Let's do your makeup, then the dress." I sat at the vanity and watched her cleanse my face and put on a light coat of foundation, powder, eyebrow pencil, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, blush, lipstick and lip gloss. I knew I wouldn't remember it all, but was amazed at the way the makeup changed my looks. Before, I looked like a boy in girl's underwear. Now I looked like a girl ready to put on her dress. I pouted my lips and batted my eyelashes, and looked flirtatious instead of silly. Grandma picked up a hairbrush and started combing my collar-length hair straight back. I normally wore it with a side part, but she pulled it into a high ponytail, which she tied with a pink ribbon. "My salon can solve your hair problem, but this will have to do for now. Now, your nails." She chose a bottle of pink nail polish and put a quick coat on my fingers. "Normally I'd shape your nails and do a base coat and a clear coat, too, but we'll worry about those - and your toes - later. You can wear pumps for now." She disappeared into the closet again and emerged holding a dress and a pair of shoes. "What do you think of this, honey?" I gasped. It was an old-fashioned girl's party dress, in semi-sheer pink organza or a similar fabric, with puff sleeves gathered into ruffles and a white Peter Pan collar. An embroidered bodice hugged the body. A white sash circled the waist with long ties to make a pretty bow behind. Below the waistline the dress poufed out into a full skirt with three pretty little pleats above the hem to give it body. The collar, sleeves and hem were trimmed with delicate white lace. It looked like the kind of prom dress or party dress that you see in old movies, when boys and girls still went to dances or on dates together. No real girl my age would wear a dress like that today. A five- or six- year-old might, but only because her mother made her. The shoes were white patent Mary Janes with a rounded toe and a low kitten heel. I loved the outfit at first glance, because I was a sissy, not a real girl. "It's very pretty, Grandma," I said, trying to hide my excitement. "Isn't it a little... young?" "Oh, don't be silly. It's delicious. And no one will see you but me. Would you like to put it on?" "Uh... if you want me to, Grandma." "I asked what you want, not what I want. Do you want to put it on?" I looked down, abashed. "Yes," I said in a tiny voice, standing there in my girl's underwear, my pretty bra and panties and stockings and slip. And my petticoat, which looked so retro and was exactly what the dress needed underneath to make it stand out properly. Grandma lifted and lowered the dress over me, careful not to muss my makeup or hair. I thrust my arms into the sleeves as Grandma pulled the dress down over me, pulling and tugging until it was just right, and then zipped me up in back. The dress hugged me tightly above the waist and poufed out below my waist like a giant flower in bloom, swishing and frou-frouing back and forth on my taffeta petticoat. Grandma pulled the ties behind me and knotted them in a pretty bow to finish off the dress. I gave her a twirl. "Am I done, Grandma?" She laughed. "Accessories, dear child, accessories! I don't have any clip-on earrings, but at the very least you need a necklace, a bracelet, and a ring or two." She opened a drawer of the vanity and pulled out a set of pearl jewelry - probably cultured or even synthetic, but they were pretty, and they looked perfect with the old-fashioned dress. I hadn't worn jewelry before, so I didn't expect it to feel cold when I put it on, but it soon warmed up. Grandma looked me over, fetched one more piece from the drawer, and slid a pearl ornament into my hair. "Am I done now, Grandma?" "Not yet." She picked up a bottle of perfume on my vanity and applied dabs behind my ears, at the base of my throat, the inside of my wrists - "Don't rub them together," she said - and behind my knees. It mixed floral and citrus scents and smelled young and light, a girl's perfume, not a woman's. "Now you're done, as long as you stay inside," she said. "Come over to the mirror and take a good look at yourself." I stood in front of the full-length mirror, transfixed. Grandma had turned me from a scrawny boy into a lovely girl wearing a fancy dress from long ago. Grandma must have worn dresses like this when she was my age, back when girls dressed completely differently from boys. This dress was for parties and special occasions, not just everyday wear, and it was the most feminine thing I'd ever worn. I swished the skirts back and forth, enjoying the rustling sound, and dropped a clumsy curtsy to myself. "We'll work on that," she said. "Even so, what an improvement! You don't look much like a Liam anymore." I looked down at myself, at my embroidered bodice and sashed waist and rustling skirts, and the pearl necklace and bracelet and ring, and my white Mary Janes peeping out below my skirts. I smelled my perfume. "No, I guess I don't," I said. "I think I'll call you Lisa instead," Grandma said. "Do you mind?" Lisa. I didn't mind. I was tired of my boy name. The kids at school always turned Liam into Lame. "It's a very pretty name, Grandma." "And you're a very pretty girl," Grandma said. "A pretty name for a pretty girl. What's your name, dear?" "I'm Lisa," I said. "Lisa Coward." "Or you could use my last name. Lisa Richman. Would you like that?" Grandma said. "Whatever you want, Grandma. I'm Lisa now, and I'm dressed the way you want, and... what should I do now?" "I suggest you take that suitcase of ugly clothes your mother packed and put it out in the garage - you won't need any of them here. Then take some time to go through your closet and chest of drawers and see what's there, and maybe set aside any pieces or outfits that you particularly like so that you can try them on. It's getting late, so I'll start dinner, and you can do the dishes afterwards. If you want to be a girl living in this house, you'll have to do your share of the chores that you probably didn't do when you were a boy." It was true. Mother did almost all the cooking, cleaning and washing. I helped her more than most boys did, I think, but Father didn't help at all. Now that I was a girl, I would have to do a lot more of what I thought of as women's work. Another fact of my new, feminine reality clicked into place. I realized I would have to spend a lot of time tending to female things now, things that males didn't need to deal with. Things like bubble baths, moisturizing, putting on makeup, doing my hair, checking my nails and putting on my lingerie and outer clothes and jewelry and accessories in the morning. Undressing and cleaning off makeup and moisturizing and putting on a nightgown at night. Touching up my makeup during the day, and carrying a purse if I went out. Helping Grandma by learning how to cook and clean and do laundry. My old-fashioned party dress was just lovely, but it wasn't practical for everyday wear. I almost felt as though I should be wearing the kind of dress and apron worn by a housewife, or a housemaid. I decided to follow Grandma's suggestion and explore my new closet and chest of drawers and see what girly secrets they contained. As I checked drawer after drawer, something about them seemed familiar, and I realized that Grandma had folded and put away my lingerie in drawers in the same order that Mother used at home: panties in the top left drawer, then bras, then camisoles and slips... I knew the next drawer would contain hosiery, and so it did. One of the bottom drawers contained corsets and other mystery foundation garments, just as Mother's did, and I had a feeling I would soon learn what they were. The one difference was that my chest of drawers didn't contain any tops and tees, or yoga pants, or leggings, or the other comfortable garments that real women wore most of the time nowadays. Instead, it had a drawer full of old-fashioned girdles and another full of aprons - pinafore aprons with bibs and ruffled straps, long waist aprons that covered most of the skirt, and short little hostess aprons that didn't cover much of the skirt or bodice at all, but were beautifully decorated with ruffles, ribbons and lace. The closet held more surprises than the drawers did. Mother didn't wear clothes like these. Dresses, dresses, dresses. No trousers or shorts or culottes. Most of the dresses were vintage styles, very feminine, with snug bodices and very full skirts, obviously designed to be worn over equally full petticoats, at the knee or a little below. "Why so many of these old-fashioned dresses, Grandma?" I asked. She sighed. "My mother wore dresses like these in the 1950s and 1960s and I just loved how they made her look. So feminine, so pretty. I like wearing them myself, and now that I have a girl of my own to dress, I'm going to teach her to appreciate vintage fashions, and I'm going to appreciate the sight of her in them." A girl of her own. "Do you mean me, Grandma?" "Who else, sweetness?" "But... don't I belong to my parents? Won't I be going home to them soon, in a week or two?" "Oh, no, Lisa, I have you for the next two months. I made sure your parents would take a nice long vacation, by paying for it. And I made sure you would have one, too, staying here with me." "But in two months, I'll have to go home and change back to boys' clothes?" "Two months is a long time, dear. Let's see how your parents feel when they return. Maybe your dad will relax. Maybe they'll let you dress as you want, at least part of the time. Maybe they'll love how pretty you are and decide to finish raising you as a girl instead of a boy." Yeah, right, like that was going to happen. I wished there was something I could do about it. I wished I could stay with Grandma instead of Mother and Father. Most of the dresses in the closet were what I thought of as pretty housewife dresses, mostly cotton shirtwaists in floral prints, each with a matching apron, which I thought was a nice touch. A few were lighter and frillier - party dresses in rayon or other slinky fabrics that a teenage girl might wear. There were a few other dresses, too: an LBD that would require a breathtakingly tight corset; an ankle-length formal gown in many layers of amethyst chiffon with a surplice neckline; and a French maid's uniform. "Oh! Am I going to be your maid, Grandma?" "Normally, no. But I do plan to have formal dinners for friends once or twice a month, and it would be lovely to have a maid to serve at them. The etiquette of the dining table is certainly a useful thing for any young woman to know. Most of my guests will be women, and all of them will treat you with respect." I agreed to do it. I wanted to oblige Grandma any way I could, and it might be fun to dress up as a maid once in a while, as long as I didn't have to do it in front of men. I found some lovely sleepwear hanging in the closet. Two lace-trimmed nylon nightgowns with embroidered yokes, one waltz-length with short sleeves and one full-length with long sleeves. Two somewhat embarrassing sheer baby-doll nightgowns with matching panties, in soft pink and pale blue. And an ankle-length gorgeous white nylon bridal negligee lavished with lace and embroidery, with a matching peignoir robe. I would be even more girly at night than I was during the day. The rack of shoes included pumps, sandals and stiletto heels in black, white and bone, and ballerina flats and dainty slippers in pink and white. Grandma said she would buy me some shoes to match the dresses that turned out to be my favorites. A shelf held a small selection of black and white handbags and clutches. "Welcome to your new wardrobe, my dear," Grandma said as we left the closet. "There are no male clothes in the house, except for the suitcase you brought, which shall remain closed. You can wear female clothing at all times. Don't worry about what your parents expect when they return. For the next two months, you are my darling granddaughter, Lisa. I will introduce you as Lisa to my friends and neighbors - which means you must do an excellent job of becoming Lisa, an eighteen-year-old girl with good manners and natural female deportment." She pointed a finger at me and briefly flicked it down and up again. I didn't know what she wanted. "That's a signal to you, Lisa. It means I want you to curtsy. I'll use it in situations where you might not be sure how to greet someone." "You want me to curtsy when I meet people?" I asked. "Girls don't curtsy anymore." "They should," she said. "A curtsy is a show of respect. You are showing formal submission to whoever you curtsy to, usually an adult of higher status. A little more slowly, and a little lower, and lower your eyes when you dip. When you grasp your skirt, be sure to grasp your petticoat as well. You may look up as you rise. I want you to practice your curtsies in a mirror every day. Twenty nice, slow curtsies every night, the very last thing before you take off your dress and change into your nightwear." "Yes, Grandma," I said. She flicked her finger at me. I curtsied to her, more slowly, with lowered eyes, making sure I was raising my petticoat as well as my skirt. I felt ashamed, making this gesture of feminine submission. "Better. Good, you're listening. For the next few days, I will teach you how to hold yourself like a girl, how to stand, sit, walk, turn, curtsy and otherwise move like a girl, how to cross and uncross your legs without showing off your panties, how to get in and out of a car in a skirt, how to use your hands when you talk, how to hold your elbows in and your wrists limp without looking like a drag queen, how to flip your hair to dismiss or attract a man, all the things that girls know by your age. I'll also show you how to speak in a higher, breathier, quieter voice." And then she lowered the boom. "And then, one week from tomorrow night, I will invite my neighbor, Mrs. Noble, and her daughter, Natalie, to dinner. Not a dinner where you'll be the maid. You'll wear a pretty dress - your nicest housewife dress, or maybe we'll get you a cocktail dress - and sit at the table with the rest of us, and listen to us gossip, and we'll find out if you can pass as a girl." "No, Grandma, please!" I was terrified. I had to become a perfect girl in a week? Impossible! I would be clumsy, graceless, an obvious boy in petticoats. I would trip in my heels and sprawl on the floor with my skirts askew, showing off the lump in my panties. I would forget how to speak and would sound like a horse with a frog in its throat. "You can do it, Lisa, I know you can. Look how much more feminine you've become just today! This morning, you were a boy in grubby boy's clothes. Now you're a very pretty girl in a very pretty dress, and we just need to teach you how to move and talk like one. One week." It turned out that Mrs. Noble and daughter weren't available one week from that night, so in the end, I got nine days, and needed every hour of the extra time. Grandma drilled me for hours every day on feminine movement and behavior, and I spent an hour a day watching YouTube videos and practicing how to speak like a girl. A few days before the dreaded dinner, Grandma decided that she wanted me to wear my LBD for the dinner. I begged her to let me wear something that wasn't so short and tight and wouldn't reveal every defect of my figure and every mistake I made in posture and movement. She asked me if I'd rather wear my little girl's pink party dress. I gulped and said yes. In the end she didn't make me wear the pink dress, thank goodness, and chose the least retro-looking of my day dresses instead, a rayon dress in a floral print of white, royal blue and lavender. I would have to wear pearls and a petticoat with it, so I'd probably have to tell her guests I loved retro fashions. Grandma threatened to make me wear my corset so that I'd have to explain that, too, but relented, and said I could wear my usual lingerie. She told me she would cook the meal - chicken cacciatore, homemade garlic bread and an Italian salad dressed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar - and I would serve it as her polite granddaughter in my day dress, not as a maid in uniform. There would be only three courses: a simple antipasto, the meal and dessert. Mrs. Noble had agreed to let Natalie have a glass of wine with dinner, so I would have one, too. I hoped it didn't make me drunk and even more likely to expose myself in some embarrassing way. I bathed and moisturized and put on my lingerie, hose and petticoat before letting Grandma do my makeup, hair and nails. She barely used any makeup, just a touch of eyeshadow and pink lipstick, and kept my hair in a high ponytail tied with a white ribbon. I chose my lowest pair of white sandals to make my outfit more informal, and wore my pearl necklace and bracelet, but no rings or hair ornaments. A touch of scent, and Grandma declared me ready and left to get dressed. I went downstairs and set the table. Grandma came downstairs just as the doorbell rang. She answered it and welcomed her neighbors. She introduced me as Lisa, without using my last name, and introduced them as Mrs. Noble and Natalie. They were new to Idaho, had just moved here from California. Mrs. Noble wore a dress similar to Grandma's, and I realized that unlike me, they both instinctively knew how to dress for the occasion. Natalie, who was four inches taller than me, wore a slim gray tunic over black leggings and cute black clogs. I felt dreadfully overdressed. Grandma flicked her finger, and I dutifully curtsied to them. "Oh, how nice," Mrs. Noble said. "Natalie, it wouldn't kill you to be that polite once in a while." Natalie didn't answer, but gave me a withering WTF look. I served a plate of caprese appetizers with mozzarella, basil and cherry tomatoes on toothpicks, drizzled with balsamic vinegar, and noticed that Natalie chowed down on them without the usual apologies ladies make for eating anything. From the adults' conversation, I gathered that Natalie was a jock, a high school senior who would be going to Boise State in the fall on a volleyball scholarship. That made her my age, close enough, though her height made me feel like a little girl next to her. "That's quite a dress you're wearing," Natalie said. I blushed. "Thanks. I like your outfit, it's so simple." "Do you like that old-fashioned style? Oh my God, are you really wearing a petticoat?" "Yes," I said. "I guess it's kind of sexist or whatever, but I like the way it feels." "It's retro, it's cool," she said. "As long as it's not just about looking pretty for your man when he gets home from work." Now we were getting onto delicate ground. "I don't have a man," I said. She laughed. "Not even a boyfriend?" "No." "Have you ever had a boyfriend?" "Not really." I was afraid she was going to ask why, but she didn't. I wished I could relax, but had to remember my lessons. Don't squirm. Sit up straight. Girly voice. Elbows in, wrists limp, hands fluttering when you're talking, in your lap when you're not. Tilt the head. Look into their eyes, give them your complete attention. Smile smile smile. Maybe someday all this would be automatic, but it wasn't yet. I returned to the kitchen to turn the oven on broil for the garlic bread and checked the chicken cacciatore. It was simmering nicely and smelled delicious. I got out the salad and tongs, and when the oven was hot, I slid in the garlic bread on a pan and pulled it out when it was just the right shade of golden brown. I took the food out to the table, and everyone served themselves. Grandma's cooking was as good as ever, and for a few minutes we ate in silence. Mrs. Noble was the first to surface for air, and asked about the cacciatore recipe, and then the conversation became general. I mostly kept quiet, but asked Natalie what her volleyball games were like, and listened politely as she chattered away about herself, while Grandma and Mrs. Noble carried on a separate conversation about property taxes. I wasn't sure what those were, but they sounded awful. I cleared the table when everyone was done, served the tiramisu and took coffee orders - decaf for Grandma, Mrs. Noble and me, full caffeine for Natalie. As we sipped our coffee, Grandma said she wanted to talk to Mrs. Noble and told me I could take Natalie up to see my room. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but Natalie said she'd love to see it, so I had no choice. I led her upstairs, feeling extremely nervous. "How cute!" said Natalie when she saw my room. "I was afraid it'd be all pink." "Why pink?" "Well, you're such a girly girl, with that dress and your pearls and your pony tail, and - oh, I don't know, just everything about you. I'll bet you're wearing pink panties, too. Which makes me wonder." "Wonder what?" I asked. "Let's sit on the bed and I'll tell you a secret," she said, and she snuggled right up next to me. She whispered into my ear. "I think you're a boy." Shock. Horror. I drew back from her. "No, I'm not!" I squeaked. "Yes, you are," she said. "I can tell. You're doing a good job of imitating a girl, but you're not quite natural. I don't think my mom noticed, and I doubt a man would, but - be honest, Lisa - you're a boy, right?" I dropped my face into my hands. "Yes." Natalie put her arms around me and hugged me tightly. "Don't cry, Lisa, it's OK," she said. "Do you like girls, or boys?" "You mean, like-like?" She nodded. "Girls," I said. "I knew it!" she said. "So do I! You looked like a pretty girl, and I was emotionally attracted to you, but I wasn't physically attracted, and now I know why. You're a boy underneath all that poufy stuff." She plucked at my skirts. "Do you hate me?" "Hate you? No! I like you better as a girl than I would if you were a boy. You're softer, prettier, nicer and more attractive than any boy I've met. Ha! I just had an idea. Do you want to be my boyfriend?" "Boyfriend?" I said, confused. "Dressed like this?" "Oh, yes," she said. She reached down and lifted my skirt, petticoat and slip. I froze. I didn't try to stop her. She grabbed my boy bits through my panties. She didn't squeeze them, but she didn't let go, either. Her other hand circled my waist and pulled my body into hers. "I don't want a masculine boyfriend," Natalie said. "Boys always want to tell me what to do. I want a feminine boyfriend. One who plays the girl's role in the relationship, who wears girls' clothes and always does what I tell him to. The nice thing about having a boyfriend who looks like a girl is that we can go shopping, have dinner or stroll in the park and people will think we're just two friends spending time together. We can share girls' clothes, which a boy and a girl can't do. We can share a bed without anyone thinking nasty thoughts the way they would if we were two boys. And if I absolutely needed a male escort for some event, I could dress you up as a boy for the night. It would be so much fun! So, Lisa, would you like to be my feminine boyfriend?" I caught my breath, didn't know what to think. It was all so sudden. She looked into my eyes. "Understand one thing, Lisa. If you're my feminine boyfriend, I'm in charge when we're together. I wear the pants in the relationship, I make the decisions. You wear the skirts, and you do as I say. It's like if we were married, I'd be the husband, and you'd be the housewife." "Will you be my breadwinner?" I said, playfully swishing my skirts. Natalie laughed. "I'll be your date. When we go downstairs, ask my mom if we can go out this Friday night. Dinner in town and a movie. I'll drive. I want to see that new rom-com with Timoth?e Chalumet." I didn't know the name. "Is she pretty?" "He's a boy, you idiot. So, it's a date?" "What if people think I'm a boy?" "They won't. And if they do, I don't care, and you shouldn't, either." She wrapped her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me to her and kissed me thoroughly. She stroked my tiny nipples through my pink party dress. They tingled. I touched hers. She swatted my hand away. "Ah-ah-ah!" she said. "Say, 'May I?'" I reached for her nipple, but stopped an inch short. She eyed my finger warily. "May I?" I said. "You may," she said. I did. Her nipples were far more sensitive than mine, and she made me stop after a few moments. "Ooh, that's nice, Lisa, but this isn't the time," she said. "Sometime when we're alone. We should go back downstairs and see if they're done talking." She glanced in a mirror. "We'd better fix our lipstick first!" When we went downstairs, Mrs. Noble was ready to go. Natalie gave me a look. "Um, Mrs. Noble?" I asked, with a slight dip that stopped short of a full curtsy. "Yes, Lisa?" "I was wondering... Natalie and I would like to go out this Friday night, but wanted your permission first." "Sounds like fun! Where would you go?" I glanced at Natalie. "I was thinking... dinner and a movie in town, if she can drive." "She can. You don't have a license?" "I do, but I almost never drive. I'm sure she's a better driver." "If she goes over the speed limit, tell her not to. What movie?" Natalie piped up. "That new rom-com with Timoth?e Chalumet." Mrs. Noble smiled. "Oh, isn't he gorgeous? Well, you go right ahead." "Thank you, ma'am." Natalie surprised me by curtsying to Grandma and thanking her for dinner. I curtsied to Mrs. Noble, and Grandma thanked them for coming and let them out the door. I took a deep breath. I wanted to know how I'd done, but was afraid to ask. "I thought that went rather well, Lisa," Grandma said. "I don't think Mrs. Noble realized that you're not a real girl." "Really? Natalie did," I said. "Did she? How did she react?" "She asked me to be her feminine boyfriend," I said. "That's why we're going out Friday." I explained what Natalie had said. "Well, well, well! Did you say yes?" "Yes," I said. She kissed my cheek. "Good girl. You will learn a great deal from her. One tiny bit of advice? I don't think Mrs. Noble knows that Natalie, you know, likes girls, the same way that you like girls, not just their clothes. Anyway, don't let Mrs. Noble learn it from you! No public displays of affection in front of her, please." "I won't, Grandma. I can't speak for Natalie." "I know. I hope she behaves." The next day, Natalie invited me over to her house after school, and Grandma said I could go. I wore a sensible day dress with my second- fullest petticoat. Mrs. Noble admired my outfit and said it was nice to see girls dressing like girls, which drew a snort from Natalie. Her mother said we could go up to her room, so we did. Her room was so much cooler than mine. No pastel colors, no ruffled curtains, no shelf of dolls, no girl-power posters. It was a monochrome room, black, white and gray. The walls were covered with black-and-white photos, most of which showed Natalie with a horse: walking, trotting, galloping, taking a jump and so on. I didn't care about the horse, but in every photo, Natalie looked magnificent in her perfectly tailored breeches, riding coat, knee-high boots and little round helmet. One frame held a collection of blue, red and yellow award ribbons from what I assumed were horse shows or competitions. "You ride horses," I said, and mentally kicked myself for stating the obvious. "Yes," she said. "Do you?" "No, I've never tried it." "It's an expensive hobby," she said. "Fortunately, mom made out like a bandit in her divorce from dad." "Oh?" I said, and that's all the encouragement she needed to tell me all about how her dad cheated on her mother and things got nasty and she divorced him and got the house, half the bank account and custody of Natalie. She worked the story for every bit of the drama in it. I found it sordid. My parents had their problems, but there was never a hint that either had ever been unfaithful to the other. I'm not sure how the story led to us lying on the bed next to each other, enthusiastically kissing and playing with each other's tits through our clothes. I think it might have been when Natalie quietly closed her bedroom door, laid down and whispered to me, "She'll knock first, but keep your clothes on." I cupped her pelvic mound through her skirt, and she arched her back and softly moaned, and we soundlessly rubbed and stroked each other for a little while. "I have to be careful," I whispered to her. She lay still for a few moments and then rolled off me. We adjusted our clothing, fixed our lipstick and went back downstairs. "I really like Natalie's room, Mrs. Noble," I said. "She must be quite the equestrian." "Equestrienne," Natalie said, correcting me. "Oh, she is," her mom said. "Do you have any interests like that?" "Not really," I said, feeling foolish. I did have a special interest, but I couldn't tell her it was dressing like a girl. Natalie smirked at me over her mother's shoulder. We chatted for a while, then I went home, and didn't see Natalie again until Friday. She knocked on the door when it was time to leave for the movie. She wore black trousers and a black velvet blazer over a white silk shell, with no jewelry and only light makeup. At her request, I wore my royal blue housewife dress with a medium petticoat, a black shawl, three-inch black sandals, a pearl necklace and daytime makeup. She opened the passenger door for me and I got into the car, sitting down and then swiveling in my seat with my knees pressed firmly together. The movie started at 4:00, so we'd eat afterwards. "So, I'm your boyfriend?" I said, adjusting my skirts in the car seat. "It seems like you're the gentleman tonight." "You're my feminine boyfriend, and you're doing a fine job of it," Natalie replied. "I love your dress, and whatever you've got on underneath it." "You know what I've got on underneath it," I said. "Pantyhose or stockings?" "Stockings." "Garter belt or girdle?" "Garter belt. Do girls still wear girdles?" "Retro girls like you might," she said. The movie was fine, I guess. I didn't see that much of it, because I spent a lot of it being kissed and felt up in the far corner of the back row of the theater. Natalie had her hand up my skirt or down my bra for almost the entire second half of the film, so I missed whatever it was that solved the silly misunderstandings between the boy and girl and led to a gorgeous wedding scene. Timoth?e Chalumet was indeed a boy, and the leading actress ? I forget her name ? was an anorexic waif, and the costumes were gorgeous, and... well, anyway, like I say, we weren't focused on the flick. The credits rolled over a power ballad and we walked out into a pretty evening. I pulled my wrap up over my shoulders. "Are you cold, Lisa?" Natalie asked. "I could lend you my jacket." "Then you'd be cold and I would look silly," I said. "I'm fine. Where should we have dinner?" "You tell me, boyfriend," Natalie said. "Did you make reservations?" "No," I said. "I remember someone telling me that she was in charge when we're together. She wears the pants in the relationship, she makes the decisions. I wear the skirts, and I do as she says." She laughed. "Touch?! Well, I just so happens that I know of a good pizza joint a couple of blocks away. Sound OK?" I stumbled over uneven paving in my heels and had to clutch her arm. "If my feet last that far. These heels are ridiculous!" "Those heels are sexy," she said. "You'd look even better in four-inch heels, we'll have to get you some." We got a booth. I ordered a small thin-crust margherita pizza, and Natalie ordered a medium Tuscan chicken pizza. I insisted that Natalie take home the leftovers, as Grandma wanted me to lose an inch off my waist. I was in a wonderful mood as Natalie drove us over the river and through the woods to Grandma's house. She opened the door for me and helped me out of the car. The evening had cooled off and I was glad of my shawl for even the short walk back to the house. I turned on the doorstep to face Natalie. "Thank you," I said. "I had a wonderful time." "Good," she said. "So did I. I think I like having a boyfriend." "A feminine boyfriend?" I said, swishing my skirt around my hips. "A very feminine boyfriend." She hugged me tight and kissed me long and hard. I draped my arms around her neck and leaned into her and lifted one heel off the ground, the way girls did in movies. She set me down. "You'd better get inside before you violate your curfew." "Yes, ma'am," I said. I took the key out of my purse and unlocked the door. As I opened it, Natalie gave my bottom a firm spank. My skirt, petticoat, slip and panties took the sting out of it, but its force propelled me into the hallway, skidding on my heels. "You be a good girl," Natalie said, "and I'll see you soon. Don't forget to take off your makeup and moisturize and brush your hair." "Yes, ma'am," I said, and closed the door on her. Grandma was making tea in the kitchen. "Well?" she asked. I told her the whole story, including Natalie feeling me up in the theater. She approved. "It sounds like you handled everything perfectly," she said. "Did she put her hand inside your panties?" "Yes, but I didn't get very stiff, and she started playing with my nipples." "Does that work for you? Boys often don't feel much." "It felt nice," I said, "but her nipples work a lot better than mine." "We could fix that someday," she said. I didn't know how to reply to that, and didn't. As I went to bed that night in my pale blue baby-doll nightgown, I marveled at my new life at Grandma's. The change from life at home was dizzying, and all of it was for the better. Mother and Father were thousands of miles away, having what I hoped was a wonderful time without me. I was living with my favorite relative, in beautiful lakefront house that was much nicer than my parents' house. I could wear whatever clothes I wanted. I could wear panties, a bra, a slip, petticoats, dresses, nightgowns and high heels every day. I could wear makeup and nail polish, perfume and jewelry, and ribbons in my hair. For the first time in my life I had a girlfriend, one who was definitely demanding but also strong and beautiful. For the first time in my life, I was a girl's boyfriend ? Natalie's feminine boyfriend. She evidently didn't mind my feminine side, and Grandma didn't, either. If Mrs. Noble couldn't tell that I was physically male, none of us were going to tell her. Emotion overcame me. I was so lucky! I started to cry, and sobbed into my pillow until it was damp, shaking with a mixture of overwhelming relief and the pain of the past, unable to believe that life could be so good to me after being bad for so long. How could I deserve this? Surely something would happen to spoil it all, and I knew what it would be: my parents' return from Europe. When would they be back? How much time did I have left? What would happen when they came back? Would I have to go live with them again? What would happen if they, especially Father, saw me in the clothes I wore now? Could Grandma protect me somehow? Should I force myself to start dressing like a boy again before they arrived? I worried about it all until I fell asleep, and it took me a long time to fall asleep. A few days later, Natalie dropped by Grandma's house and invited me to go shopping with her. I eagerly accepted. "Just one thing," Natalie said. She was carrying a shopping bag, and set it down on the floor. "You make a very pretty girl, but I want you to go shopping as a boy, not a girl." "What do you mean?" "I'm going to make you look like a man wearing girls' clothes. No breast forms, no makeup, no jewelry, no purse, no hairdo. I'll tell the salesgirls that I'm going to a lesbian wedding with my boyfriend, I want to make him look as feminine as possible, wear a pretty dress with all the underpinnings, and can she please help us find something perfect for him." "No, Natalie! God, that would be so embarrassing!" "I know! That's why I want to do it! You need to learn that I'm in charge of you! Here's how it will work. I borrowed some skinny jeans and a pink V-neck tee and a pair of penny loafers from a girlfriend who's about your size, and you're going to wear them to the store, looking ridiculous. I'll whisper to the salesgirl who you are, and she'll giggle, and we'll fit you for a control panty to hide your boy bits, a training bra, a garter belt and stockings, a slip, a pretty dress, heels and accessories. We might have to make you try on a lot of dresses to find just the right one." "Oh, please, Natalie! Please don't! I don't need a new dress! You don't need to humiliate me this way." "Oh yes I do, Lisa! After we find and pay for your new clothes, you'll put them on, and we'll take you to the store's jewelry counter for some bling, and the cosmetics counter for a makeover. You'll walk in looking like a boy in girl's clothes and you'll walk out looking like ? well, like yourself. A gorgeous feminine person. I'll take pictures, and if you don't behave perfectly, I'll post them with a message about how you asked me to take you shopping, and ask my friends what they think of your new look." "Oh my God, please no! Natalie! Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind about this? It'll be the most embarrassing day of my life." "Hmm... well, if you obey me perfectly and don't make a fuss, then I won't post anything. You'll still have to do it, but the whole world won't see the result." I was so desperate that I tried an appeal to authority ? possibly the last thing that would work with Natalie. "I'm not sure my Grandma would want me to do this..." "I asked her. She thoroughly approves. She thinks it'll be a lark." "I don't! Why can't I look like a girl?" "I don't want you to look like a girl when we arrive. I want you to look like a sissy. We're leaving in half an hour. Clean off your makeup, muss up your hair and change into these clothes." She handed me the bag. Back we went to Spokane for a day at Nordstrom. I had to walk the length of the mall in skintight jeans with embroidered pockets and zippered ankles, a woman's top and women's loafers, but otherwise looking like a boy. I got plenty of unwelcome stares. To complete my embarrassment, at once point Natalie had to remind me to walk like a boy, not a girl. We finally made it to the store and found a cute young salesgirl to wait on us. Natalie took her aside and explained what we were shopping for. The girl ? her nametag said Mackenzie ? giggled and looked me up and down. "Well, Liam, you certainly need a lot of things! You'll be the prettiest guest at the wedding! I'll go set up a dressing room for you." "I call him Lisa," Natalie said. "That's a much better name for him," Mackenzie agreed. "Come along, Lisa." It took more than an hour to try on and select all the pieces of my outfit, including the dress itself. I chose ? all right, Natalie and Mackenzie chose ? a cute little semi-sheer lavender dress with a ruffled skirt that ended above the knee. Natalie decided that I would wear it out of the store, so Mackenzie removed the price tags from my new lingerie and dress, and she and Natalie went off to settle the bill while I slipped back into the loafers. They didn't go with the dress at all, so we did shoes next, and I ended up buying some cute lavender satin sandals with three-inch heels. We dropped by the ladies' room, where Natalie refreshed her lips and let me finally put on my makeup. Natalie took a brush out of her purse and redid my hair with a cute little bow on the side, and then pulled out my breast forms and popped them back into my bra. At the jewelry counter, I had my ears pierced for some heart-shaped gold studs and bought a fake gold necklace and bracelet. I got made up at the cosmetics counter, splashed on some tester perfume and was ready to go. Natalie and I exchanged air kisses with Mackenzie and we were off. Natalie reminded me that I was a girl now and had to resume my feminine walk, voice and gestures. My new heels made me thrust out my bust and bottom, but I had to remember to hold my elbows in, let my wrists go limp, take short steps and swivel my hips. I thought we were done, but Natalie disagreed. We stopped by an organic eatery for salads and then spent a half hour looking at sheer unmentionables in a fancy lingerie store. We didn't buy anything, but Natalie kept me on edge by asking me if I liked this tiny scrap of lace and latex, or that evil-looking garment with drawstrings up the spine, and I had to answer her the way a girl would. "Oh no, Natalie, I don't need a waist nipper ? my corset can take four inches off my waist." Which was true, by the way. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I begged Natalie to take me home, and she took mercy on me. Some idiot gave us ? me? ? a wolf whistle in the parking lot, but soon enough we were back in the car, on our way back to Grandma's. "Why did you make me do this, Natalie?" I asked. "I wanted to teach you what it's like to be my feminine boyfriend," she said. "I wanted to teach you humility. I wanted to teach you obedience. And I wanted to make you think hard about the difference between boy behavior and sissy behavior and girl behavior. I thought it went very well. You were humiliated, you were obedient, and you shifted from boy mode to sissy mode to girl mode very nicely." "You didn't do it just to make fun of me?" "No! I would never do that! Did I laugh at you? Did anyone laugh?" "That girl Mackenzie did, and you heard the comments that boys were making..." "Oh, come on! She barely giggled, and you have to admit, you were quite a sight in your skin-tight sissy outfit! And wasn't she helpful? How does your new bra fit?" I had to admit it was really comfortable. "Well, then! You got a whole new outfit, a comfortable bra ? which any woman will tell you is worth its weight in gold ? and valuable lessons in being a feminine boyfriend. I'd call that a successful day! What would make it perfect would be if you cooked and served us a nice dinner, and we invited my mom over, and you showed off your new outfit in your new super-comfy bra. How does that sound? I'll ask your grandmother as soon as we get there." Later, after I had modeled my new dress and shoes, I cooked and served dinner and cleaned up afterwards. Grandma, Mrs. Noble and even Natalie complimented me on my feminine skills and demeanor. "Something's different about you," Mrs. Noble said. "Thank you," I said, and gave her a picture-perfect curtsy. "Lisa is giving me lessons on how to be a perfect girl," Natalie said with a smile that stopped just short of a smirk. "I'm glad to hear it," Mrs. Noble said. "Learn from her." "Oh, I shall," Natalie replied. ~ ~ ~ The school year finally ended. I'd already left school, but before she left, Mother talked them into giving me a diploma in exchange for not being sued for sexual harassment, and they did. Natalie was graduating with honors in chemistry, so she decided to do the whole senior-year thing, and I had to be her male escort. She told me I had to invite her to the senior prom and grad night, so I did. I had to wear a boy's suit and clunky shoes to both events, while she got to wear gorgeous cocktail dresses borrowed from her mother. She let me wear panties, an empty bra, a garter belt and stockings underneath the suit, so that I would spend the evening in fear of discovery. For her public graduation ceremony, however, I wore my new outfit ? the lavender dress and sandals we'd gotten at the mall ? and sat with Mrs. Noble and Grandma. If anyone asked, I was Grandma's grandniece and Natalie's cousin. No one recognized me as a boy. I clapped when Natalie crossed the stage and received her diploma and got a kiss on the cheek from the principal. Afterwards she told me he was a dirty old perv who was way too touchy-feely with the female student body. Natalie had already applied to Boise State in chemical engineering and had been accepted. She knew what the next four years of her life would be. My future, however, was a complete unknown. It all depended on what happened when my parents returned. The days counted down toward the moment that would decide my destiny. I asked Grandma what I should wear when I met them. "Let's be honest," she said. "If you wear boys' clothes, you'll give a misleading impression of your new life here. If you wear a dress, you'll save us time, if not tears, by forcing your parents to confront the real issue. I recommend one of your relatively plain, unadorned house dresses, maybe the burgundy one with the tiny pink flowers, and your simplest black pumps. Minimal jewelry ? studs in your ears, a thin gold chain ? and no perfume. I'll send you to the salon the day before the meeting so they can do something simple and a bit androgynous with your hair, maybe a pixie or a wedge cut." She decided to leave me at home while she picked them up at the airport, so that my father wouldn't meet the new me in a public place and do something that would embarrass all of us. Instead, she would take them to their house, where I would be waiting in their living room. I would rise when they entered and wait for them to react. If they remained calm, I would offer Mother a hug and, if she accepted it, I would offer Father a hug, and hope for the best. If they offered to kiss me or shake my hand or greet me some other way instead, I would do as they did. If they ignored or belittled me, I would say nothing and would wait for Grandma to handle the situation. If necessary, she would take me back to her house. The thought of the encounter filled me with fear. Father wouldn't be able to ignore me. The sight of me in a dress and heels would trigger him. He would shout at me, might even hit me, or disown me on the spot, or walk out in a rage with nothing decided. Mother would be extremely disappointed to see her son dressed as a girl, and would go along with whatever Father decided. I could not imagine a good outcome. I placed all my faith in Grandma and hoped she could protect me from him. The fatal day dawned. I dressed, breakfasted lightly and accompanied Grandma to the salon. When I left, I had an ambiguous haircut that could be brushed into a boy's or girl's look, and wore light daytime makeup with soft pink lipstick and nail polish that almost matched my natural color. Back home, I put on my usual lingerie with one of my less full petticoats and slipped into the dress and shoes. The mirror showed me a handsome young lady with more boyish looks than usual. If you knew I was Liam, you could recognize me in my dress and heels. I didn't pack any of the clothes or other stuff I had at Grandma's. She drove me to our house and dropped me off on her way to the airport. Grandma had a cleaning crew come in a day earlier to dust the house, which of course had been vacant since they left, so I didn't have anything to do. I was too nervous to sit still, so I wandered about, tidying up and straightening things. I went up to my bedroom and saw all my boys' clothes in my closet and drawers. Eventually I went back downstairs, sat on the couch in the living room, smoothed my skirts over the petticoat, folded my hands in my lap like a good girl and waited patiently for them to arrive. I heard a car pull up in the driveway. I rose, trying not to wobble in my heels, shook out my skirts and stood by the front door, ready to open it. It burst open on its own. Father stood on the doorstep, putting his keys back in his pocket. I backed up to make room for the adults to enter: Father, Mother and Grandma, in that order. Father saw me standing there in my burgundy dress and heels. I don't know if he noticed my makeup or nails, but there was no mistaking the dress, whose skirt swayed back and forth as I moved. "What the hell?" he said. "Oh God, is this Liam? In a dress?" "Liam!" Mother said. "Why are you ?" "Isn't it obvious?" Father snapped. "While we were away, the fag decided to play." "George! He's not a fag ?" "Then what is he? What are you, Liam? A boy or a girl?" He took a step toward, loomed over me. "Well?" I cringed, fearing him. "I'm not Liam anymore, Father," I said hesitantly. "I'm Lisa." "Lisa?" he roared. He slapped my face so hard that I fell. In disarray, my skirts exposed my petticoat, garters, stockings and heels. "George!" Mother shrieked. "Don't you touch him!" She stood between Father and me, ready to ward him off. I scuttled away from him on my back, skirts askew, and climbed to my feet, letting my dress and petticoat fall to recover my modesty. I automatically began tidying myself and my clothes the way a girl would, realized what I was doing and stopped. Father seemed to collect himself, breathing hard, making no further move toward Mother or me. "I will say this once," he said. "I will not live with that" ? he pointed a shaking finger ? "in my house. It is no son of mine." "He is your only son," Grandma said gently. Father snorted. "Maybe not," he said. "You haven't heard the latest. Congratulate your daughter on her blessed news." Grandma's eyes opened wide. "Ren?e? You're..." "Yes!" Mother said. "A little brother or sister is on the way. I think it happened in London the night we arrived. Two weeks later I missed my period, and got a test kit at a pharmacie in Paris. I think it's due in March." "That's wonderful!" said Grandma, obviously trying to divert the conversation onto positive ground. "Yes, well," said Father, seemingly discomfited by the clinical detail, "that doesn't solve our immediate problem. Do you hear me, Ren?e? I don't want your child to grow up with an elder brother who flounces about in dresses. What can we do about Liam? Boarding school? They'd still send him home for the holidays." "What do you mean, George?" Mother asked. "Are you seriously trying to get rid of your son?" I wondered what she meant by 'get rid of.' "He'll be eighteen in a month, and he has to leave the nest at some point," Father said. "I don't want him flouncing around here in outfits like..." Grandma interrupted him. "May I make a suggestion?" "Yes?" said Father suspiciously. "What if Liam came to live with me?" Wild hopes soared in my heart. I tried to quell them. Father would never let me do it. "He was happy and well-behaved while you were away," Grandma said. "Well-behaved because you put him in dresses!" Father snapped. "Well-behaved, helpful, polite ? a perfectly behaved child," Grandma said. "My house is private, and my guests can dress as they like." "No!" Father said. "I'm not going to ?" "Wait!" Mother said, holding up her hand. She asked Grandma, "You'd take Liam? Because I'll have morning sickness soon, and with George..." She didn't finish the sentence. "Yes, I'll take him," Grandma said. She stood by me, wrapped one arm around me, used the other to toy with my hair. "George, what if I remove the problem child from your house? Liam can live with me. You won't have to pay for his support or schooling..." "What schooling?" Father said. "Maid school?" "He might do well at community college," Grandma said. "Sure," Father said. "Dressmaking... Beginning Makeup... Beauty Parlor 101..." "George! Stop it!" Mother said. "Why shouldn't Liam live with my mother? I want my pregnancy to be peaceful, quiet, serene. I don't want you shouting and stomping about and hitting people!" Father had the decency to look slightly abashed. "Sorry," he said, glancing at me. I didn't reply. "Well?" Grandma said. "What if I say yes?" Father said. "You'll take him off our hands while Ren?e's pregnant?" "Or longer," she said. "You'll certainly want to raise your baby in a calm, stress-free environment." "She's absolutely right, George," Mother said. "I insist." I spoke up. "You don't want me here? You'd rather I lived with Grandma?" She blushed. "What I want ? what I need ? is peace and quiet for my new baby," she said. "Father is right that your... habits will cause problems, and not just between you and him. I'll be having lots of visitors starting soon, all my friends and family, and... well... if you really must wear dresses, I'd rather you not do it here. I'm sorry, darling, but I have to consider everyone's feelings, not just yours." Hearing this didn't upset me. It liberated me. I caught a glimpse of the distant possibility that this awful reunion could have a good outcome. "If the best way to solve our problems is for me to live with Grandma, I'm willing to do it," I said. My mother embraced me and cried, which of course made me cry. Embarrassed, Father turned to Grandma. I could just barely hear what he said. "You'll pay all his expenses?" "Yes," she said. "But I want something in return. Legal custody." "You'll adopt him?" "Yes, which means you'll lose custody. The courts might need to emancipate him from you first, I don't know how the law works. I'll pay for the lawyers, but I won't have you coming to me in a year and demanding him back." "Don't worry," he said. He can't have realized I could hear him, because he said, "He's all yours. Our next kid will be normal. And the kid after that. You won't bring him here dressed as a girl, will you?" "Here's what I suggest, George. He's no longer Liam. She is Lisa, the older cousin of your new child. Her parents died in an accident, so I adopted her. Lisa will love to dote on her little cousin when it's older, especially if it's a girl, but only if you politely allow her to visit. You will stop screaming at her and insulting her, and if you strike her again, I will call the police. You will treat Lisa as a female, my adopted granddaughter. Do you understand?" "There's no danger he'd try to molest the child, is there?" "Oh, for Christ's sake! Where do you get this nonsense? No! Your son is a transvestite. He is not homosexual, he is not a pedophile, he is no danger to anyone. He's heterosexual. In fact, he has a girlfriend now, the daughter of my next-door neighbor." Grandma's statement seemed to take Father aback. "Really?" he said. "Could all this be... just a phase?" "No. The urge doesn't go away." She smiled. "His girlfriend's pretty." "Does she know...?" "Yes. She doesn't mind. Rather likes it, actually." Father shook his head. "Wow. Well. In the long run, I can probably get used to anything. But I'll need time to deal with this. Things are going to be crazy enough with Ren?e and the baby." "I can give you all the time you need," Grandma said. "I'll take Liam, who you will now call Lisa, home with me tonight. Anything of his you find here, including his old clothes, can go into storage or to Goodwill. His new wardrobe and personal items are at my house. He has some boys' clothes in case he needs them. You'll hear from my lower about custody. Please do exactly as he says." "Did you have this in mind all along?" Father said. "Is this why you sent us to Europe? We have to thank you for that, by the way, it was wonderful." "You're welcome," Grandma said. "I thought the trip would be a good investment in everyone's happiness. You and Ren?e needed time on your own. No, I wasn't planning to steal your son, but when I saw how happy he was as Lisa, I didn't have the heart to force him to be Liam." "Thank you, mom," Mother said. "I'll always love him and of course we'll see him again ? maybe at his wedding to his girlfriend!" Fat chance, I thought. I was pretty sure Mother was happy to be rid of me, if only to placate Father. All she wanted was peace and quiet, so she could obsess about the new life growing inside her. It was only natural, I suppose. I was old enough to leave the nest, even if I wasn't ready to fly yet. We bid each other awkward goodbyes. I climbed into the car and we headed over the river and through the woods to Grandma's house. "Natalie will be delighted that you're staying with me," she said. "She and I have talked about your future, you know. If you want your relationship with her to progress, you'll need proper training in all the feminine arts. You have natural talent, but you've barely scratched the surface of womanhood. Instead of college, we've talked about sending you to a private school in New York state. It's called The Sweet Academy. It turns boys into girls." "What? Really?" I couldn't believe such a place existed. "Yes. You'll love it. There are only two hundred students. They all get girls' names and wear cute schoolgirl uniforms with pleated skirts and sheer blouses and sexy lingerie. It's like a finishing school for boys who want to be girls. It'll be perfect for you! You'll study dressmaking, feminine deportment, hair care, makeup, cooking and housekeeping. A year there will polish you up very nicely to become Natalie's pretty housewife and hostess." "Housewife and hostess? I thought I was just Natalie's boyfriend. Feminine boyfriend." "She hasn't talked to you yet?" "About what?" "About a year from now, when she plans to move out of the dorms and into an apartment in Boise," Grandma said. "She'd love it if her first roommate was an extremely feminine boyfriend perfectly trained in the domestic arts at The Sweet Academy." "Oh!" "A feminine boyfriend who isn't a student, because he'll be too busy doing all the cooking, cleaning, washing and household chores in her apartment while wearing his pretty housewife's dress, petticoats, high heels and apron." "Ohh!" "A boyfriend who might make some lucky girl an ideal feminine husband someday. Of course, he'd have to be willing to be the one wearing a wedding gown..." "Ohhh!" The End