It had been carefully planned, and now, all of my work was about to pay off, yet no matter what I tried, I still felt scared, of what, I could not really put into words, but I was scared none the less. My knees shook and sweat ran down my back while my eyes darted back to the mirror for one last look before I stepped out of my bedroom.
I am 13 now, living with my mother in a nice home in the suburbs of a major city, just the two of us now that the divorce was final and my father had left for a new job, with another woman, to live in a far away state. I’m about average in size for a boy my age I guess, almost five foot tall, with soft reddish brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a smile made with a mouth that mom said would some day be sensuous. My mother and I shared everything, talking about our day over dinner each night, my lively rendition of what had happened in my day often funny, and usually accurate. But I did not share my one and only deepest secret with her. My fear of her reaction kept me quiet, forcing me to hold it inside, until I felt myself bursting to tell her.
I had planned it all out, and while I waited for my hair to grow longer, I began to buy what I needed and wanted, using a catalog to find the sizes, writing it all down, then using my own money, buying everything in several trips to the mall. It had taken all of my courage, but that morning I had decided to tell, or rather show, my mother my deepest secret, and as soon as I was out of bed I began to get ready.
I know mom heard me up and about in my room and must have wondered why I did not come down like I usually did, but knowing her, I’m sure she considered my age and went back to reading the paper. In my room, I first slipped the thin cotton panties on, the pink color clearly not masculine in any way, and then I fastened the small bra around myself and clipped the single hook in front. For padding, I used a single sock in each cup of the bra, hoping it would look okay. The pantyhose were easier but no less exciting, and as the smooth nylon slid up my legs, I shivered more from the very thought that I had them on than anything else. I pulled them to my waist and quickly stepped into the halfslip, then took the dress, pulled it over my head, and managed, after an unfamiliar struggle, to close the zipper up the back. My feet quickly found the shoes near the side of my bed, the ones with a short two inch heel. I dashed into the bath and traced my mouth with a garish pink lipstick and brushed my hair back and down, parted it in the middle like so many of the girls in my school. It was the very best I could do and I knew it, just like I knew it was not good enough, yet it would have to do. I drew in a breath and opened the door to my bedroom and stepped out.
Unaccustomed to hearing heels other than her own, she was not aware of me, as I slowly stepped into the kitchen, the gentle scent of my lipstick lost in the aroma of her breakfast. Suddenly, mom became aware of me and looked up to see a young girl standing there. Shocked, words failed to come to her lips as I stood there, clearly nervous. She quickly recovered, and motioned to a chair, which I quickly sat in. She looked at me, seeing, on one hand, that I could be very pretty as a girl, and on the other hand, that I was very nervous. It took just a heartbeat that seemed forever to me, before she spoke.
"Do you want toast with your cereal this morning?"
Clearly, it was not the response I expected, but I nodded my head yes and watched as she made the toast, then sat across from me as she handed it to me.
We looked at each other for a moment, then she said, "eat your breakfast dear and we’ll talk later." Still afraid, I ate my meal in silence, waiting for her to say something, anything, because the silence was killing me! At last, she asked me. "Tell me about it Tim."
I let it all out in a rush, almost like a single, very long word. My constant dreams about being a girl, the overwhelming desires I felt when I looked at the girls at my school, not the least bit sexual, it was for the clothes, the makeup, the perfume, and the way they all looked. It was something I could not define, but felt deep inside. Finally, I let the tears of my shame run down my face and they started to drip on the table. Mom took me into her arms and held me until my tears stopped, the soft words she spoke were those of a mother, one that loved her child at all times, good and bad, in fear and glee. She knew that I would never have dressed as a girl unless I really felt I had to, and showing myself to her that way made it plain to her. My needs had to come first, regardless of what she thought of it.
Mom said, "I think we can do your hair a little better, and maybe a touch of makeup I think. Come with me." She took my hand and we went to her bedroom where she sat me at her vanity and began to make me actually look feminine.
My hair was clean, but she made it damp and began to put rollers in it, trimming my hair a little here and there. My face was made up with very light foundation, some blush was added, and the lipstick removed and replaced with a soft red. As she brushed out my hair, she asked me what name I wanted to be called by when I was a girl.
"I never gave it much thought mom, I guess I don’t know."
"Well I always liked the name Diane. Why don’t we use that?"
"Okay mom. Diane is a nice name."
She had me stand in front of the mirror and look at myself. The girl looking back was, I knew, myself, yet she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen! My mother let me look for a moment, then asked me if I intended to go anywhere.
"No way mom! What if someone saw me?"
"Then they would see a very nice young lady in a green dress… and that’s all!"
"But I… if someone saw me… I’d be, it would be over for me!"
"You go and wait for me while I change Diane." I left her room, and sat on the edge of the couch, waiting for what she would do next.
That was the question wasn’t it? "What do I do now?" mom asked herself, unsure of what I needed exactly, but it was clear that I wanted to dress as a girl, and she had no idea why. All she could do was help me look better, and accept me for the person I was. Mom was aware of men that dressed as women of course, and with a moments reflection, she knew that they too started at a young age, just like I did. If I was going to keep doing this, then, she reasoned, "I had better make sure he does it right, because doing it right will protect him from the bigots." She slipped on a skirt and blouse, did her hair and makeup, then joined me in the familyroom.
"If you want to dress as a girl I’ll help you, but you’ll have to become Diane in every way when you’re dressed. That means when we go shopping for clothes or anything else, you’ll have to be dressed as a girl of course, and I’ll let you do this, but on my terms. You’ll be a lady, not some tramp like we see on television, and that means the clothes you wear have to be decent, and how you act in public will have to be ladylike. Can you agree to that?"
It was my fondest wish come true, to have my mother help me become the girl I wanted to be, and now, she would, so, with no hesitation, I said, "Okay mom, I agree."
"Is that your only outfit?" I nodded my head yes. "Except I have two more pairs of panties."
"One outfit isn’t enough Diane. You should have some skirts and a few blouses, at least one good dress, some different shoes, and of course jewelry of your own. Let me get you a purse and we can take care of that today."
If I resisted, then she would know for sure that it was less than she thought it might be, but if I went along with her, then it would be up to her to guide me from then on. She gave me the small purse, and even though I was jittery, without hesitation, I followed her out to the car and got in. My heart was beating very fast and I felt the rivulets of sweat running down my back, but I was no longer in control of things, my dreams were, and I let them guide me as my mother drove us to the mall.
Shaky, and scared beyond words, I held her hand tightly as we walked into the mall, then into a huge family oriented department store. My mother quickly sized me, and selected a white dress that had small flowers on it, then, several skirts and a few blouses. In the lingerie section she bought me another bra and more panties, and in shoes, I tried on some flats and another pair of heels, white this time. From there we went to a costume jewelry place where she bought me several pairs of earrings, a few necklaces, two bracelets, and a nice ring. Every time she looked at me I could see that she was amazed at how feminine I looked. Not at all clownish, but just like all of the other girls she saw in the mall her age.
"Just one more stop Diane, and then we can go home." On the way out we stopped at a salon, and I had my hair trimmed in a way that would let me wear it as a male, or a female.
Over the years mom and I went out often, but I was always her child, a son, and sometimes a daughter. Our relationship swelled and grew, our trust became strong, and I grew up able to become Diane, yet retain my masculinity when I needed it. A man, or a woman, it no longer seems to matter. I am me, whole and happy.
© 2000
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