The Magic of Vintage Dresses

by Alana

 

I lost my father when I was very young, and I lost my mother just recently. I'm only 28, and she was only 53 when she died. It's not fair. I loved her so much. She worked so hard to raise me on her own, and she never got a chance to retire and relax and enjoy life.

My father was an insurance salesman, and his life insurance paid off the mortgage on our little house, but other than that we had to get by on my mother's salary as a secretary. There weren't many business opportunities for women back in the Seventies. Secretary was the best she could hope for.

It broke my mother's heart when she found out her only son was a crossdresser. She came home early one day and caught me in the attic trying on her dresses, and it was the first time I'd ever had the nerve to do it, too. She called me gay, and yelled and screamed and made me promise never to wear her dresses ever again. I promised, and I kept my promise because I loved her and I would never want to hurt her, but I knew that when I got out on my own I'd be dressing up again.

I know I'm not making her sound like the world's best mother, but believe me, for the most part she was the most kind and loving and patient woman in the world. She had a good heart, and she was generous with her time. She helped a lot of people. And now she was gone, and I was taking a final walk through the house, deciding what to keep before the whole estate was liquidated.

I unlocked the door and went up to the attic, where she kept a lot of her old dresses from the Seventies, and even a few from the Sixties.

I had brought some of my own lingerie, and some of my high heels, and a wig. Whether it was sacrilegious or disrespectful or worse, I was going to try on all my mother's lovely dresses before I gave them to Goodwill. Some of them I'd never even had a chance to see, let alone try on.

The place was immaculate. No dust anywhere. That was my Mom. There were a few mannequins and dress forms about the room that she used for alterations, and in one corner were all her beautiful, colorful Seventies dresses in plastic garment bags, hanging from a dress rack on rollers. If this were a dress shop they'd be called vintage dresses, but here they were just old, I guess.

These dresses were all mine, now. I could keep 'em if I wanted to, but I was determined to do the right thing and give them to Goodwill. But until then, they were mine.

My mother was known for wearing lovely feminine dresses. It would've required a gun to her head to make her wear pants, or even to make her wear a simple plain brown dress. She gardened in slacks, but other than that I don't seem to remember her ever wearing pants. When she lost her figure she couldn't wear any of these dresses any more, but she always saved them and always preserved them well. Before I came along she was a size six dress size, and at the age of 28 I'm proud to say that I'm also a size six.

I took the first dress out of its garment bag. This was one I'd tried on, before Mom had taken to locking the attic. I always wanted to ask her about this dress, but of course that wouldn't be a good idea. It didn't look like a dress for a grown-up woman, more like a teenage girl's dress. Too short for an adult woman to wear, even in the Seventies.

I laid it down on the couch, then quickly took off my clothes. I sat on the couch and took out my panties and pantyhose, and put them on. Then my girdle, then a longline bra. I stuffed falsies into the bra. I didn't put on my satin slip yet, because this dress was way too short for it, but I put on my black patent leather high heels that would look stunning with this dress. I never wear make-up because I'm never able to shave all that well, and I look disgusting in make-up. Besides, I never go anywhere or let anyone see me in drag. I put on my brown wig, which happened to look a lot like the way my mother wore her hair.

Then I slipped into the dress. I remembered the zipper as being rather difficult, but I finally got it zipped and tied the back tie.

I wished there was a full length mirror in the attic. I looked down at myself in my short, sexy dress.

"Man, what a head-trip. That was really a bummer, you know?"

I looked up in a panic, afraid some young girl had gotten into the attic. There were three teenage girls surrounding me, talking their moronic teenage talk. But I wasn't in the attic any more.

"I know. And it used to be, like, so groovy, too."

I looked around. I was scared to death. I was in a high school! It wasn't my high school. From the clothes and the hair and the make-up, I would guess it was the Sixties, unless this was some school dress-up event.

I took a look at the girl directly across from me.

Yep, the Sixties. When's the last time I saw a teenage girl wearing a dress that short and that colorful? And with its own built-in choker?

I saw a little news item about the presidential election someone had stapled up somewhere. Humphrey versus Nixon. So it was 1968?

"Megan, what's the matter? Why are you spazzin'?"

Megan! My mother's name!

The bell rang for class, and one of the girls said we had to get going.

"I'll be right in. Just a minute," I said, in a voice that sounded a little bit like my mother's.

I ran off to find a girl's bathroom. I had to get a look at myself.

I went in the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. I touched my face, my make-up. I touched my breasts. I felt down below for a penis, but there was none. I was a real teenage girl!

This was scary. I wasn't sure I wanted this, even if it meant I got to wear cute dresses all day and no one could say a word about it. I didn't want to start all over again from high school. I looked down at my dress. I still wanted to see myself in a full-length mirror instead of this small bathroom mirror that only showed face and shoulders. I was wearing black patent leather shoes with a low heel. I had on a bra, but I could tell it wasn't a longline bra. I lifted my skirt and looked. Pantyhose and panties, but no girdle.

I didn't even know they had pantyhose in the Sixties. Then again, how could you wear a miniskirt without pantyhose?

I went into a stall. Instinctively, I started to unzip my dress. Well, if putting it on got me here---

And suddenly I was back in the attic, my dress a puddle of fabric on the floor. I laughed. Maybe I was going crazy, but insanity can be pretty entertaining, after all, even to the crazy person.

I was back, and I was a 28-year-old man in lingerie, pantyhose, high heels and a wig. Well, if this is madness why stop now? I was determined to try on all those dresses, madness or otherwise.

I pulled my pretty satin slip over my head, then I replaced my mini-dress in the garment bag and hung it up, and went looking for a more grown-up dress. I found one I liked, but it was just a little too Sixties.

I'd had enough of the Sixties. I wanted to move on to the Seventies.

Oh, this one was nice! I loved the color, the tiny stripes, and the ruffles down the front. It was so sheer you'd be able to see my slip.

It seemed like it should've had a belt, but I didn't see one, though there were belt loops. I switched to white high heels, then I pulled my dress on over my head and buttoned it up. I made sure to look straight ahead as I fastened the top button.

I can't describe how jarring it is to be in a certain location one second, and a completely different location the second after that, with nothing in between. No soft focus like in the movies, no twinkling lights like on Star Trek, just *click* and you're there. And in a somewhat different position, too. I was standing, but my hands were not at my throat buttoning my dress, they were at my sides, one grasping my purse and one holding a notepad.

"This is your desk. Electric typewriter, adding machine, stationary in the top drawer. You should have everything you need. Don't clutter the desk with a lot of photographs. They don't like that. One or two are plenty. Any questions?"

A lady in an ugly brown dress was telling me this. I was in an office setting. Probably my first day on the job. My Mom had only had three different jobs in her life. She usually stayed with a job as long as they would have her. I looked around. I didn't recognize this office.

"Any questions?" the lady asked, impatiently.

"Where's the Ladies Room?"

"We passed it on the way in. Didn't you see it? Just down the hall and to the right. Don't take too long. There's a lot of work waiting for you."

I tossed my notepad and purse onto my desk. I headed for the Ladies Room, trying not to look like I was hurrying too much. Walking in high heels was no problem for me. I've had plenty of practice, but never before in public.

I work a counter in a department store. I have no secretarial skills whatsoever, and I had no desire to stay in this office any longer than necessary, no matter how much I loved wearing my pretty dress. Just walking down the hallway was a sensual experience, feeling my pantyhose and my slip and my lingerie against my body as I walked, feeling my sheer tight dress move against me, feeling my sleeves billow about my arms, the silky feel of my skirt against my fingers. I felt almost like I was naked, like I was dressed but not dressed, both at once. The men paid attention as I walked by.

I looked down at my dress. It was cinched tight with a narrow aqua-colored belt. I looked at my hands, my slender tapered fingers, my long nails painted red. I took a quick look at a calendar, in passing. It was 1972.

A thought occurred to me. Was this just a hallucination, or was I really somehow dropped into my mother's life? If I did something wrong, could I get my mother in trouble? Could it somehow have implications for the future? My present? I wasn't even born yet.

I went into the Ladies Room and took a look at myself. Wow. I knew my Mom was beautiful but---Wow. Just---Wow. She'd been a pretty cute teenage girl, but now she was a stunningly gorgeous young woman in her early twenties, in perfect make-up and a gorgeous hairdo. I was that woman. I was her. No wonder I wore such beautiful feminine dresses. I had every reason to.

Again I was stuck with this truncated mirror, but I turned every which way, admiring my dress. A woman in a sweater and skirt came out of the stall behind me, and caught me checking myself out. She smiled.

"Cute dress," she said.

"Thanks," I said, looking down at it. "I've never worn it before. I just love wearing it. It's really easy to slip into, in the morning. It's so silky, and I love the pretty color."

Did women really talk that way about their dresses? Well, the woman I was talking to didn't seem to think it odd.

"You're new here, aren't you? First day?"

"Yes. I'm Megan," I said.

"Patti. I wouldn't be wearing a sexy dress like that around here. The bosses will have their hands up your skirt before long."

I looked down at my dress. I tugged it down a little to make it more presentable.

"I thought this was conservative," I said.

"Honey, you can see your slip right through that thing. It's too tight."

"Just the top. My skirt isn't tight," I said, twisting back and forth to show her. It wasn't a full skirt, but it wasn't skin-tight, either.

"Believe me, honey, the top is what they're going to be looking at."

"But it's not low-cut, is it? And my skirt's not too short?" I looked down at myself and held my skirt lightly in both hands, presenting my dress for her inspection. I stood closer to her so that our legs were almost touching, and said, "See? Your skirt is even shorter than mine."

"But honey, your dress is so sheer! And that slip! Is it new?"

I guessed, and said, "Sure is. New slip, new dress, brand new pantyhose, even. I wanted to make a good impression on my first day." I slid up my skirt just a little and stuck out one leg for her to examine, as though anyone could possibly verify that I was wearing brand new pantyhose. Well, I didn't see any snags, anyway.

"That's a lovely slip, honey, but you know you're going to drive the men wild with all that sexy lace."

"Oh, you can't really see all that much, can you?" I said coyly, turning just a bit to the side so she could examine me and my dress a little more closely. I was almost flirting with her, but still she didn't react as though there was a thing wrong with it.

Way back when I was a man, I can remember buying dresses mail order and trying them on, and eventually taking them off and hanging them in my closet, wishing that just once I could wear one of them to work, imagining what it would be like to have everyone admiring my pretty dress. And this was a sweet little taste of what I thought it might be like. Spending the first five minutes of the day talking about my new dress, every little detail of it, how it felt to wear it, if my skirt was too short, if I was wearing the right slip, the right belt, the right high heels, every little thing. And all the while I would be posing in it, turning this way and that, as we discussed my pretty dress endlessly.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Suit yourself. I guess you'd be sexy in a burlap bag. Who will you be working for?"

I was a little disappointed that we were done talking about my dress.

"Uh---I haven't found that out, yet."

"Well, best of luck to you, honey," she said, and left.

I went into the stall. I had a moment of uncertainty as I unbuckled my belt and started to unbutton the front of my dress. Would this always work? What if I got stuck here?

But it worked just fine. I was back in the attic as soon as I got my dress off.

I hung it up and went looking for another dress.

Oh, this one was cute! Not the most colorful dress in the world, but I loved that smocking in the front.

Adult women and teenage girls used to wear dresses that were smocked in the front all the time. A smocked dress really shows off a woman's figure. Now the only dresses that are smocked are for little girls. Why did they abandon smocked dresses for women? And why don't you ever see a woman's dress with a back tie any more? This dress had a back tie.

It makes a dress fit more snugly. All these great fashion ideas have just been abandoned. Why?

I stepped into my dress, zipped it halfway up, got the back tie tied in a nice bow, tied the bow at my throat, then reached behind me and zipped up my dress, being careful to keep the hair of my wig out of the way of the zipper. I could've taken my wig off, but that would be cheating.

This time I wasn't even standing. I was sitting on a chair with my legs crossed, my notepad atop my skirt. One hand was holding the pad, the other a pen. I paused, not sure what I was supposed to be writing. I looked at the pad and it was all shorthand. I couldn't decipher it.

An extremely overweight man with a cheesy mustache, who I assumed was my boss, was spouting some corporate drivel I was meant to be recording. I had no idea what to do, so I waited until he stopped talking. He didn't even notice I'd stopped writing.

"Read me back what we have so far," he said.

I stood up.

"I'm really sorry, sir, but I need to go to the Ladies Room. I'll be right back."

I left the office, paying no attention to his miffed expression, and dropped my pen and paper on my desk, heading for the Ladies Room. This routine was getting a little repetitive, but what was I supposed to do, take off my dress in the hallway? Or tell my boss, "Excuse me sir, I just have to take off my dress because I'm really a man from about thirty years in the future, and as soon as I take off my dress I will time travel, though you won't actually notice anything happening, so good-bye and if you ever see a stock for sale called MicroSoft just invest everything you've got. Could you unzip me, please?"

I tried to hurry, but I was feeling a little bloated and irritable. I noticed the effect I had on the men in the office as I hurried down the hall, many of them stopping what they were doing to take a look at me. They all smiled at me. To a beautiful woman it seems like the whole world is on Prozac. Everyone smiles at her constantly. I smiled back, just to be polite.

My smocked dress had a fuller skirt, but it wasn't as silky as my light blue dress, and my skirt didn't feel as nice rubbing against my fingers. But I did enjoy the way the smocking about the bodice gripped me snugly. Walking past a couple of good looking middle-aged men, I noticed that they were checking out my breasts. Now, as a man I've taken a quick peek at a woman's cleavage now and again, but that's all it was, a quick peek. These men were just staring, and it pissed me off. I know that the smocking of my dress accentuated the curvature of my breasts, and it's one thing for a man to take a quick peek, but these men were just staring. I even looked directly at them, and still they didn't stop.

I thought about what my mother would do. Would she say anything? She hardly ever lost her temper. I decided that she might say something, but she'd try to use some humor to defuse the situation.

I walked right up to them, laughing a little, and said, "Boys! I'm not even wearing a low-cut dress! Come on, now!"

I held my skirt with both hands as though I was about to curtsey, presenting my cute dress to them so they could see it wasn't low-cut. They pretended not to know what I was talking about.

"I know, sure, you're just admiring how nicely I tied my bow," I said, fingering my throat. "I better not wear any of my low-cut dresses around you two, or you'll be, like---" and here I leaned forward just a bit before one of the men, my eyes at the level of his chest, about where I thought his nipples would be. My hands were on my knees atop my skirt, the ends of my bow dangling from my dress as I examined his chest with mock seriousness.

They laughed. I switched my gaze from one nipple to another, as the dangling ends of my bow flipped back forth a bit, just below my throat. I was letting them know how ridiculous and inappropriate they were being, just as I had called them "boys" to let them know how immature they were. They laughed some more. Some of the other secretaries started watching my performance. Finally the men both apologized, and said that they hadn't meant anything by it.

I straightened up. I really should've left it at that, but sometimes I just don't know when to leave well enough alone. I reached behind me and put my hands on my buttocks, threw back my shoulders and thrust out my breasts. "Have we seen everything we need to see?" I asked, still good-naturedly. "All through?"

They said they were, and I noticed that they scrupulously maintained eye contact, even though I was thrusting my breasts at them!

That would've been it, but as I was leaving one of them said, "How about your nice legs, Megan? Do we still get to check out your legs?"

I sighed. "Sure. They're in plain view, aren't they? Feast your eyes, boys."

I lifted my skirt for them, just a little. It was a stupid thing to do around these men, not to mention the others who were looking on, and I realized it as soon as I did it, but I couldn't stop once I started. I kept showing off my legs, posing this way and that, hoping to rattle them.

"Things that are covered up are covered up for a reason, boys. Things that aren't covered up, you can look at."

"Like your slip?"

And I realized, too late, that I'd only lifted up my skirt. My slip was showing. I let go of my skirt and brushed it down, trying unsuccessfully not to reveal how embarrassed I was. And then I had to go losing my temper.

"You like my slip, don't you? Why don't I bring in one of my slips tomorrow, and you can look at all you want? Get it out of your system. You know, I think you boys wouldn't bother looking at my legs if I went bare-legged all day. So it's really my pantyhose you like staring at. Why don't I bring in some pantyhose for you to look at, too?"

I was still trying to smile as I said this, like it was all just a big joke.

One of the men said, "How about you wear a nice mini-dress tomorrow, and we can see even more? Or one of those low-cut dresses you mentioned?"

They were just goading me, reminding that they could say anything they wanted to me because they were the bosses and I was just a woman. It was making it more and more difficult for me to remain good-humored.

I stood closer to the men. I tried not to sound as angry as I was. As before, I presented my dress to them by holding my skirt with both hands as though I was about to curtsey.

"So let's see, my dress isn't low-cut enough for you, and my skirt's not short enough. Is there anything else you boys don't like about my dress? How about the color? Do you like the color? You boys are awfully interested in my dresses, all of a sudden"

"I think we're interested in what's inside your dress."

"Well boys, if I were you I'd be more interested in my dresses than what's inside them. Because my dresses are the only thing you'll ever get to see."

They weren't smiling. I turned away. Damn it! I blew it! I'd handled it so well, just like my mother would've done, then I had to lift my skirt and they lost all respect for me. And then they made me lose my temper. Now those sickos would stare at my Mom's breasts all the time. They'd make a point of it.

I couldn't leave it like that. These men could make it tough for my mother. They could demote her, or worse. But a beautiful woman has a certain authority all her own. I turned back to them before I'd gone more than a few steps. I lowered my voice as I spoke, so the onlookers couldn't hear.

"Listen, boys, I didn't mean to say that. I know you were just kidding around. I was just kidding too, lifting my skirt and all. I put a lot of time and trouble into my appearance, and of course I want you to look at me, but not like that. There's a right way and a wrong way to look at a woman, and staring at my---you know---is the wrong way."

I nearly looked down at my "you know" as I spoke, but that would've caused them to look at my breasts too, which was what I was trying to stop. I continued.

"I know I'm just a secretary, but you don't have to treat me like that. A quick look is one thing, but that was just a little ridiculous. And if you want to compliment me, I'd much rather you tell me I look nice today or I'm wearing a cute dress than telling me I've got nice legs. OK?"

They nodded.

"Megan?" one of them said as I turned to go.

"Yes?"

"You're wearing a cute dress."

I smiled, returning the smiles to their faces. Just for fun, I curtseyed to them. "Thank you, gentlemen," I said, conferring adulthood on them. "If you men behave yourselves I might actually buy myself a low-cut dress one day. Maybe even wear it."

When I got into the Ladies Room I took a quick look at myself in the mirror. I noticed that my Mom had tied the bow at my throat a lot nicer than I'd originally tied it. It made me realize that I could've tied the bow before I even put on my dress, and done a much better job that way. I made up my mind to do that in the future, but for now I had to time travel before I got my mother into any more trouble.

I reached behind my back and untied the back tie, reached for my zipper, and was quickly out of my dress.

And I was back in the attic, my dress at my feet.

I sat down on the couch, being careful not to wrinkle my slip. Should I really continue this? I've never wanted to be a woman. I've always been happy being a man. But at the same time I've always thought how great it would be, wearing cute dresses in public. I finally had a taste of that, and I wanted more. How many men have ever been privileged to know what it's really like to be a woman? Not just to impersonate a woman, but to really be one. How could I just throw that away? But maybe I should learn some shorthand or typing skills before I went back.

No, the heck with it. My Mom's not going to get fired because she has to take off for the Ladies Room occasionally. But come on, there had to be something more to my Mom's life than the office!

I stood and picked my dress up off the floor. I put it back in its garment bag and hung it up, and looked for another dress.

The smocked dress just wasn't colorful enough for me. I wanted to find a dress that was tight and sexy, but also had a stunning color to it. A dress that no one could forget if they saw it even once. I gasped when I saw that beautiful midnight-blue dress.

It was an Asian style, meaning it had a side zipper and snaps that went diagonally from my side to my neck. I'd worn one of those Asian style dresses before. I knew this dress would probably be skintight, but it'd also be a tremendous pain to put on. It looked like satin to me, but the label said polyester. I thought, hopefully, that this dress might be a little too formal to wear to work. But knowing my mother, I doubted it.

I switched back to black high heels, then I wriggled into my dress and got my arms into the short sleeves. I tugged down my slip, then I zipped up the side zipper and started on the snaps. Fastening snaps with one hand, without a mirror to allow you to see what you're doing and without a hard surface to press against, is not easy. It takes two or three tries for each snap. Finally I got most of them done, but the snap at the top was the worst, because I have a male neck which was a little too thick for this dress. Eventually I got it snapped, but the neck pinched me something awful.

Once again I was back at the office. Damn. But I immediately felt more comfortable around the neck area. The collar fit my throat much better.

I appeared to be in the coffee room, a tiny room not big enough for much more than a refrigerator, a water cooler, a percolator and a sink. My gosh, a big old percolator! I hadn't seen one those in decades.

I was holding down the little toggle switch, and coffee was flowing into my coffee mug. I'm glad I noticed, before it started overflowing. I took my finger off the toggle switch and put my mug on the counter.

I looked at the clock. It was 7:30. It looked like evening. I was apparently working late. Great.

I looked down at my dress. It was as tight and shiny and sexy as I expected it to be. A little bit of light was actually reflecting off of it onto the wall. And when I walked, my skirt rose and fell with every step.

I reached for my coffee, when a man I didn't recognize came into the coffee room. His bulky frame filled the door.

"Hiya, baby. How you doing? Working late?"

Any guy with a wedding ring who greets a secretary with "Hiya, baby" is trouble. I left my coffee where it was and tried to get past him.

"Whoa, don't be so hasty there, Megan. We're practically the only ones in the whole building. Don't be shy."

"I'm not shy. Get out of my way."

"Come on now, Megan, don't be that way."

He was edging forward, cornering me against the refrigerator and the wall.

"What are you doing?" I asked nervously.

"Come on, Megan, you've been wanting this for awhile, now. Don't play innocent. You can't go flaunting your body in that tight dress and play innocent with me."

"Never mind my dress. Let me go!"

The next thing I knew he had one hand my rear end and another on my breast. He was trying to kiss me. I put a hand on his mouth. I tried to push him away, but I didn't have the strength. I felt sick. I felt like I wanted to vomit. He started touching my back, feeling for the back zipper on my dress, which wasn't there.

"Come on, girl," he said.

"I'm not a girl! I'm a grown woman! You can't treat me this way!" I struggled in his grasp. "Someday there will be laws against men like you."

This made him laugh so much he lost his grip on me. I slipped out of his grasp and got out of the coffee room, leaving my mug behind. I would've liked to pick it up and throw the coffee in his face, but I couldn't get my mother in trouble. Still, I refuse to believe that even my mother could control her temper in that situation.

I looked down at my dress. A few snaps had come undone.

"Listen here," I said before fleeing, "I can wear a tight dress to work if I want to! This dress I'm wearing is not an invitation to grope me or paw my breasts! You hear me?"

He laughed, and made a mock lunge at me. But I was so nervous I took it for the real thing. I jumped back, almost losing my balance, and got away from him, his mocking laughter behind me.

I tried to run, but in my tight dress all I could do was walk fast, and unfortunately, with a little bit of a wiggle. I couldn't help it, in that dress.

"Yeah! Shake it, baby!" he yelled.

I colored with indignation and embarrassment, but I kept going. Damn him! He was actually making me embarrassed to be wearing a dress! I'm a woman, damn it! He can't do this to me!

I broke out into a cold sweat as I fled. It felt as if my legs were sweating through my pantyhose as I hurried along. I felt like crying, but I didn't. I didn't want to give that creep the satisfaction. I realized now why my Mom had spent so much time and effort teaching me to respect women.

Get to the Ladies Room and get out of here. But I couldn't find the Ladies Room. Nothing looked familiar to me from the last time I was there. I couldn't even find my own desk. Either I was so traumatized I didn't know what I was doing, or maybe I'd moved to another floor. Finally I realized that to get to the Ladies Room I was probably going to have to go back the way I came and encounter that pig again, and I wasn't about to do that.

I just couldn't wait a second longer to take off my blue dress and get away from that maniac, and I hated the fact that I was wearing such a beautiful sexy tight dress and the only thing I could think of was slipping out of it as soon as possible. All because of this lousy office and the brutes who work here. I took a quick look around the place. I didn't see any other employees. I started pulling at the snaps on my dress. Luckily my dress was a dozen times easier to get off than it was to put on. All of a sudden there was a man turning the corner and heading right toward me, and me with my dress half off! I jumped into an empty office and shut the door before he could get a good look at me.

I flipped the switch to turn on the overhead light, and ran around behind the desk. I was about to slip out of my dress when I looked down and saw that there was a small invasion of ants taking place right near the desk leg. I wasn't about to take off my dress next to a bunch of ants. My poor mother had enough to deal with without getting ants in her pantyhose.

I ran around to the other side of the desk, near the door, listening to make sure that the man outside had passed by. I finished unsnapping my dress, and I unzipped the side zipper. I noticed that my slip was askew, due to being manhandled by that brute.

"I want to go back to being a man," I mumbled as I wriggled out of my dress. "It's no fun being a woman in the Seventies."

I was back in the attic, breathing heavily. I sat down again. Damn, I didn't even have a chance to see myself in the mirror, this time.

Was this some punishment from Heaven above for wearing dresses? I couldn't believe my Mom actually had to go through this kind of crap. She always seemed so cheerful. There had to be something better than this in her life.

One more time. One more dress. If something positive didn't happen this time, I was quitting. Whatever came next couldn't possibly be worse than being groped by that son of a bitch.

I hung the dress up in its garment bag. I wanted a brightly colored dress. I wanted one with colors that just pop! The midnight-blue was stunning enough, but it was a dark color, and I wanted something bright. I was sure my Mom had some really pretty dresses with bright colors, here. I looked for one.

Oh my gosh, look at this dress! Oh, this was the one! What beautiful colors! Dusky pink, with a tulip design and a pleated skirt!

I don't know what my Mom thought she was doing with that ugly rope belt, though. The dress had obviously lost the original belt, but I'd rather wear it unbelted than with that ugly thing.

I switched to white high heels, then I put on my dress and zipped it up, fully expecting to wind up back at the office, and I was pleasantly surprised to find myself pushing a cart at the grocery store. I never thought I'd be delighted to be in a grocery store, but it was DisneyWorld compared to that office.

I looked down at my dress. I was wearing a sash of the same fabric as my dress, tied in a nice bow. The pleated skirt was nice and comfortable, and it flowed as I walked. I was wearing high heels. I wondered if there was another woman in the entire place who put on high heels to go to the grocery store. I looked down at a can of peas I had apparently dropped. I was about to bend at the knees and pick it up, when a man in a white shirt and tie reached down and got it for me.

"Here you go."

"Thanks," I said as I took the can from him. Then I got a good look at him, and my eyes popped wide open with astonishment. Oh my Gosh! It was my father! Even younger than I am, now, but there was no mistaking him!

I stammered as I tried to say something to him. "I---I---" was about all I got out.

He smiled charmingly. "Cute dress," he said. He was as good looking as I remembered from my childhood.

"Thanks," I said. I didn't know what to do. I was so scared. I felt like running away from him as fast as my high heels would take me, but I thought, what if this is their first meeting? I saw "Back to the Future." If I blow it, what if they never get together? What becomes of me?

Steeling my courage, I said, "Listen, I'm in a bit of a hurry. It's obvious that you're attracted to me and I'm attracted to you, so why don't I just give you my phone number and you can call me sometime?"

He was rather taken aback by this, but he said, "OK." I took my wallet out of my purse and held it up for him to see. My mother had actually filled out the little identification card in the wallet, including her phone number.

"I just moved," I said. "Here's my number."

He didn't have pen or paper, so I lent him both. He copied it down, and I wheeled away from him, my heart racing. I didn't waste any time with the rest of my shopping list; I went right to the check-out stand. Checking out took longer than I thought it would, because grocery stores didn't have price scanners back then. As I stood in line I took a look at some of the other women. No high heels, and very few skirts. Those that wore skirts didn't bother with pantyhose. It looked like it was the middle of the afternoon, so I figured it must be the weekend. A glance at a newspaper stand on the way out confirmed that it was Saturday. My Mom had put on a pretty dress, high heels and pantyhose to go to the grocery store on a Saturday, and I had no doubt my face was beautifully made up, as well.

I looked through my purse for something to give me a clue as to which car was mine. I found an insurance card with my license plate number on it, then I found my car. I put the groceries in the back. I had never gotten into a car while wearing a dress before, but I knew how to do it, from observation. I sat down, then swiveled my legs into the car with one hand holding my skirt. I shut the door, still being careful of my skirt.

This was the town I grew up in, so I had no problem finding my Mom's small apartment, once I reminded myself of the address from my driver's license. I parked somewhere, not even bothering to find the right spot, then I carried my groceries to my apartment.

The wind was whipping up, blowing my pleated skirt around as I walked with my arms full of heavy bags of groceries. A man, passing by, said, "Pardon, your slip is showing."

This remark pissed me off no end. Like I couldn't feel my skirt whipping about? What was I supposed to do about it with my arms full of bags?

I angrily remarked, "Listen, if you want to look at my slip, go ahead and look. I only paid five dollars for it, but if I drop these bags I'm out twenty damn dollars!"

I had no idea what my Mom had paid for the slip I was wearing. For all I knew it cost more than the groceries.

The man left, looking abashed, and I chastised myself again for losing my temper and swearing. My mother never swore. I needed to remember to act like a lady, and to talk like a woman. Mom would've been very sweet with that man, and probably gotten him to carry her groceries to her apartment. Maybe even put them away for her as well.

I got to the apartment, and put away all the groceries. I took out a Coke and opened it. I sat down for a moment at the kitchen table. Then I realized I'd completely forgotten to sit like a woman. I stood up and sat again, tucking my skirt under my thighs properly with one hand, and crossed my legs. Oh, it was so easy to cross my legs! No discomfort whatsoever! I finished the Coke, then got up and threw the can in the trash basket under the sink.

I went into my bedroom. Ah, finally a full-length mirror. I enjoyed my appearance for awhile, curtseying and twirling. I really did look adorable in my pretty pink dress. Why don't women wear dresses like this any more? Try finding a new dress this cute and colorful nowadays. They just don't make them like this, any more. Sometime in the Eighties, or maybe even before, when women decided they were going to get serious about climbing the corporate ladder, they must've decided to forget all about wearing feminine, brightly colored dresses. But my Mom never forgot. She bemoaned the state of couture, the lack of bright colors and feminine frocks for larger women, until the day she died.

I took a quick look through some of my mother's dresses in her bedroom closet. She had a lot more of them than she had saved in the attic. Taking a look at some of them, I understood why. I suppose they were all right for their time, but to me they just looked like clown costumes.

I sat down on the bed, tucking my skirt beneath me properly, and thought for a bit.

What to do next? I'm a woman and I don't have to worry about going to work or taking dictation for awhile. What to do before I sent myself back? I thought of taking in a movie, but what would be the difference between going to a movie as a woman or as a man? What should I do, go to a bar and let guys pick me up? I'm not gay.

I thought about how far I could let myself go in experiencing some of the pleasures of being a woman. I thought about possibly kissing my father.

I'm not gay. But it wouldn't be gay, would it? I'm a woman. And he's my father. He's a good man. My mother loved him. I loved him.

I decided to just let myself see how I felt about it, if the situation ever came up. But I couldn't keep dashing away from him. I had to control myself. I had to do things the way my mother would do them. I was wearing her dress, borrowing her life, and I had to respect her way of doing things, even if I was only guessing half the time.

What else could I do before I sent myself back? I had heard that a woman's orgasm is pretty intense. A man's orgasm is nothing compared to it. I wouldn't have to take off my dress. Just pull down my panties and pantyhose.

I reached for my zipper and unzipped my dress quickly, ashamed of myself for even thinking such a thing. My own mother!

I was back in the attic. I smiled. That wasn't bad, getting to see my father again. I hoped there was more of it.

I hung up my pretty pink dress and look for something else to wear. I wasn't really in the mood for another pink floral dress, but I found one I just couldn't resist. Even prettier than the last one. I loved the colors.

It was the easiest dress in the world to put on. It slipped right over my head, and fit like a dream. No snaps, no zippers, no problems.

I found myself sitting down, my hands in the process of tucking my skirt beneath me. My father was helping me with my chair, being a gentleman. I smiled at him. His suit was laughable by today's standards, the lapels were too wide and the color was hideous, but he was so good looking that none of that mattered.

"Thank you, Gordon," I said.

We were in a fancy restaurant. Hey, we were on a date! I guess I hadn't screwed things up too badly between us.

As we started talking, it became apparent that this was our first date. We were both on first date behavior. And I got an opportunity to ask my Dad all sorts of questions about things I'd been wondering for years. I almost slipped up and called him Dad a few times, but for the most part I was who I was supposed to be. I laughed at his jokes, I smiled, I flirted with him a little bit, and most of it wasn't an act. He was so cute and charming, he made it easy. I found myself falling for him a little. As a woman. I swear, there was a moment there when I forgot I was ever a man.

After dinner, the band started up the dance music. He stood and held out a hand to me. I took it, uncrossed my legs and allowed him to help me to my feet. We went out to the dancefloor, and I never felt a second's anxiety about the fact that I'd never danced backwards like a woman, that I'd never danced in a dress, that I'd never danced with a man. He took me in his arms and guided me across the floor. He made it all so easy. I wished I'd been wearing a dress with a fuller skirt, but other than that it was a perfect evening.

He took me home and walked me to the door. And I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss him so much. But if my mother was telling the truth about herself, it wasn't what she would do on a first date. He asked if he could come inside. I told him no, but I was looking forward to our next date. He tried to kiss me and I gave him my cheek. He opened the door for me, and I went inside.

I leaned against the door, breathing heavily. My gosh! I was actually wet! My panties were wet!

I danced myself into the bedroom and threw myself on the bed. I grabbed a pillow and stuck it under my chin, and pointed one leg in the air. I didn't have to think about any of this. It just came naturally.

I lay there, thinking of Gordon. Eventually I had to get up and go to the bathroom. But I could do that with out taking my dress off.

I looked at the time. It was late. I remembered hearing that it was Thursday, and I had to get up and go to work tomorrow.

"I'm sleeping in my dress," I said aloud. After wearing it all night it felt like it was a part of me. I just wasn't ready to take it off, yet.

The alarm clock was set for six. I made sure the alarm was on, then I turned off the light and climbed into bed. In my dress. And my pantyhose. And my high heels. Wearing make-up.

I wondered vaguely what my dreams would be like, but I was a man in my dreams.

The alarm went off. I woke up, wondering at my odd dreams. I got out of bed, trying to figure out why in the world I'd gone to sleep in my dress, getting it all wrinkled. Now it would have to be dry-cleaned.

"That was some date," I said aloud. I lifted my skirt and pulled my dress off, right over my head.

It was quite a shock. It was quite a shock to be back in the attic, and to realize I was really a man. All those times I'd raced to the Ladies Room to take off my dress, all those times I was relieved to be back here, and now I was sad. All of a sudden, I wanted to be a woman. I knew I could just go put on another dress, but for the first time ever I wanted to be a woman, completely and permanently.

I raced to hang up my dress and get another one. The odd thing was, not all that much time seemed to have passed in the attic. I'd spent half a day in my pink floral dress, but in the attic it was still mid-afternoon.

Yeah, that's the odd thing. I'm time-traveling, changing genders, falling in love with my father, but the odd thing is that it's still mid-afternoon. Right.

I looked through my dresses, trying to find one that was too formal to wear to work. And then I found an adorable print dress, with ruffles and tiny dots and little butterflies and a cute little bow at the collar. Oh, this was so feminine! This gets a ten on my femininity scale!

The material was a little coarse, but apart from that it was a dream dress! I took a close look at the bow.

I thought it was something I'd have to untie before I could put on the dress, but when I unbuttoned the top I saw that the cute little bow was pre-tied, and that it was attached to just one side of the collar. How clever!

It didn't look like a dress for a date. I could easily imagine my mother wearing it to work, but I didn't care, I had to try it on. Even if it meant going back to that crummy office full of lecherous creeps.

I unbuttoned the dress and stepped into it. I pulled it up and got my arms into the sleeves, adjusted my slip, tied the sash into a nice bow, and buttoned it up.

I was back at the office, walking down the hall towards my desk, my arms full of folders. At least it was the middle of the day. I didn't have to worry about some creep playing grab-ass. Even in the Seventies men wouldn't try something like that in front of everyone.

I stopped, checking out a young woman coming towards me. Very pretty, though not as pretty as me, but it was her dress I couldn't take my eyes off of.

"Wow! Cute dress!" I said as she came near. I said the words without thinking. I was getting used to being the woman who wore the prettiest dress in the room, and now here I was drooling over another woman's dress and wishing I could wear it.

She did that feminine thing where you look down at yourself, as though you completely forgot you were wearing a pretty dress. She looked up, and grasped her skirt with one hand to display her dress proudly.

"Thanks," she said. "Before you came to work here I never would've had the nerve to wear something this colorful. This is my tribute to you, Megan!"

"Well, if you want to pay tribute, don't wear dresses that look better than mine! I don't have anything that pretty! Where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift."

"It's gorgeous. It fits you perfectly."

"Not really. The waist is too high. See, my actual waist is down here," and she pointed to her side, about an inch below where the waist of the dress was, "and this sash keeps wanting to creep down to where my waist is. I have to keep adjusting it all day."

"Well, it's worth the trouble. You know what I say, if wearing a dress was easy, they'd let men do it," I said, quoting my Mom. "Where'd you get the pinwheel?"

"Oh, I was just going to put this in the barrel downstairs. Toys for Tots, you know."

"Oh, right. I've got to get something for that."

There was an awkward moment which indicated the conversation was over, so she told me she had to be going, and headed off down the hall. I took one last look at her in that pretty dress, wishing like anything I could try it on, a feeling I was used to as a man but one I never expected to experience as a woman.

As she left, I realized I had no idea what her name was. I was a little disappointed she hadn't thought to compliment my dress a little. I was getting used to being on the receiving end of compliments.

Good thing my desk was nearby. I got to my desk and put down the folders, not sure what to do with them next. This was usually my cue to get to the Ladies Room and make my exit. I straightened my dress and made off to find the Ladies Room.

I remembered the last time I was here, running around like a crazy woman, trying to find the Ladies Room. What was difficult to find before, when I was so traumatized I could hardly think straight, was quite easy to find now. Still, I gave an involuntary shudder as I passed that little coffee room.

Two women followed me into the Ladies Room, one in a brown dress, one in black. The one in brown carried a clipboard. Before I got into the stall, they overtook me and shoved the clipboard into my hands.

"Megan! Sign this."

I looked at the document. It was a petition about the dress code. It asked that women be allowed to wear pants to work. I giggled. I vaguely remembered my mother talking about this once, and all I could remember about the story was that she wouldn't sign it. So I handed it back.

"No thank you," I said.

"Megan, don't make trouble. This is important."

"Oh, you want to wear pants so that makes it important?"

"It's not just the pants. It's terrible the way they treat us, here. We have to stand up for our rights. We need to start somewhere."

I laughed. "That's a lousy place to start. Do you really think if we all start to dress like men that'll make everything fine? We have no female executives working for this company. Not a one. We will have one eventually, and do you think she'll be climbing the corporate ladder in blue jeans? Men and women have to wear business attire to compete in the corporate world, and business attire isn't supposed to be comfortable. You know that. You show that petition to management, they'll laugh in your face."

"If they do, we'll all come to work wearing pants, all on the same day. They can't fire all of us."

"I don't have any pants. Besides, I like wearing dresses. I like being a woman."

"Megan, we have to stand together! Don't cross us!"

"What, are you going to break my arm? Are we the Mafia, now?"

"Megan, do you know what the men see when they look at you? How can they take any of us seriously when you go around dressed like a little girl? And now you've even got Marcie dressing like you."

Marcie? Oh, the pinwheel girl. Right.

"I don't dress like a little girl," I said, straightening my dress with dignity.

"Oh, please! Look at you! You should have a white pinafore with that dress."

"Now, that's not fair," said the woman in black who'd been silent up till now, but a look from the woman in brown silenced her.

"There's nothing wrong with wearing something pretty to work," I said as I opened the stall door. "I'm not ashamed to be feminine. Excuse me, I need to pee. I think this conversation is over."

I closed the door, but the woman with the clipboard wasn't done. She kept on with her tirade. I couldn't get my dress off fast enough.

I was back in the attic, wishing I could find a dress that my Mom wouldn't be wearing to work. I was really getting tired of that office. I couldn't imagine how my mother could stand it there. It wasn't bad enough being groped by the men, but now the women were harassing me.

I took a quick look, trying to find that pretty multi-colored dress that Marcie had been wearing, hoping maybe my mother had managed to find it in a dress store somewhere. If I knew my mother, she lusted after that dress as much as I did. But it was nowhere to be found.

So I picked out a sexy short yellow dress with a floral pattern. My Mom didn't usually wear dresses this short, and I hoped this one was too short to wear to work. I put it on and tied the back tie in a nice bow.

And I was back at work. I was in the lunchroom, which was just a room with tables and chairs and a refrigerator to hold salads and drinks, and a microwave to heat up soups and sandwiches and the like. There were microwaves back in the Seventies, but they weren't yet affordable enough for the average person to buy them for the home.

I looked around. It was mainly women, with their lunch in brown bags, sitting and eating and talking. A few men, but so young they were almost boys. I noticed another woman passing by me in a pretty mint-colored close-fitting dress with a back-tie.

It was short but not as short as mine, and we were still the only women in sexy, brightly colored dresses in the whole room.

I looked down at my dress. I was dangerously sexy in this dress. Not just short, it was tight-fitting and low-cut. Hadn't my mother learned anything from wearing that tight midnight-blue Asian dress? Oh well, after I told off those boys who were staring at my breasts, I did tell them I might wear a low-cut dress some day, if they behaved.

A woman across from me was saying, "What is it with these men? I kept telling him, just stop and ask directions. Why won't they ask directions?"

Why won't you ever bring a map when you go anywhere, and why can't you spend more than five minutes looking for an address before you bother a complete stranger, I thought. But I didn't say it. This whole argument was old and pointless even back in the Seventies, and I didn't want to get involved.

I was sitting at one corner of the table with my legs crossed, eating a tuna-fish sandwich. I hate tuna-fish, and I almost spat it out, but I managed to choke down one bite of it. I looked around for something to drink. All that was available was some coffee in a Styrofoam cup, perched right near the edge of the table.

I reached for it, just as that woman who'd been bothering me about the petition walked by. And what happened next I'd never believe if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. She reached out with a ballpoint pen, and flipped the cup of hot coffee right onto my lap!

"OW!" I yelled as I stood up. It really hurt. The coffee had scalded my legs.

"Oops. Sorry," she said as I did my best to wipe off my dress and my legs. I did a little dance of pain.

"You did that on purpose!" I yelled, as more women stopped talking and paid attention.

"It was an accident," she said. "Gee, if only you'd been wearing pants."

Someone offered me a cold can of Coke. I held it against my left leg, being careful not to slosh any of it on my pantyhose, which were wet enough already.

"You bitch," I said quietly, and limped to the Ladies Room, still holding the can against my left leg, which hurt the most.

When I got to the Ladies Room, I put the can on the counter and grabbed a few paper towels to dry my legs some more. I had to be careful drying them, because they really hurt, and I could see red blotches on them. I was afraid I'd regret wearing a mini-dress to work, but I didn't think another woman would be the one to make me regret it.

I finished drying my legs, then I picked up the can of Coke and applied it to my right leg for awhile. When I felt a little better, I put down the can and leaned against the wall. I glanced toward the bathroom stall, and decided that nothing was keeping me here.

Before I could enter the stall, several women came into the Ladies Room, bringing my attacker with them. She hadn't come willingly. Some of the women were nudging her, trying to persuade her to talk.

"All right!" she said. "I'm sorry! I already said I was sorry."

"You did it on purpose," I said. "Admit it."

"Fine, I admit it. You deserve it, going around in a dress like that. Don't you put on enough of a show already?"

"This is because I wouldn't sign your stupid petition, isn't it?"

"Are you going to sign it, now?"

"What do you think?!"

"You'd better," she said, and turned to go. Several women left with her. One stayed behind to offer me a spare pair of pantyhose, if I needed them.

"Wait a minute! Come back, here!" I said, and all the women returned, taking my attacker with them.

"Your stupid petition isn't going to make a bit of difference in this company," I said. "You want me to sign something, I'll tell you what I'll sign. Get up a petition for 'Casual Fridays,' and I'll sign that."

"Casual Fridays?"

"On Friday, men and women can wear whatever they want, including jeans and sneakers. We'll have to make sure we have no clients in the building on Friday, but that shouldn't be a problem. Get men and women both to sign it, and we'll see if it works."

A lot of the women looked doubtful. One said she'd never heard of a company doing that before.

"Then we'll make history," I said. "Anyway, it's got a better chance than any permanent change to the dress code. And it doesn't make a special case for us because we're women."

My attacker didn't want to do it, but some of the other women thought it was worth a shot. I didn't wait around any longer. I got into the bathroom stall and unzipped my dress.

Back in the attic, I hoped I'd made a small difference. At least, I hoped that woman wouldn't be trying to injure my mother any more. I checked out my legs, and they were fine. No red blotches.

I picked out another floral dress. The colors in this one weren't as bright as in some of the other ones, but it intrigued me because it was another Asian-style dress, with snaps. As difficult as these dresses were to put on, they felt nice and snug on my body. Not even thinking about my negative experience with the midnight-blue dress, I put it on.

I was standing before my full length mirror in my apartment again, checking myself out in my new dress. I looked down and saw the box it came in, and also some wrapping paper. Oh, it was a present! And I could guess who gave it to me.

From just outside the door I heard, "All ready?"

I turned and said, "Come in." I stood with one hand one hand on my hip and smiled. "What do you think?" I asked.

"What do you think?"

"I love it. I love my new dress. Thank you so much, Gordon."

"I saw it in the window and it made me think of you."

I couldn't keep my hands off my father any longer. I ran into his arms and I kissed him. I didn't know if it was our first kiss or not, and I didn't care. I put one hand to his neck and pulled him closer, and I didn't stop kissing him.

It wasn't really as pleasant as kissing a woman, with his beard stubble to deal with, but I loved my father so much it didn't matter. We kept kissing, and he backed me toward the bed. Then he unzipped my side zipper.

I stopped kissing him, but he didn't want to stop. "Gordon---" I said.

"Come on, Megan. It's time. We've been dating for over a year, now."

"Gordon, I told you how I feel about that."

"Meg, it's 1974, not 1954."

One year till my birthday, I thought. I was born nine months and ten minutes after they were married. I hoped my mother wasn't lying when she told me how she felt about waiting till marriage.

"Gordon, I don't care how old-fashioned it is, I'm saving myself for the man I marry. And I really hope he's you. I love you, Gordon."

He stepped back. I'd scared him. Hadn't I ever told him that before?

He was backing away.

"Don't go. Where are you going?"

"I should leave."

"Gordon, please, don't be that way."

"I'm not being any way. I just need to go."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

He backed out of the bedroom and headed for the front door.

"Gordon, do you want your dress back?" A silly thing to say, but I was at a loss for words.

"Of course not."

"Gordon---please---don't leave me like this! I love you!"

He turned and looked at me. "I love you, too," he said, with sad eyes. But it felt like he was saying goodbye.

And then he was out the door.

I ripped at the snaps on my dress. "Damn it!" I said.

He'd be back. My father was a good man. He wouldn't leave me over something like this. He loved me. So why did it feel like I'd blown it between us?

I unzipped my dress and wriggled out of it.

I was back in the attic. I wished I knew what I was doing, if I was somehow affecting the future, or the present. Maybe I should stop.

No, I couldn't stop now. Maybe a nice dancing dress. Something with a full skirt. Something for the disco. Had my parents ever been to a disco?

I hung up the dress my father had given me, and looked for a nice full-skirted dancing dress.

Oh, here was a nice one. I could just see myself at a disco in this! I switched to black high heels, and stepped into my dress.

The colors were wonderful, and I loved the snug, stretchy waist and the silky fabric. It was a little difficult to get on. I had some trouble tying the back tie.

As soon as I got it on---oh, did I call it, or what? We were out on the dance floor surrounded by bright lights and disco music. I was shaking my body, making that full skirt really move, flipping and swishing it back and forth with my hand. This was a real dancing dress. My dress was doing more dancing than I was. We'd dance apart from each other, then together, I'd kiss him or hold him a little, then we'd dance apart again.

It was great fun, but after about an hour and a half I'd had enough. I couldn't talk to him, with all that noise. I yelled in his ear that I was going to the Ladies Room.

I was pretty worn out, and my feet hurt. I don't think my mother was used to that kind of dancing.

I went into the stall. Well, just because I was ready to quit didn't mean my mother wouldn't like to stay a little while longer. I unzipped my dress and pulled it off over my head, without bothering to untie the back tie.

I was back in the attic, and I was no longer tired. Wow, I could dance for ninety minutes, come back here and not even be tired! Cool! I thought I should look for some other disco dresses.

I remembered there was another type of dancing my parents did when they were younger. Square dancing. And what made me think of it was finding that adorable green gingham dress.

Square dancing was hopelessly silly and old-fashioned, and I think the only reason women did it was as an excuse to wear frilly dresses like this one, with the pretty ribbons and ruffles and the lace inset. I got my white high heels on, and I put it on my dress and zipped it up.

I found out that square dancing is harder than it looks. I embarrassed my father and myself. I loved twirling and flipping my frilly skirt, but I didn't know when to dance out to the middle of the square to dosey-doe with my Dad, and when to stand and clap and stomp my feet. And I got hopelessly lost and confused doing something called an allemande left. At one point I wound up tripping in my high heels, and I landed right on my butt. Everyone did their best not to laugh at me, but I still pretty embarrassed.

I pretended I was hurt, and headed off to the Ladies Room.

And back to the attic. I kicked my gingham dress in frustration. I never wanted to wear it again.

It was getting late. Just a few more dresses. I could always come back some other day. I hadn't caused a temporal rift yet, or wiped myself out of existence. Might as well go on.

I found a lovely gleaming pink metallic dress. This looked like another dress for the office. Oh well, maybe I'd be wearing it for another date with my father. I hoped.

I really loved the color, and the shine, and the pretty designs on it.

It looked like another of those Asian-style dresses that were a pain to put on, but on closer look I realized it was just mock-Asian. The part that looked like it fastened with snaps, diagonally from the collar, was permanently attached, and it had a zipper in back instead of at the side.

I stepped into it, and zipped it up.

I almost tripped as I caught myself in mid-stride, heading towards my desk. My desk was in yet another new location. I sure seemed to move around a lot. I saw Patti again, on her way back from the coffee room. I remembered Patti from when I met her in the Ladies Room on my first day.

She put her coffee mug on my desk and said, "Morning, Megan. Oh, another new dress! That one's really an eye-catcher! You always wear the prettiest dresses! You're like a neon light, you know that?"

"Thank you."

"You just light this place up every morning."

"You know, you could wear a dress like this, too," I said.

"Oh, I'd feel ridiculous in a dress like that."

"Should I be a little insulted by that remark?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that I'm too shy to wear a dress that colorful. I'd be embarrassed. Is that another dress your boyfriend gave you? I'd start to worry about a boyfriend with such good taste in dresses."

"Don't be silly," I said.

My boss stuck his head out of his office and said, "Megan, I need you in here. Right now!" And then he leered at me. Oh my gosh! It was the letch! That creep from the coffee room! I was working for the letch now! Oh no!

"Break out your track shoes," said Patti, and was gone.

And so was I. Right to the Ladies Room.

How could my mother stand to work for that creep, I thought when I got back to the attic. My poor mother.

I hung up my dress and picked out another one, a pretty flowing dress with ribbons and lace and a back tie. It was ivory with tiny pink rosebuds on it. So feminine!

The label said Gunne Sax, whatever that was. It didn't seem an appropriate dress for work, even for Mom. I wondered if perhaps my Mom wore it to church or something.

I'd never seen such a feminine dress in my entire life! I loved looking at it, and I hadn't even tried it on yet! I loved the full skirt!

I unzipped it and pulled it on over my head. For some reason, the back zipper was created so that it didn't go all the way to the top. There was about an inch of fabric between the top of the zipper and the top of the dress. I got it zipped up, with some difficulty. It was a lot tighter than it looked. The back tie was totally unnecessary, but I tied it anyway.

I wasn't in church. I was delighted by where I found myself. My father and I were strolling through the green grass together, holding hands. I was smiling at him. It wasn't easy walking on grass in high heels, but I could manage. We were heading toward a shady oak tree, near some woods. I was wearing a pretty sunhat which matched my dress perfectly. I held onto my hat with one hand. My father carried the picnic hamper. The sun was shining brightly but not too brightly, and a pleasant little breeze was blowing, fluttering my skirt. Perfect day for a picnic. Perfect dress for a picnic.

My father echoed my thoughts when he said, "As soon as I saw that pretty dress in the window, I said to myself, 'We're going on a picnic together, and Megan is going to wear that dress.'"

We reached the shade of the tree. My father spread the blanket for us and bowed gallantly. I curtseyed and smiled. We sat down. My father sat with crossed legs, so he was able to sit a lot more comfortably than I was. I had to tuck my legs beneath me.

I waited for him to start taking out the food, but he seemed to be waiting for me to do it. Of course. I had prepared it. I reached for the hamper and started taking out potato salad, fruit, sandwiches, wine and cheese.

"You know, Megan, I don't think I've ever seen you wearing pants."

"And you never will," I said. "You men get the best jobs, all the political power, and you don't have to be the ones to get pregnant. But we women get to wear the cute dresses, and that makes us ten times luckier than you as far as I'm concerned. I'm never going to wear pants because I don't ever want to forget how lucky I am to be a woman. And I'll bet there are men who would give up everything they have in a minute just for the chance to go out in public in a pretty dress like this."

My father looked a little disturbed at that idea, but I started eating, so he did as well. He complimented me on the food, and I thanked him. When we were done I brought out the cake for dessert. We finished off the cake and had some more wine. He started looking nervous.

Then he brought something out of his pocket. He got up on his knees. Oh my gosh! This wasn't just a picnic, this was the picnic!

"Megan," he said, "I never wanted to be married. I thought marriage wasn't a word, it was a sentence. But since I met you I haven't been able to think of anything else. You have my heart; you have everything I am and everything I ever will be, and the thought of spending my life with anyone but you scares the hell out of me. I love you, Megan. Will you marry me?"

He opened the little box and displayed the ring. I was so nervous, my heart was racing and I couldn't speak. But I remembered how this story goes. I'd heard it enough times.

I reached into the picnic hamper and took out my purse. With shaking hands I removed a little wrapped present. I gave it to him.

"Megan, we're not exchanging gifts, here."

"Open it," I managed to say. "Please, just open it."

He unwrapped it. It was a wristwatch.

"Thank you."

"Read the inscription," I said.

The inscription was one word, in bold capital letters.

YES

My father just about leapt on top of me and started kissing me. I started kissing him back, not even caring that we were rolling off the blanket and my dress was getting dirty. We kissed and kissed until we'd had our fill, then we just stared at each other and smiled. My father put the ring on my finger. Then we laughed nervously.

I was breathing heavily; my chest was heaving. I wanted him so much. I felt like I could rip his clothes off right then and there, and the feeling scared the hell out of me.

"Gordon," I said, "I need to pee."

He laughed and looked around. "You'll have to wait until we get back."

"No, I need to pee right now."

"Where?"

"The woods will do."

"Are you really sure you want to do that, honey?"

"I really have to go. Now."

"OK. I guess."

My father got up and helped me up. I brushed off my skirt. Dirt all over my pantyhose, grass stains on my high heels, but I didn't care. I headed for the woods.

I coyly looked behind me and said, "No peeking, now."

My Dad laughed and said, "Are you going to be this shy when we get married?"

"I guess you'll just have to find that out for yourself, won't you?"

I headed off into the woods. This was not a dress for walking in the woods. My skirt kept getting caught on brambles and shrubs. Finally I was out of sight of my father.

I leaned against a tree and tried to control my excitement. It was silly to make such a hasty exit, but it scared and disturbed me, being so horny for my father. I'd never been this much in love with a woman, had I? Maybe I really am gay and never knew it? Then again, I couldn't recall ever being in love with any man before, and wanting so much to kiss him and rip his clothes right off.

First I'm complaining that being a woman is no fun, next I'm complaining that I'm enjoying it too much. Being two people at once was just too confusing, and being two different sexes at once wasn't easy, either. I wasn't sure if I wanted to continue. Yeah, I kept saying that, but I just kept slipping out of one cute dress and into another. I reached behind me and unzipped my dress. I untied the back tie and pulled my dress off over my head.

Back in the attic, I thought I'd go for something silky. I found this cute pleated pink dress. It wasn't silk, but it was definitely silky.

It looked like a dress my mother might wear to work, but it was just formal enough that she might be wearing it somewhere else. Hopefully on a date with my father. I got it on and zipped it up, and fastened the belt.

It was raining. My father had his arm around me, holding a coat over our heads, and we were both running. I was just getting used to finding myself in mid-stride walking down the hall, but suddenly finding myself running in high heels got me all confused and panicked. I tripped and fell right into a puddle of water on the sidewalk. My father tried to grab me, but I slipped right out of his grasp in that silky dress.

I picked myself up as gracefully as I could, and gave my father an embarrassed smile as he helped me to my feet. I tried not to show it, but I was mad at myself for being so damn clumsy. My mother was a graceful, elegant woman, and here I was tripping about in my high heels like a klutz, getting my dress and my pantyhose all soggy. I felt like I wasn't worthy to wear her dresses.

We got to the door, under the awning.

"I'm soaked!" I said, though I wasn't really all that damp. My father put his arms about me and gave me a tight squeeze as though he could squeeze the water out of me, and I kissed him. He opened the door and we went inside.

We were in some sort of lodge, with a lot of wood paneling and a huge fireplace. What were we doing here? Was this just someplace we'd stopped overnight, because of the rain? I hope my father didn't expect us to sleep in the same bed. I didn't look forward to laying down the law, again.

"You are a little damp," he said. "Why don't you slip out of that dress?"

"Very funny," I said. He looked at me strangely, but I continued, "I'm just going to get dried off as best I can. Why don't you start a fire?"

I headed into the bathroom as he went to the fireplace. I had to go up a few steps to get to the bathroom. This lodge seemed a little too fancy for just an emergency overnight stay.

In the bathroom, I got some towels and dried my legs a little. My legs glistened in their wet pantyhose. I looked at myself in the mirror. The rain hadn't harmed my Mom's beautiful hair any. My make-up was OK, which was good because I hadn't a clue as to how to repair my make-up. I took a quick look to make sure my nylons were OK. I didn't see any runs or snags. Next I took off my high heels. There were little pools of water in them. I emptied them into the sink. I took a look at my dress in the mirror. It was a little bit wet in front, and my slip felt wet and so did my bra and panties, but I wasn't too soaked. I fluffed out my pretty pink dress a bit, to dry it out.

I noticed a blow-dryer right there in the bathroom, for guests to use. That was a thoughtful amenity. It hung from a hook, like a telephone receiver, and was permanently attached to the wall by a cord. I picked it up and turned it on, and started to blow-dry my legs. I blow-dried the front of my dress, then I stuck the blow-dryer up under my skirt and slip, to dry my panties and pantyhose.

I reached over to lock the door, as the blow-dryer billowed my skirt. I wouldn't want my father to come in here and see me sticking a blow-dryer under my dress, because that wasn't too ladylike. And I'm sure my father would always want his son to be ladylike.

I undid my belt and reached further up with the blow-dryer to dry my bra. In the next room I heard the fire going, and I heard music playing. This place even had a stereo. A place like this couldn't have been cheap. What were we doing here? Was my father expecting something he wasn't going to get? I felt like taking off my dress right then and there, and letting my mother deal with it. But I wasn't ready to go yet, even if it meant I had to once again lay the smackdown on my father.

Finally I got myself reasonably dry. I used the blow drier to dry out my high heels, then I put them on and unlocked the door.

I entered the room and felt the comforting warmth of the fireplace. I loved how it suffused the room in a lovely warm gentle glow, and I knew I looked beautiful in my lustrous silky pink dress as it reflected the flickering firelight. And there, by the fireplace, was my father smiling up at me.

"You are a wonderful sun," he said.

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Panicked, I touched my face, my chin. I looked down at my dress. I turned away from him and felt for what was in my panties.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

I turned back towards him.

"I was just wondering what you meant by that, dear?"

"What did I say? The door opened and you walked into the room, and it was just like a wonderful sunrise. You're like a beautiful sun."

It still took a few seconds to penetrate. "Oh, sun!" I said.

Not "son."

Once again possessed of my faculties and my presence of mind, it took a deep breath and swept myself down the few steps to the fireplace as gracefully and elegantly as I could, and right into his arms. We began dancing to the music from the stereo. We kissed.

We danced and twirled before the fire a few times, and the next thing I knew he was dancing me towards the bedroom. I sighed. It looked like I was going to have to explain things to my father. Again.

When we got to the bed, he reached behind my dress and began fumbling with the zipper.

"Gordon, that's enough!" I said. "This has been a lovely evening. Why do you have to spoil it? You know how I feel about doing that kind of stuff before marriage."

He stared at me in shock.

"Honey," he said, "we're married!"

I looked at him, and I smiled. I had not a second's doubt that he was telling the truth. I smiled some more, and then I laughed.

"I'm sorry," I said, laughing some more.

"You remember that little ceremony this afternoon? You wore white?"

"It's just hard to just turn it off after a lifetime of feeling this way."

"It's OK," he said. "If you're not ready tonight, there's always tomorrow."

"No. I'm sorry. I'm ready now," I said, and kissed him. We kissed some more, and my father undid the zipper on my dress. I didn't stop him. My mother might've been ready for this, but I wasn't.

My dress dropped to the floor, and I was back in the attic.

Glancing out a window, I noticed it was getting dark outside. It was pretty late. One more dress. I could always come back tomorrow.

I hung up my dress and picked out a beautiful silk sheath in black and fuchsia. Lovely, lovely colors. It looked like a cocktail dress to me, but I knew my mother wouldn't hesitate to wear it to work.

I put on my black high heels, then I got on my dress and zipped it up.

I was in my bedroom. My mouth gaped wide open! My eyes just about popped out of my head! I couldn't believe what I was seeing!

My father, right in front of me, wearing a dress! My father was a crossdresser!

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he said, "You're home early! I'm sorry!"

I didn't know what to say. I just stared at him. He was wearing a pretty velour floral dress, probably the only one of my dresses that was stretchy enough to fit him.

My father kept apologizing. I looked down at the engagement ring on my finger. I had to say something.

Finally, I decided I didn't care what my mother would say. I didn't care what she did say. I smiled and threw my arms open wide and said, "Gordon, my dresses are your dresses. Feel free to try them on any time you want. I don't think you'll be able to fit in too many of them, but you're welcome to try."

He stared at me like he couldn't believe it.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really."

"Any one of your dresses?"

"Any one."

"Well," he said, and smiled, "I really like that sexy dress you've got on."

I smiled, and reached behind me to unzip my dress.

Back at the attic, I hung up my dress, regretfully looking at a few other tempting frocks that would have to wait for another day. I wriggled out of my satin slip, then folded it and placed it carefully in my little overnight bag. I reached behind me and unhooked my longline bra, examining the red marks it'd left on my flesh. I slipped out of my heels. I took off my girdle, my pantyhose and my panties, and put them all in with the slip. I put both pair of high heels in the bag. Finally I took off my wig, and placed it carefully in the bag atop everything else. I put on my regular male clothes, then I zipped up the overnight bag.

Before leaving, I took a quick look for the velour dress I'd seen my father wearing, but my mother hadn't saved it. I wondered why not. Cute dress.

I started to wonder if I should ever tell anyone about this. Maybe I shouldn't sell the house, now. I could live here.

I drove home, had a little something to eat, went to the bathroom, watched a little TV, put on my pink nightgown and went to bed. After my adventures in the attic it felt unusual to have no breasts when I wore something silky and feminine.

That night I had a dream. I heard my mother's voice.

"Jimmy!" she called. "Jimmy!"

My mother was the only one who still called me Jimmy. I looked to see her floating above my bed, in an angel's white robes.

"Mom!" I cried out. "You're alive!"

"Come now, Jimmy, you know better than that. You're not the first bereaved person to get a visit from a dearly departed one in a dream."

"Then you know everything that happened this afternoon?"

"Certainly I know."

"I suppose you're here to tell me you don't want me wearing your dresses."

"Jimmy, as you said, my dresses are your dresses. Feel free to go there and try them on any time you like. Just don't expect anything else magical to happen."

I gulped. "So, you mean, it was only for one day?"

"I'm afraid so. I just thought it was something you'd enjoy."

"You thought I'd enjoy getting mauled by your boss?"

"Being a woman isn't all perfume and pantyhose and pretty dresses, you know. If you want to be a woman, you've got to take the good with the bad. It's not always so easy, wearing a dress. If it was easy they'd let men do it."

"Mom, I never said I wanted to be a woman. I just want to wear a dress, sometimes."

"That's like saying you don't want to be a cannibal, you just want to eat people. I know you don't want to be a woman full-time, but you can't deny you wanted to try it, or you wouldn't have kept trying on dress after dress after dress."

"But Mom---Daddy was a transvestite, too! Why did you call me gay that time you caught me in a dress? I mean, you knew Daddy wasn't gay!"

"I'm sorry, son. I've always felt bad about the way I treated you and your father. That's why I took the trouble to make all this happen for you. I don't know why your crossdressing made me so angry. It's just that---I'm sure you know that dresses aren't just clothes, for a woman like me. Dresses are magical. And back in the Seventies I never bought a dress unless I put it on and it made me feel magical. It just didn't seem fair that a man should get to feel that way, too. But at least your father never had to feel my rage like you did. You took care of that for me."

"What, you mean---you mean I was really changing the past with what I did?"

"Of course. That was part of the bargain I had to make. When I caught your father in that dress I yelled at him and called him gay and threw the ring in his face, and my velour dress went in the trash. But the invitations had gone out and I was too embarrassed to call off the wedding, and I couldn't work in that office another day. Besides, I loved him. I made him promise never to wear any of my dresses ever again. But beyond that, whatever he did was his business. I just didn't want to see it. We had a tacit agreement, which was that I never went in the attic. The attic was where he kept all the dresses he'd bought for himself. What you said to him didn't change our agreement. I still asked him not to wear my dresses, even though you said otherwise. It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. But at least, because of you, he never had to hear me lose my temper and call him gay. And when he died I took all my dresses I couldn't fit in any more and put them in the attic, and I brought his dresses down and put them in my closet, and I even wore some of them. By then we were the same dress size. Jimmy, didn't you ever want to wear any of the dresses from my bedroom?"

"I'm sorry, Mom, I guess I didn't have any interest in those. But what boy wouldn't be a crossdresser when he saw some of those beautiful dresses up there in the attic?"

"I'm sorry I locked the attic, son. I'm sorry I made you ashamed. I love you, Jimmy."

"I love you too, Mom. Thanks for this afternoon, even if some of it was unpleasant. Why can't I do it again?"

"Jimmy, you have no idea what I to go through to make it happen just the once. But it made me happy to see you falling in love with your father the way I did. Even though you almost ruined everything in that grocery store. Heaven knows what would've happened if we hadn't started dating."

"But---but I gave him my phone number!"

"You gave him my phone number, son. It's time for you to start remembering that you're not actually me. When we originally first met I did what you almost did, stammered and fumbled and fled with hardly a word. And he loved it. He loved how shy I was. Jimmy, do you really think your father would go out with a little hoochie-momma who would turn over her phone number without being asked? Thanks to you, he even avoided me the next time he saw me at the grocery store. But he couldn't stop sneaking a peek at me, and I couldn't stop looking at him, and finally he approached me and said he lost my number, and I didn't know what he was talking about, and I stammered and fumbled and fled with hardly a word. You know that my experiences with men up to that point weren't too encouraging. I was afraid. It took three tries after that before I could settle down enough for him to ask me out."

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"That's OK, son. I had faith that nothing could keep us apart. Beyond that and a few awkward moments at work, you didn't do a thing I wouldn't do, and you handled yourself pretty well in the coffee room. Although when I saw you lifting your skirt to those men I was ready to cancel the magic and call off the whole thing right then and there, but by the time you were finished telling them off I was so proud of you! I wanted to tell the whole world, 'That's my boy in that dress! That's my son!'"

"Thanks, Mom."

"By the way, I'm not a very good square dancer either. But I did love those frilly dresses I got to wear, almost as much as you did."

"Does this mean I'm gay, Momma?"

"What!? Now, why would you think that, Jimmy? No, son, you're not gay or a transsexual, and I can't believe you need me to tell you that. You're a transvestite, and it's not a sin, or a crime, or anything else to be ashamed of. You love wearing pretty dresses. You take after me."

"But I enjoyed being with Daddy so much. I enjoyed kissing him. I enjoyed being a woman. I enjoyed being you."

"Son, I have to go now. I can't provide all the answers for you. If you really think you're gay, well, feel free to kiss another man and see if you like it. My time here is up."

"Mommy, what's Heaven like?"

"Whatever you want it to be, son. Good-bye."

And she was gone.

The next day I went back to the attic and tried on some more dresses. Nothing unusual happened. I even tried on some that I'd worn the day before, but I was still just another guy in a dress. If I'd known that the magic was only for one day, I would've stayed a lot longer.

So, I did the right thing. As a tribute to my Mom and her good heart and her generosity, I boxed up my mother's pretty dresses and gave them to Goodwill, so other women could enjoy them. Or other men.

Reviewers! Don't forget to mention your favorite dress!!

  

  

  

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