The Scrapbook                  by: Amber Palmer

Part IV

 

Chapter 10

Getting Started

To my relief, I was given a short reprieve. I was told that I had until the end of the weekend to let my friends know whatever it was I was going to tell them. Yes, if I wanted, I could still go out for the Mustang’s shortstop. There was just one small problem. I’d have to do so wearing a bra, lipstick and nail extensions. I just told my friends that I had a last minute chance to travel Europe this summer so I wouldn’t be seeing them until school started. I would just disappear for the summer and them hopefully resume my normal life next fall.

On Sunday, I attended my last practice game and firmed up my cover story. I couldn’t believe it. I had three unassisted putouts, two assisted double plays, and four hits out of five at bats, topped off by three stolen bases. I was being coerced into forfeiting my potentially best season ever. The unfairness of my dilemma was finally sinking in. How could Mom be so unreasonable as to rob me of a full summer for a few harmless escapades into her bedroom? I was in a particularly foul mood for the rest of the day, and Mom took note of that also.

Monday morning Mom was in my room opening the curtains bright and early. I’d spent a restless night trying to sleep, so I was still in a rather pissy mood when I rolled over and snarled, "I slept lousy last night. What’s so all-gall-darn important it can’t wait until nine or ten?"

My objection was met with a brisk whack across the top of my head and a reminder that it was Day-one of my punishment, and that plans had been made. "We’ve a number of appointments scheduled and OUR first is at nine o’clock and WE won’t be late." I was informed. "Now get you sorry self out of bed and go take a shower. I don’t want my friends thinking that I’ve raised a slovenly scalawag as well as a transvestite."

There was that word again. It sounded like she spit it out every time she said it. I couldn’t decide if I was offended because it just sounded so detached, or the fact that Mom was using it in a context of scorn. Either way, when she said it with that tone, she used left no doubt that it was anything benevolent about it.

At any rate, I quickly got the picture that now was not the time to argue, so I got up and headed into the bathroom. I closed the door and began to take a leak when I was interrupted by a pounding from the other side of the door. "From now on you relieve you self only while sitting," bellowed the scolding voice. "Stop what you’re doing right now. Put down the seat and don’t let me catch you going while standing or with the seat up again or I swear I’ll take measures to guarantee that you don’t."

"What the hell’s that all about?" I asked my self. Anyway, I managed to put the breaks on in midstream, lowered the seat and then sit to complete my act of emptying my bladder. "Good grief, what had I gotten my self into?" I pulled up my shorts and returned to my room where I found Mom cleaning out my dresser drawers. I didn’t say anything, as it didn’t really come as a shock that some type of restriction on access to my regular clothes seemed logical, but seeing my drawers emptied left a hole in my gut. The inevitability of my situation was starting to hit home with the mixed emotions of fear and something I’m embarrassed to describe as anticipated excitement.

Mom gave me a dismayed look as she neatly packed my things into plastic storage boxes, and told me to go back in and brush my teeth and shower, and to make it snappy. I turned around and went back into my bathroom and did as I was told. As the water was running in the shower I heard Mom come into the room and then leave. I knew that she took my remaining pair of boy’s underwear and I suspected that she’d left me an appropriate substitute.

I wasn’t disappointed. As I stepped out onto the floor towel, there folded on the sink was a pair of girl’s panties, probably Ali’s from their used appearance. Although she was older than me by almost two years, we were nearly the same size. I dried them off, and then for the first time, slipped on a pair of girl’s panties and pulled them into place. They weren’t quite as snug as my own shorts and they certainly did nothing to hide the bulge that had started to grow. I dried my hair and then combed it in my usual manner. I wondered how much longer that would be possible.

Hesitating and unsure of what Mom would think if she saw the bulge, I wrapped a dry towel around my waist before re-entering my room.

Mom only smirked as she murmured something about betting that I didn’t have to be taught how to correctly do a towel-wrap after my alterations. A cool shiver went down my spine. She wouldn’t, would she?

There, neatly stacked on my bed were the clothes she had chosen for me to wear this first time out. It was a lightweight ribbed tank top and matching pair of shorts, obviously donated by Ali. The cut of the top was unmistakably for a girl, and the shorts were a bright white in color, not usually worn by boys. There was also a set of white socks with a decorative trim and a pair pink tennis shoes on the floor. I said nothing but submissively put them on under my mother’s watchful eye.

"Now, let’s grab some breakfast before we head out." She said as she directed me toward the kitchen. From behind me I heard "Take shorter steps, Jeffery. You’re not auditioning for the part of a tomboy."

"Yes, Ma’am." I meekly replied and shortened my stride.

"Place one foot in front of the other." Came the next command from the rear. "In the future I might even have you crossing your feet in front of each other." She added. I could hear the mocking in her voice.

When we arrived in the kitchen Ali had already started cooking and called me over to help her scramble some eggs. "Guess I’ll be having a little help with some of my chores." She chided and smiled as I took the pan from her. "You, know. I could sure get use to that. Having a younger sister might not be so bad after all." She taunted.

"I’m not your sister." I reminded her.

"You can call yourself what ever you want, but I’d guess with the way you’re going to be looking by the end of today, being my sister would be the logical thing for you to consider yourself. Or perhaps my cousin, a girl cousin that is. Just a friendly suggestion. If you want to insist on calling yourself 'my brother,' that’s fine with me. Just go right ahead, Jeffery. And I’ll just keep calling you "Jeffery" until you ask me politely to start calling you something more appropriate. And don’t forget to say ‘please’, Jeffery."

I just decided to keep my mouth closed and not upset her at this point. But that did start me thinking. What was I going to be called when out in public? I’d almost certainly have to pick a name more like Terry or Jerry or something like that. Something that would be more androgynous, I figured.

As we all sat down for breakfast, Mom started to outline what she’d scheduled for today. At nine "we", she meant I, had an appointment to have my hair trimmed and styled. She’s also arranged a stop at Tip-N-Toe Nails, for a manicure and pedicure. Then we had a number of places to go shopping for al sorts of items, and finally a late afternoon, 4:30 appointment with one of her physician friends.

"Why a doctor’s appointment, Mom?" I asked, all too well anticipating the answer.

"Just a couple of minor procedures to make your summer more realistic. Nothing permanent. Nothing to be alarmed about," I was reassured.

"Mom, I don’t want to see a doctor about this. Please don’t make me go through with this." I began pleading again. I figured that this would be my last chance to appeal to her sense of forgiveness before things had gone beyond some point of no return.

"Now, Jeff. We went all though this two nights ago. You agreed that you’d follow my recommendations. You’re going to spend the summer as a girl, and I’ll do my part to see that none of your friends don’t find out. Since we’re only going to be on vacation for part of the summer, a few basic items need to be taken care of. Nothing permanent. I’m really not doing this to be mean. You’re just going to have to trust my judgment on this one."

I known that I’d already made my best case for clemency but I had to give it one last try. The fact that it failed didn’t surprise me, but at least I didn’t go without a final protest. A new sense of dread and foreboding was now overshadowing any fleeting excitement I felt earlier that morning.

I didn’t have to be told to help Ali clear the table and put away things. I figured that if I helped on my own, at least I might be spared having to do all the girly chores around the house this summer. "Are you coming along too?" I asked my sister.

"You bet, Jeff. Wouldn’t miss today for all the world, ‘specially after I found out how you’d gone through my room and all. Too bad Mother won’t let me bring the video camera. You performed so well when you weren’t even trying." She quipped with a wink. And then the three of us walked to the car, me remembering not to take longer steps than my sister. As I walked behind her, I noticed that she wasn’t walking with one foot in front of the other.

 

 

Chapter 11

My First Trip to a Beauty Pallor

We arrived at the beauty shop just as they were opening and Mom introduced me to her friend, Janet. Mom and Janet talked while I sat waiting in a chair. Then Janet turned to me and said, "Okay, Jeff. We’re going to start off with a wash and rinse, and then a trim, and finally a set. All ready?"

What could I say? "Sure, lets get this over with." I consented.

"I think you’re going to love the results, Jeff. And you might even enjoy the shampoo. Most my clients find it very relaxing. Some even say they wished it would go on all day. The rollers and drier won’t be quite so nice, but then we girls have to make some sacrifices to look beautiful. Oh, I’m so pleased that your mother brought you in on my day," she rambled on as she reclined the chair and turned on a spray nozzle to wet my hair.

Janet continued chatting as she massaged the shampoo into my hair, recounting how lucky I was to have such an understanding, caring mother. I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or if she truly believed the blather I was forced to endure.

My silent thoughts answered her comments. "Lucky? Lucky that I wouldn’t be playing baseball this summer? Lucky that I wasn’t given any choice in how I’d be spending the summer? Lucky that I had a visit scheduled with a doctor later this afternoon? I don’t think so, Janet."

As the time slowly passed, I had my hair washed, tinted a lighter shade of blond, and then trimmed to a more appropiate shape before being set in rollers. If I’d ever been curious about what it was like to have my hair stretched and tautly wound on hair cullers, well, I would wonder no longer. As she tightly pinned the rollers against my scalp, I speculated just how long it would be before I’d develop a tension headache. A bouffant bonnet was then fitted to my head and the mesmerizing purr of the drier turned on.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Janet took my hand and began to fidget with my nails. I thought it best not to watch as I instinctively knew what would follow.

There was pushing and poking of my cuticles, and the filing and grinding on my nails that I could feel and hear. I finally snuck a peak when the soft hum of a buffer came on and wasn’t really surprised to see that I was going to have acrylic nail tips extending for a distance beyond the tips of my fingers. I closed my eyes again as Janet continued on her mission. I check again when I inhaled the unmistakable fumes from a bottle of nail polish being opened. I was curious to see what color she was using and was relieved to see it wasn’t a fire engine red, but rather a subdued frosted pink. Was it a coincidence that it was the same shade I had borrowed from Sis’s lipstick collection. I doubted it.

Her project with my fingernails completed, she proceeded to attend to my feet in a similar manner. As I looked down, cotton balls were holding my toes apart and keeping the newly applied lacquer from smudging.

The light fuzzy hair adorning my legs didn’t really detract from the effect.

Which leads to the final phase of my ordeal before the rollers were removed and my set combed out. I had been somewhat surprised that Mom hadn’t had me shave my legs and underarms before heading out this morning, but I soon learned why. I was to be treated to a diabolical hair removal process in which the application of a gooey gel was the first step.

I observed as Janet used a wooden spatula to did a clump of greenish goo out of a shallow tub and work it across my left leg. She spread it into a thick film and then produced a strip of cloth that she smoothed down over the treated area.

"Take a deep breath and hold it." She instructed and then she whipped the cloth away, leaving a smooth, hairless, shiny surface where there had been a matted fuzz. It was painful, but not as excruciating was one might imagine. The process was mundanely repeated until all the exposed hair below the hem of my shorts was gone. My arm pits endured the same fate and were nearly as smooth as my legs. My eyebrows were then thinned and reshaped by a similar process called waxing. When the wax was pulled free, all that was left was a most un-masculine high graceful arch. I prayed that by the end of summer there would be enough re-growth to let me pass as a normal teenage boy again. At the time I believed that eyebrows grew at the same rate as the hairs on my head. Just another misconception from my pre-transformation, blissfully ignorant phase.

I was then indulgenced by a facial massage with a moisturizing cream, followed by a base coat of scented foundation. My eyelashes were then enhanced by a coating of mascara while a dark liner was used to give my eyes greater definition.

Mom and Allison arrived just in time to see Janet pulling the curlers out of my hair. As Janet began shaping the random strands of curls into an overly curly shoulder length flip, Mom just stood with her arms folded with a knowing smile on her face while Alli reached into her purse and pulled out an Instamatic camera and flipped up the flash. After shooting five or six pictures from different angles, she placed the camera on the counter, then pulled a lipstick from another compartment of her purse.

"Look familiar, Jeffy?" she teased. "It should. It’s the one you borrowed from my vanity back during your scrapbook days. Frosted barely pink. Consider it a present from your big sister."

She reached forward, handing me the lipstick as she continued, "Now let’s see again how you purse your lips as you make them pretty." Mother just stood with her arms folded, and nodded for me to comply.

As I took the tube and twisted its base to expose the lipstick, I winced as I noted the emerging color matched that coating my new nails. I was handed a compact mirror by Janet and submissively began to apply the waxy gloss to lips. I began to feel the same thrill that I had when I was first using it in Sis’s room. The combination of sexual excitement combined with the adrenalin that comes from running the risk of unwanted discovery. And then the realization that I was pretty as I viewed the restrictive image staring back at me from the compact.

I was shocked back to reality by the flash from Alli’s camera, capturing me staring into the compact at my transformed reflection. "Hey, pretty boy, this will make a great addition to your scrapbook." Alli taunted. "Look this way and blow me a kiss, Hon." She laughed.

"Okay, that’s enough." Mom interrupted. "Jeffery, thank Janet for all her help. I have to admit, she’s made you much prettier that I would have even imagined." With those comments my first visit to the beauty pallor was finalized as Mom paid for the services.

I was handed the compact back to Janet as I thanked her for working on me and then I tried to give Alli back her lipstick. "No, Jeffy. It’s yours. You keep it." She insisted. It was then that I realized that the pockets of my shorts had been sown closed.

"Mother, you’ve sown my pockets closed." I stated in protest.

"Oh, I’m soooo sorry, Jeffrey. I guess that we’ll just have to get you a purse to hold your things now. So, just incase you were wondering, no pockets for you even with your girly clothes. That will be the rule until carrying a purse becomes second nature. Since you’re behaving yourself, I’ll carry your lipstick for now, until we buy you your own purse." She added, taking the ornate cylinder from my still outreached hand.

"Thank you." I softly replied. As I did, I realized that there was no place to hide my newly polished nails with their eye-catching sparkle. This didn’t go un-noticed by either Mother or Allison. I observed them exchange knowing smiles.

Then it was back into the car and off to the mall. As I buckled my seatbelt, I became conscious that more than normal care would be needed to keep from traumatizing my finger tips with the extended length of my nails. Sitting in the back seat, Mom and Alli couldn’t see me staring at my extended fingers on now silky smooth thighs. I played with the glint of reflected high lights off my new nails and pondered whatever fate I had gotten myself into.

 

 

Chapter 12

Shopping at the Mall

The parking lot was filled with cars from the usual weekend crowd of shoppers, movie goers and other teens who’d come to just loiter about and socialize. We parked quite some distance the mall entrance, resulting in a particularly long trek for my public outing. I marched along between Mom and Alli, making sure I didn’t out pace them. I felt so vulnerable, I didn’t want to antagonize either of them if I could help it.

The first item Mom wanted to acquire for me was a handbag, telling me that it would be my constant companion when ever I left home. We made our way to the Penney’s and found the women’s accessories department. There were probably thirty to forty racks and tables with so many different varieties of purses. My education began with Alli explaining the different advantages and limitations of the diverse collection. Some were overly ornate and cutely decorated while others appeared much more practical, being made of conservative leathers or weaves.

There was the utility issue. Some bags were designed for special occasions, like going to the beach. Others were designed for special events, an evening out dining or dancing. There was the need to coordinate the color of the bag with ones outfit, especially ones shoes. Black and tan would go with almost anything, while colors like hot pink required some other accessory to balance the flamboyance. So much to consider.

Mom told me would stay with a practical hand or shoulder bag, one that would be appropriate for someone my age. If I turned out that I needed a special evening clutch in the future, well, we would cross that bridge when we came to it. After looking through the numerous styles, I settled on a navy blue shoulder bag with a main partition and two smaller side compartments. The central portion was designed for large capacity items and had a wide mouth opening that closed with a shiny chrome buckle. It had an interior 6 inch zipped pocket that opened to a back wall pocket with 4 credit card or ID slots. The two outer, small compartments were accessed by opening a dainty zipper The capacity should be adequate for most items I would need to carry with me and the 30 inch shoulder strap was securely stitched to the bag.

Mom paid for it, dropped my lipstick in the main compartment and handed it to me to slip over my shoulder. "Now don’t let me catch you leaving the house without it." She cautioned. "But then without any pockets, I guess we won’t have to worry about that, will we?" She added rhetorically.

Mom coached me on how to carry the purse with it looped over my left shoulder while the strap ran diagonally across my front so my right hand could cradle the bag securely in front of my right hip. That decreases the temptation of would-be purse snatchers I learned. Mom said that now that I was portraying a lady, I was at an increased risk of being accosted or robbed. "Get use to being looked upon as weaker and less able. Welcome to womanhood, Jeffery."

The Teens area of the store was on a different level, so we took the escalators to that department. Once there, Mom marched up to a middle aged sales lady and told her she was shopping for a training bra for her daughter.

The saleslady seemed quite friendly and introduced herself as Ms. Lenz. She said she’d be happy to help in any way she could. Mom smiled retuned the introduction.

Mom told her she wasn’t sure of my size, and before I knew it, Ms. Lenz was marching me off to what known as a fitting room. It was near the rear of the department and quite isolated.

Once behind a modest curtain, Ms. Lenz asked me to remove my top so she could take some measurements. Hesitatingly, I looked to Mom for guidance. Mom gave me an affirmative nod that was not missed by the sales lady. "No need to feel self-conscious, Dear. I’ve seen so many naked bosoms, I feel almost like a doctor when it comes to theses matters." She chuckled in a reassuring manner.

Taking a deep breath, I reached down and pulled the tank top over my head and folded it over a chair. Then I turned to face Ms. Lenz and my mother.

A puzzled look develop on the Ms. Lenz’s face as she looked me in the eye and asked me, "Just exactly how old are you, Dear."

Out of ignorance I blurted out, "Oh, I just turned fifteen, Ma’am." When I looked her in the eyes, I could sense something wasn’t quite right and I lowered my gaze.

Puzzlement turned to a look of concern as she turned to Mother and inquired, "She’s fifteen and has not signs of development at all? What’s going on here? This child isn’t your daughter, he’s your son, isn’t HE?

Mom stepped in and began to explain. "You’re right. She’s not a girl. But she IS going to be spending the summer as my daughter, and she needs help in playing the part."

"May I inquire as to why he’s going to be spending the summer as a girl? Is this some type of punishment?"

"Punishment?" My mother pondered. "Not exactly. Jeffery’s spending the summer as a girl as a consequence of his own doing. At home he’s been raiding his sister’s and my bedrooms, but this is much more than just an unusual form of punishment.

He’s been wearing our clothes, using our makeup and doing this behind our backs. When he was first confronted with our suspicions, he lied. It wasn’t until we had video evidence of this mischief that he was force to admit the truth. He explained to us that he was curious about being a girl. But when I watched the videos, I could tell there was much more than curiosity at work.

I took the time to consult with both our family physician, and a close friend of mine whose a licensed clinical psychologist. When my friend viewed that tapes, she told me there was a strong possibility that Jeffery was transgendered, and that it was something that he was unlikely to grow out of. After my initial shock subsided, and after discussion with our family doctor and my friend, we decided that Jeffery should have the opportunity to at least live as a girl for the summer to see if this is really something he wants or, hopefully, just a passing phase. And to make a long story short, that’s what we’re doing here.

"I see." Came a slow response from Ms. Lenz. "Oh, you poor, sweet,, dear," she comforted as she turned back to me, "Are you one of those people who feel they’re a girl whose trapped in a boys body?"

What could I say. Mother had laid out her rough version of the truth, but what was all this talk of being transgenered? No one had said anything to me about this and I’d never had an opportunity to talk with our family doctor. And there’s just no kind way to put it, but Mom’s psychologist friend was a roaring feminist nazi. I’d overheard her talking with Mom and their friends in the past, and she was of the opinion that all the woes of society could be placed squarely on the shoulders of male aggression. But was this the time to assert that I hadn’t received a fair trial? I’d better play it cool.

"Well, Ma’am, I’m just not sure what to say. I mean what Mom says is mostly accurate, but if the truth be known, I’d rather be out playing baseball than in here being fitted for a bra. And my first visit with my doctor isn’t until this afternoon. She’s never heard my side of the story." My reply was not only accurate, but true.

But mother interrupted at that point with more breaking news. "He’s seeing the doctor this afternoon and scheduled to be started on hormonal enhancement therapy. I haven’t shared this with him this yet, but he might as well learn it now. He’s also scheduled to have a set small size-A breast implants. They’ll be removable, but will serve as a constant reminder that his situation is not just part time. He’ll be wearing a bra by this evening, and I was just hoping it we could buy it here."

"Oh, Mrs. Cole, I’d be delighted to assist you and your son in any way I can." She replied, now with a smile upon her face. "Let me get some measurements and ask you just a couple of questions. Did you have a particular style did you have in mind? Front or back closure? What type of material are we looking at? And are there any special requirements?" It seemed that Ms. Lenz had either totally bought Mom’s rendition or was just eager to get her commission. Either way, it looked like I didn’t have much say in things.

With the tapemeasure reading 29 inches around my chest, it was announced that I was going to be wearing a 34 A size bra. Mom insisted on a back closure style, saying that I should learn how to fasten a bra in the traditional manner. After some discussion with Mother, and no input from me, Ms. Lenz held out a white Vanity Fair bra for me to try.

I slipped my arms through the open loops and Ms. Lenz showed me how to grasp the dangling clasps in with my fingers. My newly acquired extensions made getting a good grip difficult, but finally I managed a firm hold on both ends. I pulled on the spandex straps, stretching them behind my back in an clumsy attempt to clasp them together. Ms. Lenz guided my fingers, and with her help I was somehow able to get the ends hooked together. Then she helped me adjust the strap tension so that I had a snug but not too tight fit. Since there was no breast tissue at the time, I knew that the straps would have to be readjusted once my alterations had been completed.

"I had you hook the middle clasps." Ms. Lenz told me. "If you find the bra riding up or it feels too tight, try using either of the other two clasps to adjust the tension. With that tidbit of wisdom and some supportive words of encouragement, I had successfully survived my first encounter in the Penny’s lingerie department.

I removed the last bra and replaced my tank top. Mom got out her wallet and paid for the purchase. I was given the bag of boxes to carry as we headed off towards the jewelry department. Once there Mom approached a counter with earrings and told me to pick out a pair. "The pierced ones of course, Jeffery. All young ladies have pierced ears." I was informed, as if I had no hint of what was about to happen.

As I more closely examined the cards with their attached wears, I couldn’t help but notice the sparkle from my fingers and how my nails would be an almost constant reminder of my situation. Not only did they make picking up small items more difficult, but the glimmer was constantly catching my eyes.

But back to the earrings. Mom rejected my first couple of choices and pointed me toward an assortment of hoopped earrings of differing sizes. I was allowed to pick out three pairs before undergoing the ceremonial piercing that has become a pre-teen ritual. The septic odor of the alcohol swab contrasted with the sweeter aromas coming form nearby counter tops. The medicinal smell reminded me of my upcoming visit with my friendly neighborhood doctor. I started dwelling on the implications of what Mom had said about a set of A-size implants. With this development, I would no longer have the option to run around bare chested. I’d have to wear a top even without makeup or the clothes. Even if I ran away and cut my hair. This was going to be a completely inescapable consequence and the totality of my situation suddenly became very ominous.

The unexpectedly loud snap of the piercing gun next to my ear shocked me back to the present. The discomfort was less than I had anticipated, but perhaps that was because I was caught off guard. Unlike the bras, I was forced to choose a pair of earrings to wear from the start. I chose a pair of conservative gold French loops as they looked easier to take off than the other selections.

Mom commented that my Casio diving watch was no longer in keeping with my new gender. She had me pick out a thinner, more delicate time piece. It was also gold with a narrow black strap that I had trouble fastening, again due to the awkwardness from my new nails. Well I was certainly all girl from the elbows down.

To make a long story shorter, I had to pick out a selection of lip and nail colors, while Mom took over choosing foundations, mascara, and eyeliners for me. I was to have my own supply of cosmetics and I was to no longer borrow from Mom or Sis. Ali picked out a hideous blue colored nail lacquer and dropped it in with my collection. It’s only fair that I get to use some of your nail polish

Before my afternoon appointment with Dr. Schrager, Mom suggested we grab a quick lunch. We headed off in search of the food court, each of us helping to carry my new purchases.

 

To be continued in Part V

 

 

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© 2001 by Amber Palmer. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.