Crystal's StorySite


The Scrapbook

by Amber Palmer


Chapter 13: Coercive Enlightenment

I had an ominous premonition that this afternoon was about to take an even more unwelcome twist. Within the span of the past three hours my facial appearance been irrefutably transformed from that of a youthful lad to one of a teenaged girl. In addition, I was now coping with the hassle of my new purse, a fashion accessory I was advised that would henceforth be permanently attached to my hip whenever I left home. Then there were these delightfully wicked new nail extensions. Not only did they cause me to feel clumsy, but they also served as a reminder that I was now sporting my sister’s frosted pink lip gloss (the infamous one I’d used to jazz-up my scrapbook). Perhaps it was my imagination, but when I licked my lips, I sensed I could taste an ever so slight strawberry flavor. I couldn’t be sure if my mind was starting to play tricks on me or if I was just getting hungry.

As we arrived at the food court, I meekly fell in line behind Ali who had picked up a tray and was moving forward in the line. I started to reach for a custard when Mom gently touched my arm. "Jeff, I forgot to tell you, but Dr. Schrager requested you not eat anything after breakfast. She wants to take some fasting blood tests and if she decides to do any procedures, she wants your stomach to be empty. I asked her if you might have some Jell-O, and she said she’d rather you didn’t." With that I returned my meager cup of custard and hung my head. Oh, how had I ever let all this happen?

We found an isolated table in the most remote corner of the plaza. Mom and Ali set about devouring their petite sandwiches and portion of salads while I fingered my glass of water and fidgeted with my new earrings. Putting down her fork and blotting her mouth, Mom finally broke the silence. "Jeff Dear, I want to congratulate you on how well you’ve handled yourself this morning. I understand this is probably a bit stressful for you, and in fact this wouldn’t really be a lesson for you if it weren’t, would it? I want you to know that your positive attitude hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’m very proud of the way you’ve accepted the consequences of your behavior." She smiled affectionately as she reassured me for the hundredth time that everything was going to be okay. "You do believe that I’m only doing what I trust is best for you, don’t you Jeffery?"

I nodded in the affirmative, not looking up from my glass of water.

"Good. Now Jeff, I have to ask for a small favor." Mom continued. "I’ve already discussed your "situation" with Dr. Schrager and I want you to know she couldn’t have been more sympathetic and supportive. We discussed about how to best assist you with this rather unique experience, and I mentioned something about your interest in wearing a bra. Well before I knew it, we got talking about breast enhancements, and I implied that you were interested. She’s very willing and able to accommodate, but only if she’s convinced that this is something YOU want. Now I know you’re probably still a tad ambiguous about all this, but when you talk with Dr. Schrager, if you could sound just a tiny bit enthusiastic about implants, well, then things would go just so much smoother."

I gestured with my hand, new nails and all, to halt the conversation. "I’m suppose to want implants? You," and then I paused for dramatic emphasis, "want me to tell the doctor that I’M the one who wants a set of boobs? Just what did you sprinkle on your salad, Mother?"

"Jeffery, Jeffery, my dear Jeffery." Mom sighed as she shook her head. " I’ve tried to reassure you over and over, I’m only trying to do what’s best for you. It’s YOUR PART to have some faith in my judgment." Then her tone changed ever so slightly. "Remember when I told you that we could do this the easy way or the hard way. You do recall that don’t you? Please, tell me you’re not going be difficult over such a trivial matter when you’ve been such a darling so far." She almost pleaded.

"Mother, Dearest…." I answered back sarcastically.

"Jeffery." She abruptly interrupted. "I’m rather displeased by the contemptuous tone in your voice."

"And by the way, have you ever noticed that you only refer to me as ‘Mother’ when you’re upset or annoyed with me, because I have. But since you brought it up, ‘Mother’ is how you’re to address me from now on. Not your insincere, disrespectful ‘Mother’, but the warm one that daughters traditionally use to show affection for their mothers. So now, just what was it you were about to say?"

I moaned under my breath and continued, "Mother, believe me, I’m not trying to make this difficult for you. I’ve gone along with everything you’ve asked. I mean, just look at me. Did I balk at your subjecting me to this makeover?"

And then gesturing for emphasis with my newly adorned fingers, I touched what remained of my eyebrows. "Did I put up a fuss when you had Janet pluck away until I was left with these ultra thin, highly arched eyebrows? Did I offer protest when you had these pierced earrings fastened to my ears? No! I meekly sat there and let them do their things. But now you want me tell Dr. Schrager that I’m the one who’s requesting to get a breast job? I don’t think so, Mother." My tone was a shade less sarcastic, but short of the loving respectful one I’d been directed to start using.

Mother sat back in her chair and I sensed her change to a no nonsense cold mood. "Well, Jeff, of course I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. (And what a lie that would turn out to be.) BUT," And she used that oh-so-motherly authoritative voice, " if you don’t ask Dr. Schrager, then I guess I’ll have to find some other way to satisfy your obsessive curiosities about such concerns as ‘Shoulder strap dig-in,’" she smiled. "If my memory serves me, that was one of those feminine annoyances you were ever so inquisitive about , wasn’t it, Dearest?" Now it was her turn to be sardonic. "And you know there are other aggravations that us girls suffer that I just know your dying to savor. For example, I’m still toying with just how to introduce you to the many joys of feminine hygiene. I do seem to recall a discarded tampon box as part of your collection. Playtex Slimfits if my memory serves me right. And then there are other aspects of being a woman that I pray you’ll never have to experience first hand. But that’s something we will discuss a little further down the road."

Then her manner turned a chilling cold, like that of a vice-principle ready to interrogate a delinquent student. "So, my dearest little Jennifer, do you doubt that I neglected to do MY homework before I confronted you with the evidence? Do you doubt that I researched everything available about your condition before I determined to have you get implants this summer? Can you begin to imagine how many books, brochures, and web sites I studied, learning all I could about transvestites before I played my cards."

I cringed sharply when she referred to me as "Jennifer", and then flat out cowered when she spoke the word that sounded so clinical, but so demeaning, "transvestite."

"For example, in my studies, I’ve learned that corseting is a recurring theme in transvestite fiction. Tell me, Princess, have YOU ever fantasized what it would be like to be helplessly suspended from a lacing bar with only your toes touching the ground. Oh, I’m certain you have. You might even have speculated how wonderfully shameful that would be. Yes, I know about the blissful anguish trannies experience as they envision the humiliation of being subjected to such indignities at the hands of their governess, or in your case your mother and sister. I can just picture how helpless you’d be, with your new nails and all, wearing a tight fitting corset that’s snuggly knotted behind your back."

"Trust me as a women who’s suffered the pangs tight panty-girdles, Jennifer, I could make you so uncomfortable in a tight corset, that you’d be begging Dr. Schrager to slap a pair of double D’s in you in exchange for a little relief. But then perhaps you like me to do that. Let me assure you that you won’t have to push me very hard to find out. And oh, yes. If you haven’t guessed it by now, I’ve decided that I’m giving you the name I’d pick out for you before you were born. I never told you this, but if you’d turned out to be a girl, I was going to name you ‘Jennifer.’ But it turned out that ‘Jennifer’ was born with a ‘pickle’."

"And so my dear little cross-dresser, the choice is yours. We can do some more regular shopping before your appointment, or do we make a visit to a corsetiere where we’ll purchase a real memento for you to write about in your scrapbook. The choice is yours. And, Princess, before you answer, I think you should know there are even more degrading inducements that women have been forced to endure than corsets, if you get my point. So make up your mind right now so we can decide how we’re going to be spending the rest of the afternoon."

"Oh, Princess Jennifer, please chose the corset," Ali tormented.

Mom had really caught me off balance with all that stuff about cross dressers, but I quickly regained my composure and countered, "Oh, I get it, Mother. You want me to lie to the good doctor?" I’d learned how to hedge questions with a question of my own.

"Never," was her immediate answer. "Deep down in your heart, somewhere in its most guarded chamber, you secretly know that you’re really yearning to have soft, warm, living flesh filling your bra cups rather than some cheap make-believe cotton padding. I’m just nudging you toward an option that you’re too timid to accept on your own. Now, are you going to be a good little girl and do what Mommy wants, or will be learning about the advantages of plastic versus metal stays? And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about?"

An incredibly long pause followed before I obediently consented to ask Dr. Schrager for my own set of hooters. As I did, I watched the transformation of my mother back to her normally caring self. How much of it was an act was hard to judge, but I had little doubt that she would have made good her threat to have me corseted if I didn’t agree with her plan. I knew what I had to do.

After we cleaned off our table and head away from the food court, Mom told me that we still had some time left to get me a few more essentials. The first shop we headed into was Verona’s Shoe Salon, a place that catered to teens and young women. We walked up and down the aisles and Mom picked three different models to have me try on. I couldn’t help but notice that one of the pairs was a dark blue dress pump that had three inch heels. Mom saw me eyeing them and she told me they would be a good match for my purse. When we took a seat, a young lady came over to assist us.

Mom said she desired to purchase the styles that she’d picked, and wanted me fitted. Without a second look, the salesgirl handed me what looked like two nylon socks and I took off both my tennis shoes and socks. Yes, my pink toenails still matched my fingers. Nothing had magically changed under my tennies since I’d left the beauty parlor.

I carefully slipped on the nylons. The salesgirl had me step onto a device that determines foot size and I learned I was a girls size 8, a full size up from my male length. As she walked away to retrieve my shoes, Mom told me she wanted me to make sure they felt comfortable before she purchased them.

Two minutes later the salesgirl returned carrying three boxes, one in my size for each of the styles and color that Mom had picked. The first was a pair of traditional black Mary-Janes. The second a pair of white and pink girls tennis shoes to replace the pair of Ali’s that I was wearing. And lastly the dark blue pumps with the three inch heels. I tried them all on and each was a comfortable fit.

I felt a little awkward in the heels, but I only had to walk across the store and back. It was the first time I’d actually worn heels, for as small as I was, Mom’s and Ali’s shoes were to small to have tested during my experimental phase. And so it was on my first day as a girl, that I got to hear the distinctive echoes of my own high heels on a hardwood floor. It was a sound that resonated in my head long after I’d put back on my new pair of girls tennies.

We shopped in a few of the other small stores specializing in various items for young women, and some for teens. I now had quite a collection of my own blouses and skirts, as well as shorts, leisure tank tops, nylons, slips and many of the other essentials I be needing over the summer. The fact that Mother spent a small fortune was somewhat worrisome, even thought her having done so for herself and Ali never bothered me. But somehow there was an unwritten contract that those items wouldn’t go to waste, and that I’d be getting her monies worth from them.

There were too many bags to carry alone, that both Ali and Mom had to help carry some on our trek back to the car. With the trunk now filled, I naturally assumed that we’d be heading over to see Mom’s doctor friend for the grand finale of our little excursion.

Again I was sitting in the back seat, paying little attention to where the car was pointed when we pulled into a mini-mall with only eight to ten small businesses.

Mom turned around to me and said that since we still had over half an hour to kill before our appointment, she thought that we might stop by a special shop whose owner she’d met only recently. When I asked what type of shop, she informed me it was an "insurance" shop. In a whimsical tone she added she was sure I’d find some of her policies most interesting.

With that I start to scan the storefronts when my eyes suddenly realized that one of them read "The Wizard of Corsets". "Mother," I began, "I told you I’d pretend to want the implants when Dr. Schrager asked me about them. Why are we stopping here?"

"Because, Jennifer, I felt that a little insurance was indicated to keep you from reneging. That’s why. Anyway, we have enough time to go in and say ‘hello’ and browse for a few minutes before we need to be off." And with that Mom was out of the car and walking toward the door of the establishment.

As we entered, a bell jingled over our heads, and within a few seconds a middle aged woman appeared from the back room and greeted us. I was apparent that she knew Mom and didn’t seem at all surprised to see her.

"Oh, Terri, so nice of you to stop by," the proprietor welcomed her.

"Debbie, I told you we might be stopping by, and I just wanted to introduce Allison and Jeffery. Jeffery is the one we discussed, and I just wanted to show him your store and bring him in to meet you. Allison, Jennifer, this is Ms. Orwig who has so graciously agreed to help us."

"Allison, how nice to meet you," Ms Orwig said extending her had to my sister. "Such a adorable young lady," she complimented my sister.

"And, Jeffery, aren’t you just the prettiest young thing, all gussied up and all?" she smiled as she acknowledged me. She extended her hand and as I took it I noticed my nails were longer and more feminine than hers. I tried to ignore her comment about my appearance but it was clear that Mother must have cut her in on my summer plans. I blushed and looked away as we shook hands.

"Debbie, we’re in somewhat of a hurry this afternoon and have a doctor’s appointment in about half an hour. I was hoping that if you weren’t too busy, you could give Jennifer, as we’re now calling Jeff, a quick tour of your shop and take those measurements that we’d talked about." Mom continued.

"Why I’d be delighted to, Terri. And you know that I’d make time for you even if I was busy, which I’m not," she smiled.

With that, Ms. Orwig turned back to me and began the grand tour. Around the outside walls of her shop various styles of corsets were displayed on torso manikins. She began the tour with what sounded like a rehearsed spiel extolling the merits of wearing a corset. "I have to tell you that the history of corsets is just soooo fascinating and for me it lends such historic perspective on events that just aren’t adequately explained by studying wars and politics. Corsets were traditionally constructed to be worn as undergarments, necessary to achieve the correct silhouette of the period, and usually worn under many other layers of clothing."

"Today, corsets are mainly worn under clothing by people who are undergoing waist-training or in need of posture correction. And yes, they do improve poor postures as well as narrow the waist line. Whether sitting or standing, the wearer is forced to assume a new, more erect posture. Not only will our young Miss Jennifer feel far to elegant too slouch, it will be virtually impossible with the model your mother has chosen for you."

There, she’d said it. Mom had this all planned out before our lunch conversation. I’d been suckered in to a pact with Mom and now it looked like I’d be getting a corset inspite of my agreeing to pacify Dr. Schrager’s concerns.

Oblivious to my plight, Ms Orwig continued to talk as we passed examples of Victorian, Elizabethan, and 18th Centaury Edwardian corsets. "My standard, custom-fitted corset is fashioned with at least 18 stays. I don’t use plastic or reinforced paper boning as they tend to loose their shape-memory after only two or three lacings. I use only a hyper-elastic carbide-steel alloy stay that is hand tailored to insure a perfect fit, with absolutely no floating or twisting. They retain their structural memory even after months of constant use.

She paused in front of a black corset, with a prominent label of ‘The Customized Victorian Waste Trainer.’ "With this model the breasts are supported while the shoulders are held back. This corset will constantly server to remind the wearer to walk from the hips. This so happens to be the style that your mother and I chose for you, Jeffery. Now if I could just get your measurements, it will only take a couple of minutes and then you and your mother can be on your ways."

With that Ms. Orwig pull out a tape measure and began to record dimensions over different parts of my body, dictating them into a small recorder as she went. "Nape to maximum bust 5.5 inches, Nape to waist 14.25 inches, arm hole to waist 12.5 inches." She ordered me to stand with my arms held out to the side and then took further measurements. Then others from standing behind me. Upper hip circumference, lower hip circumference, and so on, taking about twenty measurements in all.

When she was finished, Mom had me choose a girl’s name for the corset that was to be constructed for my use. She wouldn’t let me leave until I personally named it. I chose the name "Erika" for a really cute girl from my school.

"It will take about 3 days. I’ll give you a call when it’s time to pick-up "Erika". You can bring Jeffery by to make sure it fits properly." Ms. Orwig told my mother.

With Ms. Orwig indicating we were through, Mom gave her a hug and then we were off again in the car. After we traveled for a few minutes I could tell that Mom wasn’t about to say anything, so I did. "Mother, so this is how you keep your end of the deal. Get me to concede to your plan and then go back on your part?"

"Not at all, Dear. Yes I had this planned, but I didn’t promise you that you wouldn’t be fitted. I just promised that if you don’t say the right things to Dr. Schrager, you’ll be certain to find yourself and Erika spending a whole lot of time together. As I implied earlier, I’m just look at it as an insurance policy against ANY disagreements we might have." Mom stated.

"So it’s to be a form of blackmail, is that it?" I asked.

"You can call it what ever you want, Jennifer. But think about this. If you don’t trust that I’ve taken my time to carefully consider certain contingencies, how could I expect you to have faith in the decisions I’ve had to make for you?

We rode on the rest of the way in silence. Even though I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, I found that I was no longer hungry.

Chapter 14. The Doctor is In.

DISCLAIMER: What follows should be considered purely fictional entertainment in regard to how a physician might handle the premise presented this story. While the medical aspects may appear to accurately reflect technique and potentials for treatment, they should not be viewed as in anyway consistent with established approaches. In fact they deviate considerably from the accepted standard of care for the treatment of patients with Gender Identity Disorder. With that said, enjoy.

When we stepped into the Doctor’s waiting room, Mom went directly to the receptionist and confirmed my appointment. As we sat waiting, both Mom and Ali picked up magazines and began thumbing through them. I was too nervous to even leaf through the magazines and just sat there fidgeting with the hem of my shorts. I began playing a game of picking off minute pieces of lint, using my new nails as tweezers.

Within just a few minutes, the nurse called my name and I thought it was my turn to see the doctor. Instead, the nurse sat me down at a table just inside the door, and proceeded to take three tubes of blood that she said would be sent for testing. She placed a Band-Aid over the site and told me to apply some pressure for a few minutes. Then she returned me to the waiting room, saying I’d be called back when the doctor was ready.

After what seemed like a very long time, the nurse returned and invited me to come in. She used my real name, and since there were no longer any other patients waiting, my mode of dress didn’t cause me any additional embarrassment.

I was escorted to an examination room where a thermometer was placed under my tongue while the nurse took my pulse and blood pressure. She read off 98.7 degrees and after having me take off my shoes she invited me to step up onto the hallway scale. "122 pounds" she announced when the sliding weight came to rest and the balance arm teetered. The height arm read 64 and one half inches. Handing me a paper gown, she walked me to the examination room.

"The doctor will be into see you in a few minutes" she informed me. "The doctor requires all her patients to strip down to their panties and be in the gown when she comes in. Put on the gown so it opens in the back. I hope the room temperature isn’t too cold for you. You see we try to strike a balance between not too cold for the patients and too warm for the staff." She smiled. With that she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Left alone by myself for the first time, I was momentarily at a loss for where to start. Then I sat down on the chair and set down my tennies. Then I took off my new socks, folding them into a roll and placing them inside the shoes.

For the first time I had a chance to examine the pedicure that I’d been given earlier. My feet had been smoothed and my nails trimmed to a uniform length. The nails themselves glistened as they caught the light and sparkled with a pearly sheen. I couldn’t help but approve of the job Janet did. They certainly looked as nice as any girls’ that I’d ever envied.

Then I removed the tank top, folding it and placing it on the examination table. My white shorts followed and then I donned the examination gown as instructed, putting both arms though the sleeves and tying the top string behind my neck. Then I reached around and found the waist tie and secured it as well. Having gotten appropriately prepared, I perched myself on the examination table with my ultra smooth legs dangling over the side. While I waited I again admired the workmanship that went into giving me my first pair of acrylic nails. They were mine and I didn’t have to take them off before Mother or Sis returned home to discover my "hobby." Well, perhaps this summer wasn’t going to be as bad as I’d feared. At least I hoped not.

As I sat there, I began to experience a feeling of deja vu, and then I realized that it was the thrill and excitement of the unknown. The last time I’d had it was back when I risked being caught by Mom or Sis. Now it the circumstances were potentially even more threatening. Here I was sitting waiting for a doctor that Mom had said was both compassionate but also a professional. But what kind of person was she really. Was she one of those women-libbers who despised men and enjoyed seeing them squirm. Or was she truly what Mom had said. A caring person who would be willing to help me. I could feel my heart starting to pound faster with anticipation.

Just at that moment, there was a knock on the door, and then an attractive lady entered wearing a long white coat and carrying a manila folder. "Hello, Jeff, I’m Dr. Schrager. Your mother and I have already met and had a number of discussions regarding your case. I want you to know that I’m here to help you." And with that she took a seat on the only other piece of furniture in the room, a short stool on wheels. She opened what I believed to be my chart and I watched as she scanned the page. Then she closed the folder and set it on the counter and turned back to me.

"Well, Jeff, normally I’d take a history before examining you. But since I’ve already taken a history from your mother, I’d like to just move forward and do a physical exam, and then you can put your clothes back on. Afterwards, We’ll go into my office, just you and I, and discuss how I might be of some help to you. Okay?"

I said "Okay, Doctor, that’s fine with me."

With that she stood up and motioned for me to lie back on the examination table. She did the perfunctory inspection of my ears, eyes and throat, and asked me if I’d had any recent throat pain or nose bleeds. The she spent quite some time feeling my neck. She repeatedly had me swallow as she palpated my Adam’s-apple. "Well you won’t be needing a tracheal-shave," she offhandedly commented as she moved on.

Then she undid my gown and listened with her stethoscope to my heart and back. "Have you had any recent chest pain or trouble breathing?" she inquired.

"No." I told her.

Next she moved to examining my nipples and the small buds of tissue beneath them. She used the same gentle pressure as when she examined my neck, taking her time and seeming to be satisfied. She then went back to my face and re-examined my beard area, stroking it with the palm side of her fingers. She gave me a smile that seemed to imply approval. Then there was the probing of my stomach while I took some more deep breaths. She explained she was checking for any liver enlargement or tenderness.

She passed over the area covered by my panties and began her examination of my thighs and legs. "No obvious bruising," she observed. She squeezed my muscles and inquired about any tenderness behind my calves. After checking the pulses on the top of my feet, she turned her attention to my wrists and hands. A pulse check there was followed by an inspection of my manicured nails. The contrast of my frosted pink acrylics with her equally eloquent crimson nails was striking. She must have been thinking the same thing as she declared, "What a lovely manicure. I just love the shade of your polish."

I couldn’t tell if she was just making girlish chit-chat, or if she was in some way testing me. I thanked her and then she continued. "Unfortunately it hides some subtle changes I might detect beneath your nails, but then it’s probably worth to have them look so nice, isn’t it?"

I must have given some sign of discomfort, because her expression changed as she asked "You do like having pretty nails don’t you, Jeff?"

Remembering Mom’s threat, I immediately agreed that I did like having pretty nails, but I could see that my response had left some doubt in the doctor’s eyes. "And your nails look real pretty too,"I added.

With that she beamed and thanked me for my compliment.

"Alright, Jeff." I’m going to do an examination on your genitals now, and if you want, I can call in my nurse or your mother to chaperone. Or I could just do it without anyone else being present. The choice is up to you. However you feel the most comfortable."

I told her that I definitely didn’t want to have my mom there, and that as far as I was concerned, being alone with her was just fine. Without really becoming conscious of it, I had decided she was a person I could trust, and one in whom I could confide. I there was a look of warm compassion in her eyes after I told her to go ahead.

With that she lowered my panties and then proceed to examine my testicles and penis. She rolled each of my testicles back and forth several times between her fingers telling me she was judging their size and feeling for lumps. Next I was instructed to turn my head and cough while she pushed her finger up into my scrotum so as to check for hernias. "Almost finished." She reassured.

"Now please roll on your side away from me and pull your top leg up toward your abdomen," she instructed. "I’m going to do a rectal exam, Jeff. It won’t be painful but the sensation may feel a little strange," she warned. With that she slipped on a latex glove and smeared some gooey stuff over a finger which she then inserted up my behind. I could sense her feeling around inside, and then it was over. Not so bad I thought, but I sure wouldn’t have wanted a male doctor doing it.

With that she removed the glove and discarded it in a container. "Please put your clothes back on Jeff and then my nurse will bring you to my office." With that she opened the door, closing it behind her again, leaving me alone to redress.

I hastily slipped my clothes back on and then sat waiting to be summoned. It wasn’t long before there was another knock on the door and the nurse entered to escort me down the hall to where Dr. Schrager was reviewing some papers.

As I entered the room, she took off her glasses and set down the file she was reading. She gestured to take a seat which I did. As I was sitting, something told me to cross my legs and that didn’t seem to go unnoticed by Dr. Schrager.

"Well, Jeff, how are you coping with all this? It certainly is quite an experience to have gone through all you have today; such a drastic change is undoubtedly accompanied by a fair amount of emotional stress. How are you feeling about all of this?" she started off.

"Feeling just fine," I blurted out.

"Hmmm," She observed. "Most people who are feeling ‘just fine’ smile a little bit more than you do Jeff. You haven’t smiled once since I walked in the room. Want to tell me what’s the matter or are you just going to pretend that everything’s okay?"

"I said everything is going fine. I mean, look at me. Why wouldn’t any boy who’s been saving up pictures of girls in a scrapbook and wearing his sister’s and mother’s clothes feel just fine to be sitting here looking like this?" I asked with only the lightest hint of sarcasm.

"I’ve seen and even studied your scrapbook, Jeff, and I’ve seen the videos that your mother recorded of you dressing up. Yes, one could surmise that you’re very content with the way this has played out. Or one could say that it doesn’t matter how you feel, that you’re learning a lesson and getting exactly what you deserve. Or if one really understood you, they might appreciate that you have a lot of ambiguous feelings that are tearing you apart in different directions. Do any of those ideas ring a bell for you, Jeff?"

"What’s your point, Doctor?" I asked.

"My point is, Jeff, if you don’t talk to me, I’m going to be making some very important decisions with less than complete information. Your mother wants you feminized for the balance of the summer. Fine. I can go forward and give you hormones that will retard the development of any further secondary male sexual characteristics. I can prescribe estrogens that will play havoc with your emotions, weaken your muscles, round out your bottom and stimulate the development of breasts. Are you ready to have your tight little buns turning into chubby rounded cheeks, because that’s what will happen? Your mother and I have discussed breast augmentation and electrolysis for the meager beard growth that you’ve got. If that’s what you’d like, I can provide it, assuming your chemistries don’t turn up any unexpected contraindications. So, if that’s why you’re here, tell me and I can start making plans right now."

I thought long and hard, then I asked a question. "Can you tell me a little bit about what to expect?"

"Certainly. But first of all, I’m assuming that this is what you really want. Am I correct?" she attempted to clarified.

The moment of truth had arrived. If I agreed, Mom wouldn’t be pissed off at me and have to find some other means of "teaching me a lesson." Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad. After all, looking back at today, I gotten to experience some things that I’d only dreamed about doing in the past. I wouldn’t be having to hide away in my room, sneaking about the house. I’d get a chance to learn secrets that some guys would never comprehend.

But what was the down side of saying "Yes." I’d be allowing changes that wouldn’t be so easy to reverse as wiping off lipstick or getting a hair cut. I wasn’t too worried about the holes in my ears. Lots of guys have earrings these days and my eyebrows wouldn’t take all that long to grow back. But what could I do if I decided that I didn’t like having to wear a top or a bra every time I came out of my room. And what was this about my muscles getting weak and my bottom plumping up. I was already on the short side and I didn’t need any further handicaps when it came to playing baseball or football with the guys.

And what were the consequences of saying "No." Mom would be furious with me. She had her insurance waiting in the wings and the threats of other miseries could inflicted on me for violating our agreement. On the plus side, I wasn’t yet so deeply entangled that I could run away and escape. But where would I go. Would I windup homeless and having to wash dishes for a living or something even worse?

As I sat there weighing the alternatives, it struck me that in many ways I really was a cowardly wuss, unwilling to surrender the security of having a home and a warm bed to sleep in. A wimp who would consent to his mother emasculating him rather than risk running away into the great unknown. Perhaps I WOULD be better off living life as a girl, with all the dependence and subordination that implied. Hell, deep in my heart I knew that I’d never amount to much of a man anyway. I was lucky to be playing first string left field on my pony league team and I’d never hit higher than fifth in the line up. Me playing highschool football. What a joke that would be. In life’s hierarchy I knew I’d always be somewhat of a peon. Perhaps this was the best way out for me.

So with a deep internal sigh, I put on as much of an outward smile as I could muster, and told Dr. Schrager, "Let’s go for it."




2002 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.