The Unofficial Biography Of Kimmay

Prequel: The Nature Of Love

by G L Hudson

 

Introduction:

Do not pretend to feel with your heart

When you refuse to see with your eyes

- Kimmay

Where does true genius come from? Are the parent's genes the determining factor? Is training and experience the most important? Nature versus nurture. Consider this; there are billions of people on our planet and billions upon billions of potential combinations of genes. Once in the huge shake of the dice, is it not possible that a truly unique and exceptional combination will arrive? Can there be any doubt that Kimmay was the result of one such combination? Even more delicious is the question, could it happen twice?

Let there be no mistake as to whom and what Kimmay was. She was not a god. There are many who would place her on such a plateau. Those who seek such a distinction are charlatans. Kimmay would never permit a religion to build upon her footsteps. If she one day does return, her return will prove not that she is a god, but that Einstein was correct. Correct about time and space. Correct even though Kimmay placed paradox after paradox in front of those beliefs.

If one needs miracles, look no farther than Kimmay's own world. Your own world. The world of quantum strings and energy tunneling; the outrageous and the unexpected. She has opened a door to wonders no one could have envisioned. Search for them. See and feel the magic and the Magicians in our world. Welcome them with open minds. Build your future upon this, not empty promises from religious charlatans.

Kimmay is a misnomer initiated and perpetuated by a certain newspaper, when it incorrectly printed her name. They steadfastly refused to correct a simple mistake. And thus, they elevated her to the level of a single name. A name that every child, every adult, every individual on the face of this planet now recognizes. And we can only guess as to how far past our planet her name is now known. Kimmay was christened Kim May. A name that no longer exists.

This is an unofficial biography of Kimmay. Our knowledge of Kimmay's life is still incomplete. We may never know the full extent of her greatness. Yet, there is no story that needs to be told more than hers. Her incomplete story has been left to me. I am her sister.

Finally, let there be no question as to my motives. All proceeds from this book will go to Kimmay's Eleven Lights Foundation. That includes all of my proceeds and the publisher's. In return, the publisher will be granted access to all the sources that I have used to write this book. Perhaps future scholars can see in these papers that which I have missed. I can still hold out hope that one day, someone may truly understand what I and everyone else do not.

 

Chapter 1

Excerpts from Cynthia's L. May's diary

My name is Cynthia L. May, and I had a dream. Or rather, it was a vision as much as a dream. It was certainly visual. It was a picture in my mind's eye. I had this vision almost as long as I can remember. It changed over the years. It evolved. It was molded and shaped by things both real and virtual. This vision was of my wedding day. It was a glorious day; beautiful and warm, fragrant and Spring. It took place in a large ornate church with hundreds of friends and family members. Rainbow light streamed through the stained glass windows down upon a large wedding party standing in the front of the church and facing the congregation. It was a large wedding party. On the left stood five or six beautiful bridesmaids with cute, closed lip smiles. Their dimples were prominently displayed under high cheekbones blushing a crimson color, and their hair was piled neatly in up-dos with a few loose strands of hair falling down around their shoulders and framing their faces. Young and vital, honest and sincere.

Next to them stood I, Cynthia; radiant and glorious in my wedding gown, a beautiful and classical design in white satin. Long sleeves ending in lace around my wrists and framing delicate hands with long fingernails presented in a French manicure and painted in white. The dress had a plunging neckline, exposing enticing cleavage and a full bosom. A choker with an ivory cameo from my mother circled my neck. The top of my bodice was edged in lace, while the bottom of the bodice squeezed down to a thin waistline before the dress swept out to flow over my hips. What seemed like hundreds of small buttons ran from the top to the bottom of the bodice. Each button covered in satin and seeming to offer an enticing invitation to some trembling hands to come and pluck them open. An almost irresistible beckoning. Past my hips, the satiny billows flowed down to the floor, while breaking upwards into a small arch over the front of my shoes. Red tipped toes peeked through the open toed straps of the 3-inch heels that I was wearing. A long train flowed behind my dress onto the carpet behind me. It had been spread out to show a round periphery that was edged in lace. A veil flowed over long, blonde tresses that were filled with tight curls reaching down past my shoulders. The veil was carefully pinned to my hair. Long diamond earrings dangled from each ear lobe. My eyes gleamed and my red lips curled upwards in the largest smile ever, as I looked towards my husband.

On the opposite side of my fiancée stood his beautiful bridesmaids. They wore the same dresses as my bridesmaids. Their dresses were made of red velour and they had long sleeves and a high collar. The long dresses reached down to their ankles. A peek-a-boo opening over their bosoms showed their cleavage. A small, gold, heart-shaped locket hanging from a shimmering gold necklace highlighted and enhanced their cleavage. The lockets were a gift from the bride.

And in the middle, standing next to me and holding both my hands was my husband. Each of us was showing off our beautifully manicured fingernails. My nails featuring my French manicure and his nails showing a bright red coloring. Both of us had a large diamond ring on our left hand. He was wearing the identical dress that I was wearing. His beautiful, chestnut brown hair was piled in exquisite curls and folds and plaits above his head. His veil wrapped around the curls, as if to promote them to even higher dimensions. His dress curved down over his ample bosom and cleavage, past a thin waist and over voluptuous hips to the carpet below, and out behind him in a flowing train tipped in light lace. He had thick, curled lashes that pulled you in each time he fluttered them. His dark brown mascara outlined the prettiest brown eyes to be found anywhere on this planet. His eyes were as wide and open as his loving soul. Below his eyes, if ever you could look away, was a small upturned nose, as cute as a button and as feminine as can be imagined. Pouty, red-colored lips outlined a large smile on his beautiful visage.

That large smile was aimed at me. The minister pronounced us married and proclaimed, "You may now kiss the bride." Both of us leaned towards one another and lightly placed our lips together. I could taste his lipstick as he could taste mine. I could smell his perfume and feel his hands squeeze my hands ever so tightly. We gently broke our kiss. I looked up into his eyes and saw them smiling at me. My eyes caught the light reflecting from his diamond earrings as flash bulbs and strobes fired all around us. I knew he loved me, and would make the most loving wife a woman could ever have.

A cheer rose from the crowd. Confetti and balloons and soap bubbles lifted into the air. We walked down the aisle on our white carpet covered in red rose petals. We walked to the back of the crowd, held hands and flashed smiles that we simply couldn't control. Smiles that seemed like they would last forever. I felt giddy. I felt proud. Proud of my new bride and myself. I was confident that I had shaped and molded him into the most feminine and beautiful wife that could possibly exist. We were both so happy and pretty and special as we walked towards our parents and family and friends.

I had this dream for almost as long as I can remember. I don't remember exactly how it started or when, or how many variations and adaptations it had grown through. It became almost a consuming burden on my life. You could call it an obsession. It became my journey. It had a beginning and an end. It definitely had a destination. It was so much more than just a wedding. And this journey was not just for me, but also for my soul mate. My boyfriend, my girlfriend, my husband and my wife. The journey ended with the final conversion of my boy friend into my wife. She was beautiful, feminine, charming and loving. As complete a woman as if she had been born female.

I guess it all began with who and what I am. I was born July 4 in 1980. I was an only child and daughter. Father was a dentist. He had his own practice and worked five days a week. Mother stayed at home and raised me. Since mother stayed at home, she also looked after some of the other neighborhood children. During the school year she provided shelter and supervision for several of the local latchkey children. On average there were usually three or four girls and one or two boys who stayed at our house after school. Mom would provide snacks, usually milk, sandwiches and cookies, for the kids when they arrived. The boys were kept segregated from the girls. They had the driveway and backyard, the family room and recreation room downstairs in the basement. Most of their time was spent either playing basketball or rough housing. The girls had the living room and my bedroom. The kitchen was common ground. Once in a while some of the girls would go play with the boys, but the older boys were never permitted to go into the girl's play areas. It was one of mom's rules, and you never broke mom's rules. I think mom collected around $15 to $20 per kid per week. She only did it during school. She said it was too much responsibility to watch after all those kids during summer vacation.

While the boys were doing boy things, the girls were doing girl things. Girl things usually meant playing with dolls or playing dress up. I had an extensive collection of Barbie dolls and I truly loved them. I loved dressing them up and pretending we were going out to show off. My parents bought me endless supplies of Barbie dolls, Barbie clothes, Barbie houses and Barbie cars. Barbie of course had a boyfriend. But Ken was just too boring for me. I loved the femininity of Barbie. I loved the dresses, the undergarments, the shoes the accessories and everything else. Ken was just plain boring. Ken needed help. So, Ken eventually began receiving the same treatment as Barbie. He began wearing pretty dresses and shoes and purses. Ken started going to the beauty parlor and shopping. That helped Ken immensely. And after a while, it seemed natural and appropriate to me. When the older girls would come by after school, they quickly adopted Ken's new life style also. Actually, I think I was rather adamant about it. Even though I was only three or four at the time, and the other girls were five, six, seven and maybe even eight, I was rather demanding and hard-headed. Mom still tells the story about how one girl received a fat lip when she refused to accept the fact that Ken wore dresses at my house. I, of course, don't remember the incident. I was too young. And I was much too feminine to go around brawling with other girls. I am sure that there was some other explanation for that fat lip. But there was no doubt that I liked to get my way, and with my mom being the boss, I usually did get my way.

Spoiled?

Me?

Maybe.

The only thing I liked more than playing with Barbie, was playing dress-up for real. When I was very young I was the debutante. The older girls used me for their mannequin, and I loved it. Usually it involved something simple like braiding hair in ponytails and pigtails. My hair was very long for being so young. In my old pictures my hair is a very light brunette. I remember once, I must have been five or six, one of the girls brought a long black wig that belonged to her mother. I loved wearing that wig. It had long, spiral type curls and fell well below my shoulders. I put that wig on and refused to take it off. I swung the curls around my face and practiced flipping the long hair over my shoulder in an ever so feminine movement. At least I though I was acting feminine. After the girl left for the day and took her wig home, I spent that night and the next week begging my mother to buy me a wig just like it.

I loved long curly hair. Every Saturday was our special hair day for mom and myself. Instead of watching cartoons, mom and I styled our hair. I think it started because dad and mom used to go out on Saturday night for dining and dancing. Eventually, as mom and dad got older they went out on Saturday nights less and less, but I continued to keep Saturday morning as our hair time. It started with mom washing and setting her own hair. Then with her hair fully set, I would stand on a chair in front of the kitchen sink, and mom would use the spray attachment to wash and shampoo my hair. Next I would sit in one of the kitchen chairs and hold the curler bucket in my lap while mom gave me a wet set. She would comb out my hair and section it, then rub in a generous dab of styling gel. She would tell me which size curler to hand her, and I would sort through the curler bucket and pick out the right one. Initially, I think I liked mom's physical contact and pampering the most, but eventually the Saturday mornings began to become more interesting because of our girl talk.

The cookies didn't hurt either. While we both had our hair in curlers and drying, we would make cookies. Chocolate chip and molasses were my favorite. We would have lunch and a couple of cookies, and then it was time for a nap. Few women like to wear curlers in their hair when they are sleeping, but I loved it. When I got up from my nap, we would take out the curlers and brush out our fresh hairstyles. At first mom handled everything. But when I was approaching six or seven, mom would sit at the kitchen table and I was allowed to take out her curlers. I would brush out and style her hair. I am sure the first several times mom would go into her bedroom and fix her hair after I was finished. Mom always took out my curlers and styled my hair. I almost always asked for an up-do and she would usually comply. But as I was approaching six or seven, I started removing my own curlers and styling my own hair. I wanted to arrange it in more contemporary styles.

The after school playtime also included makeup and dress-up sessions. Again, when I was young, I received most of the attention. The older girls used me to practice their skills and try out new ideas, especially with makeup. Fortunately mom did not get too worried about the makeup. Mom used makeup regularly, and she liked to stay up with contemporary styles and colors. When she changed makeup, the leftovers went into a rather large cosmetics bag under the bathroom sink. We were allowed to use those cosmetics as long as we stayed in the bathroom, just in case of a spill. I regularly wore lipstick and eye shadow when the girls left to go home. I wouldn't wash off the makeup until after I had shown dad. I would sit at the dinner table and bat my eyes at him, trying to get his attention throughout the meal. Dad always complemented me on my looks. Dad was great for the ego.

Sometime around four years of age, I met my best friend for life. Valerie lived three houses down from mine. I don't remember how we met, but we quickly became best friends. We had a lot in common. She liked Barbie dolls and dress-up, just like me, but she wasn't quite as single minded as me. She would also go play with the boys once in a while. I on the other hand, had no use for boys during those early years. I was too busy with dolls and dresses and cosmetics.

Sam was Valerie's younger brother and he was about 18 months younger than Valerie. He was rather shy and introverted. He was small for his age, so the neighborhood kids often picked on him. Valerie and I took advantage of this. Sam was often used as our dress-up girl. Starting when he was about three and we were five, we started dressing Sam in dresses and putting makeup on him. He complained very seldom. Mostly, I think he wanted to play with his older sister, and whatever game she wanted to play was fine with him as long as he was included. When Sam was very young, his mom always cut his hair short. But sometime before he reached kindergarten, his mom started cutting his hair longer. That allowed us to also set his hair. It was great fun and everybody enjoyed it. Sam even joined Valerie and me for fashion shows for our moms.

When Valerie reached five, she and I started kindergarten together. Up until then her mother had stayed home with her and Sam. But at the start of kindergarten, Valerie's mom found a part time job at a clothing retailer. So Valerie and Sam started staying at my house after school. Valerie's mom had random work hours, so Valerie and Sam could be found at my house at all times of the day. It was just like having a sister and brother. Valerie often slept over at my house, and I would sleep over at her house. Sleepovers were always fun. When we stayed at Valerie's house, Sam had a chance to be included in many of our girl things. In retrospect, I don't know if Sam had a little crush on me, or if he just liked playing with us girls. All three of us grew up to be best of friends.

Mom was beautiful. At least I thought so. She was definitely my role model. I wanted to grow up and look like my mother. She was rather petite, maybe five foot five inches tall and she probably only weighed 125 pounds. She wore a size six dress. She kept her dark brown hair long, almost to the bottom of her shoulder blades. Mom would visit the beauty shop once a month. She usually had her legs waxed and her nails manicured. How a full time housewife could keep her nails intact was amazing to me. I loved her nails and tried to emulate them whenever we played dress-up. In fact, I usually convinced mom to let me leave my nails polished. Once in a while mom had a wet set at the salon when a special occasion was coming up. Even though on those Saturday mornings when she didn't need to set her own hair, she always managed to wash and set mine. She had a very pretty face and she was always very feminine. I never heard her swear, but I did see her get very angry a few times. The boys she watched after school could really set her off once in a while. When mom was really mad, best you just stayed out of her way for a while.

Dad was a dentist. He worked on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and some portion of Saturday. He always left the house by 8:00 A.M. to get a start on the day's activities. He was almost never home later than 6:30 P.M., except Thursdays. Thursday was the night to fit in people who worked during the day. Thursday night mom and I ate dinner by ourselves because we never knew when dad would make it home. Saturdays started early, but quitting time was usually dictated by his patient's schedule. Wednesday was dad's day to run errands and work around the house. He wasn't a golfer like many dentists. Many Wednesdays were spent at the office working on his equipment or taking care of the building. He owned an old house for his practice. Dad did a lot of his own maintenance on the house. He used the downstairs and he rented the upstairs to a beauty salon. Mom used that salon, because she could stop by the office and say hello to dad.

Dad wasn't a big man. He was only 5'9", and he probably weighed 150 pounds. When he was younger he had light curly hair, but as he grew older he succumbed to male pattern baldness. Even though dad wasn't athletic, he was very cute and handsome. At least some of the neighborhood moms thought so.

Mom and dad usually went out on Saturday nights. I stayed with Valerie. Mom would put on a pretty dress and dad usually wore a suit and tie. They didn't always go to the same restaurant, but they had a favorite where they often dined. They usually went out with one or two other couples. Sometimes it was mom's brother and his wife. Sometimes it was with dad's sister and mother. And sometimes it was with Valerie's mom and dad. On those occasions, Valerie, Sam and I would stay with grandma. Grandma's house was always fun. It was a huge house, with lots of closets that were jammed full of dresses, blouses, skirts, shoes, costume jewelry, and best of all, big hats with feathers. The hats were a hoot to play with. Grandma had a few hats that were off limits to us, but for the most part we had our run of the house.

Growing up was fun and easy. There were very few bumps in the road. Mom and dad had enough money to do most anything they wanted, but we lead a simple life. Grandma died when I was seventeen, which was tough to handle. But otherwise, life went smoothly. Valerie and I continued to enjoy all things frilly and feminine. Even Sam enjoyed our girly ways. We continued to dress up Sam well into our teens. Halloween was the best. In our younger years we always insisted on store bought costumes with plastic masks. We loved to dress up as the princess or movie star. Sometimes there was a rush to be the first one to get the hot costume for that year, because we both couldn't go out with the same costume! One year our mothers got fed up with our competition, and they made us switch costumes from the previous year. The costumes were a bit tight, but we made them work. As we got older, we switched from store bought costumes to our own designs. Those were always fun. Grandma had lots of jewelry and hats, so we went with real dressy outfits, the kind of outfits that you would see on Hello Dolly! or some other stage production. These were fun because we were forced to be more imaginative with our makeup, and makeup was one of my favorite past times.

As we moved into our teens the trick or treating trips ceased, but the dress-up part was still as inviting. Between the two of us, we managed to get invited to at least 2 parties each Halloween. And if we didn't get invited to a least a couple, we dressed up at home for ourselves. Our approach remained the same from year to year; pretty and feminine with lots of curls and makeup. And instead of competing for the most popular costume, we started to dress in the same theme. One year we went out as cats. We needed some help from our moms with the tails and ears for our costumes, but we did the makeup ourselves. We went through our teen magazines and found some good pictures from the Cats stage play, and copied them the best we could. I thought we did a very good job. I'm sure my mom still has pictures of us cats in one of her photo albums.

One of our best costumes was a flapper from the nineteen twenties. Grandma's jewelry made the costumes that year. One year we went as nuns gone bad. We wore short black dresses with black mesh nylons, 3 inch black heels, lot's of makeup and a wimple. Most people thought it was very funny, but we did get a few rude comments from the religious types. Another year we went as debutantes, dressed to the nines in long gowns with spaghetti straps and deep slits in the skirts. We spent the day giving each other fancy up-do hairstyles that we topped off with tiaras. We wore long, elbow length gloves and carried tiny little clutch purses. We made our makeup as elegant as possible and then finished everything off with what turned out to be way too much perfume. By the end of the night we both had trouble smelling anything but perfume. Another year we went as the obligatory Playboy Bunnies. That was the year we learned about tape. We rented costumes that were strapless and meant for women with large bosoms. We could not fill out the cups and we couldn't keep them up. Mom came to the rescue with medical tape. Valerie and I spent the day setting each other's hair with long spiral curls that fell down around our faces. The bunny ears were attached to hoop barrettes. We drew plenty of attention that year, but not once did either of us loose a boob.

After the Playboy Bunny outfits, we thought beer hall waitresses would be easy. We rented costume dresses with short skirts and low cut bodices. We used every push-up technique we could think of to fill out the cups and create some cleavage. We borrowed short white frilly aprons from grandma to complete the dresses. For that Bavarian look, we wore cameos on velvet chokers and braided our hair. We parted our hair down the middle and then braided pigtails so that they hung down on the side of our heads rather than the back. We spent the night saying bitté and danké. Another time we dressed as Elvira, and Morticia from the Addams Family. We searched second hand stores for the tightest and longest black dresses that we could find. We then sewed shut the slits almost all the way down to our calves. Actually, the first time we sewed shut the slits down to our ankles, but neither of us could walk, so we opened them back up to our calves. We opened up the seams in the sleeves from the wrist to almost the elbow, like Morticia's. We dyed each other's hair black and then added long black falls that reached down to our butts. We did each other's makeup, making our eyes as dark as possible, adding huge false eyelashes and painting our lips as red and pouty as imaginable. We borrowed some of grandma's long dropping rhinestone earrings, and finished by gluing on the longest red finger nails that we could buy.

Both of us just loved Halloween, and we put in many hours coming up with ideas. In his younger years we included Sam. The first year that I remember, I think Sam used Valerie's store bought princess costume from the year before. But we also dressed him as a ballerina one year and a cheerleader another time. I really enjoyed dressing up Sam. He was a great sport and never complained. Once in a while we would get an admonishment from my mom or Valerie's mom, but since Sam had no problem going along with us, our moms usually relented. Dressing up Sam became much more fun when he started kindergarten and Valerie and I were in second grade. That was the year that Sam's mother started letting his hair grow longer. I am not sure why she grew his hair longer, but I suspect that she did it because of Valerie and me dressing him up as a girl. I think Sam liked it and his mom was letting him have more fun. Two or three times a week we put Sam's hair up in curlers and styled his hair. Even though it was longer than most boys' hair, it still wasn't long like a girl's hair. We did try to cut his hair once, and make it more feminine. My mom caught us and put a stop to it at once. We managed to knick off a bit of hair before we were stopped, and Sam had to go to the stylist above dad's office to get it straightened out. Thinking back on it, I know we sent Sam home from our house many times with his hair still curled, and a bit of makeup still on, but I don't ever remember him getting in any trouble with either his mom or dad.

Dressing up included a lot of make believe. I remember Valerie and I discussing our future wedding plans on many occasions. In our early grade school years our discussions were mostly about our dresses and makeup and which of us would be the prettiest. At some point along the way, I remember discussing my groom. I had decided that I was going to dress him up in a beautiful wedding gown also. This made perfect sense to me at the time. After all, I had been dressing Ken in female outfits for years, and some of those outfits had included bridesmaid's dresses and wedding dresses. And for a couple of years, Valerie and I had been dressing up Sam in dresses, blouses, skirts, and sweaters and we had styled his hair and applied makeup to him. In fact, Sam was getting good at his own makeup. We told him what to do, but he applied his own mascara and lipstick. Valerie thought my idea for dressing my groom was pretty silly. I remember getting really angry with her. It grew into the biggest argument that we ever had. I remember Sam taking her side and they both left and went home.

I was angry with the both of them, but I was also a bit confused. Through all the years of practicing my feminine talents and sharing them with Valerie and Sam, I had come to the conclusion that cross-dressing was ok. I loved the feminine side of life and I felt that it was ok for boys to share the same excitement that I felt. I knew that boys inherently disliked all things female, but it never seemed to be a problem for me. I ignored those boys who felt that way, and played with those boys and girls who seemed to agree with me.

The argument must have taken place on a Thursday night, because I remember mom and I having a long talk about it that night. She was very good with not only helping me sort out my feelings, but also helping me see reality. I was really mad with Valerie and Sam, especially with Valerie who was supposed to be my best friend and always agree with me.

I had never thought that boys were not allowed by society to enjoy the feminine side of life. Maybe I knew it, but I never really thought about it or let it affect my actions concerning boys. I guess that I just thought it was an individual preference for each boy. Mom pointed out that some boys enjoyed the softer side of life, but were not allowed to express themselves. She explained that there was a great amount of parental and peer pressure on boys as to how they could act. They were pressured to be athletic and tough. Boys weren't allowed to cry or say I love you or hug people in public. I thought the whole situation was dumb, but mom pointed out that I too did things because of peer pressure. For example, I would never consider playing football in the mud, or wrestling with a boy, even though at my age I was physically stronger than many boys. She pointed out that I never played with trucks or tools, because those were boy's toys. "How many times has someone said to you, 'Act like a little lady', or 'Don't do that, that is unladylike'?" she asked me.

Both boys and girls were pressured to act, and dress, and talk, and sit certain ways. Society pressured everyone to act certain ways, and society was very strong on how boys and girls should act. Changing sexual roles or stereotypes was very taboo. "Few people," she told me, "are strong enough to break societal taboos." She encouraged me to pursue my dreams, but she warned me that I would have to be strong. Many people would make fun of me and some people would become angry with me. And as strong as I would have to be, if I wanted others to join me I would have to be twice as strong, as I would have to lend them my strength as well.

Then she reminded me that Valerie and I were best friends and best friends were hard to find. "You can still believe in what you want to believe, but allow your friends to believe what they want to believe," she finished.

Her talk left quite an impression on me. It even frightened me. The word taboo really concerned me. Taboo is not a word in every eight year old's lexicon. It sounded like a strong and powerful word, a scary word. I had to stop mom and ask what the word meant, and her definition confirmed my feelings. That word taboo stayed with me forever. It scared me, but I think that later it helped strengthen me. It convinced me how strong and how competent I had to be if I wanted to follow my dreams.

I saw Valerie at school the next day, but we didn't talk much. After school, she and Sam came over to my house while her mother was working. I remember that most of the previous day's argument was ignored. But over the following days and weeks, it was not totally ignored. Some days the subject would be brought up, and it consisted mostly of her telling me that I couldn't marry a boy wearing a dress, and me saying that if that is what I wanted to do then I could do it. The conversation usually digressed to "No, you can't" versus "Yes, I can". But the meaning of 'no you can't' changed subtly with time. At first, Valerie's "No, you can't" meant "No, you shouldn't" with the same societal taboo meaning that mom had explained to me. But over the following weeks as we became best friends once more, the "No, you can't" became more of a challenge than a warning. "I bet you can't convince a boy to wear a dress if he doesn't want to." While the argument faded into the background the challenge remained. But most importantly, Valerie and I were once again best friends.

Some things did change after the argument. Valerie and I didn't makeup Sam as often as we had. Maybe it was because of the argument, or maybe it was because he was getting older. He was in first grade and Valerie and I were in third grade at the time. But after the incident, Sam would not dress up with us after school when other boys were in the house. He would continue to join us in our make-believe when it was just the three of us or when only other girls were around. We still sent him home once in a while with his hair in curls, but it happened less and less.

Other than Sam's change, which in retrospect was not that unexpected, life went back to normal for me. Valerie and I started growing up and our attention shifted from the make-believe to the more real world. We started to find pop music and teen magazines. We both loved to devour the latest fashion and girl magazines. I was infatuated with fashion, cosmetics, lingerie and all accessories feminine. Valerie, I think had slightly different motives. I think Valerie was starting to think boys. I was still rather naïve about boys and our growing sexuality.

I never dropped my dream of marrying a boy wearing a dress, and the challenge between Valerie and I continued. But it continued mostly as entertainment, as our private inside joke. When we saw a cute boy, I would joke about what he might look like with long curly hair or wearing a dress. Valerie would joke along with me. Sometimes she would initiate the joke by pointing out a boy at school or a picture in a magazine and asking what I would do for him. How would I style his hair? What kind of lipstick might I make him wear? Would he look better in a mini skirt, or were his legs too ugly to show? How could I hide a big, ugly nose?

We were merciless in our teasing about one boy at school. His name was Al Springer. Neither one of us liked him. He had a real attitude. His parents had some money and he always dressed in the latest designer clothes. He could be a real snob at times, and he thought he was good looking. Valerie and I started by making fun about him behind his back. He had longer hair than most boys, so much of our joking was about his hair. But eventually we started making comments in front of him. We would ask him if his mommy styled his hair or what kind of styling mousse he used.

While we were teasing him, I had conflicting feelings about it. At ten years old, kids could be very cruel. Kids always were teasing and picking on one another. Sometimes it was good hearted and sometimes it was malicious, but it was always common. I didn't like Al and so I had no qualms about teasing him. But what bothered me at times was the subject that I used against him. The one thing that I really enjoyed and liked to do more than anything else was to dress up, enjoying new fashions, trying new ways of applying makeup and styling my hair. My soul lived for the simple pleasures of dressing and acting feminine. And I wanted to share that with boys. I still dreamed about my wedding day with both my husband and I wearing a beautiful dress, having our hair set in elaborate up-dos, and looking totally feminine.

So why was I using my favorite activity as a kind of weapon? Maybe it was because kids don't really give a great deal of thought as to why they do certain things, and they have little consistency in their actions at that age. Maybe the reason was because it was a weapon that I knew intimately, and I could wield it like club. Or maybe I used it because there was a bit of control with it. Teasing, in some ways is about control, making me feel superior to the other person, and taking away their control and esteem. Boys had little knowledge and few defenses against this type of weapon. They were basically unarmed. Eventually I started to change my mind about how we were teasing Al. Even though I continued to tease Al about his feminine side, I only went along with it when Valerie was doing it. I decided that even though it was a great weapon for a girl to use against a boy, I didn't want to use my favorite subject as a weapon to hurt. I wanted to use it as a way to control or convince, and as a reward.

I didn't change my mind about Al. I just changed my tactics. And I didn't change my inside jokes with Valerie concerning feminizing boys. I just used those times to think up more positive and creative ways to shape them into what I desired. We still giggled and laughed hysterically when we were creating newer and softer images for the boys, but it wasn't with malicious intentions. It was done on my part with positive conviction and intention to carry out those ideas one day.

Vickie was my second best friend. Vickie lived on the far opposite side of our school district. It was only six or seven blocks away, but to a five year old that was half way across the continent. So I didn't meet Vickie until we started kindergarten together. We got along fine at school but had little social contact outside school. We continued to be good friends through elementary school. Vickie and I were the smartest kids in our class, so we tended to gravitate towards each other concerning school projects. As we got older and our neighborhoods expanded, we eventually would ride our bikes to each other's house. Usually we got together for some school-initiated reason. Sometimes on school projects we worked in teams, and Vickie and I always made a good team. Sometimes Valerie was also on the team; it depended on the teacher and the subject.

Vickie was the first person to really give me a kiss. Not the good night kiss that your parents give you, but a kiss with some passion behind it. I was thirteen at the time and we were studying at her house. We started talking about some of the boys and she asked me if I had ever kissed a boy for real. I said no and she started speculating on what it might be like. She was asking me what I thought it would be like, if I thought I would like it, if I would embrace him while we were kissing, would I open my mouth and all sorts of questions. Eventually she asked if it would be ok if she kissed me like a boy. By this time I was a little interested and I agreed. We sat on her bed, wrapped our arms around each other and pressed our tiny bosoms together. She leaned forward and tilted her head and kissed me full on the lips. She must have held that kiss for 20 or 30 seconds. She even opened her lips a bit and used her tongue to feel my lips. I didn't open my lips, I just received her efforts.

We broke our kiss and she said that she thought it was wonderful. She asked me what I thought about the kiss. I said that it was ok. She asked if I would try it again and I agreed. We had a second, longer kiss. This time Vickie was more animated and used her arms to actively hug me and roll our bosoms together. I broke the kiss and again she said that it was wonderful and that she really enjoyed kissing me. When asked how I felt, I was again non-committal and said that it was ok. It really was just ok. I didn't consider it any big deal. We talked a bit more and then returned to our homework.

At thirteen I was a bit too naïve. I didn't realize until later that Vickie was infatuated with me. She was definitely interested in more than my mind or my help on homework. Maybe I should have been bothered by her interest in me, but I really wasn't. I wasn't interested in Vickie in that same manner. I just liked Vickie as a friend, as another teen girl with whom to share fashion and teen magazines and someone to work with on school projects. Perhaps my rejection, or more precisely, my indifference to her romantic intentions should have split us apart. But just the opposite happened. We became even better friends. I can't explain why. Maybe she was more mature than me and recognized my naiveté. Maybe she realized that I truly liked her and wanted to be her friend. Or maybe she decided I wasn't ready yet but still had the potential to become her type of girlfriend. For whatever reason, our friendship continued and grew. Vickie remained my second best girlfriend.

At age fifteen we were sophomores in high school. The year was 1995 and the Internet was starting to come into its own. Few people had computers at home and we were no exception. Valerie and I had been invited over to Vickie's house after school to see her new computer and she wanted to show us something that she had found on the Internet. We arrived at her house and stopped by the kitchen for a snack, then went off to her room. She had set the computer on her desk so that we could sit behind her on her bed and see most of what she was doing. As she booted up the computer she was giggling and telling us that we were going to absolutely crack up laughing. She dialed up the site she was interested in and the modem slowly re-loaded her computer screen.

As the screen slowly came up we could see that it was a directory for personal transgender sites. I wasn't positive about what we were looking at, but at first I thought it might have to do with Vickie's sexual orientation. The screen finished loading and she explained that this was a directory for transvestites. "There are hundreds of these," she explained. "They're all guys dressing up as girls. It's hilarious! Wait till you see, these are great," and she clicked on one of the personal sites. Slowly, "Alice's Wonderland" came up on the screen. There was a large picture of a guy, probably in his thirties, wearing a horrible wig and a dress. He was wearing lipstick and full makeup and it was applied so badly that a four-year-old girl would have been ashamed. We just burst out laughing. Valerie and I both fell over backwards on Vickie's bed and laughed until tears came to our eyes. It was a combination of shocking, hilarious and sad. How could any man dress up like that?

His web site listed a gallery of pictures. Vickie clicked on the gallery icon and the pictures slowly loaded. Again we fell over backwards laughing until our lungs ached. This was absolutely great! In some of the poses he was trying to look sexy, and it came off so pitiful that we went crazy with laughing and jokes. He modeled dresses, sweaters and skirts, and finally lingerie. His bra was obviously stuffed and he had no cleavage. His lipstick was applied crooked and it made his mouth look bigger on one side than on the other. And the wig was totally hideous. This truly was one of the funniest moments that I had ever experienced. At one point Valerie called for time out so that we could catch our breath.

After we had calmed a bit, Vickie asked if we wanted to check out another site. We immediately said yes. Vickie offered to let me pick the next one. I sat down in her chair, with Valerie and Vickie sitting on the bed behind me and looking over my shoulder. I backed the computer up to the previous directory and searched down the list for an appropriate looking site. I can't remember the name of the site, but the girl's name was Gabrielle. I clicked, sat back and watched it load. As the picture came up instead of laughing I was shocked. The girl in the picture looked absolutely beautiful! She appeared to be in her early twenties, she had blonde, curly, shoulder length hair, with the front brushed back and over to one side. Her makeup was immaculate. She had waxed or plucked her brows, but they weren't too arched or narrow. She had blended eye shadow from the inner to outer brow, it was dark on the lid and lightened up as it reached up onto her brow. She must have highlighted her nose, or darkened along the side of it, because it looked narrow like a woman's nose. She had expertly applied a light rose blush to her cheeks and blended it up towards her temple. She had full, but not large lips that she had outlined in a slightly darker shade than the lipstick she had used. She must have then applied a gloss, because her lips really shined. She had on dangling rhinestone earrings and a rhinestone choker. The picture ended just above her bosom, but she was wearing a V-neck black dress. Her bosom had cleavage and looked absolutely real. I was in shock.

At first I thought it must be a real girl. But as the page kept loading, I was able to read a bit of the text and right there in black and white it claimed that "she" was a married, heterosexual man who, with the blessings of his wonderful wife, enjoyed cross-dressing. They often went out to clubs together and they had a wonderful time dining and dancing. My mouth must have dropped open.

Vickie was still laughing hysterically, but Valerie saw what I saw. Valerie's first words were, "God, she's really pretty. Are you sure that's a guy?"

"That's what it says down here," as I pointed to the text. As the page finished, there was again a photo gallery listed at the bottom of the page.

"Click on the photo gallery," Valerie instructed. There must have been too many pictures on the page because it loaded very slowly. As the pictures came up we started asking questions.

"Vickie, how many of these guys look like this?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Well, I have to admit I've never seen this guy before," she answered. "Most of them look like the first guy, like Alice," and she started giggling again. "Isn't this just the most pathetic thing you've ever seen?" she asked.

I think Valerie knew exactly what was going through my mind, because she didn't answer Vickie. I'm sure that Valerie wanted to hear my comments. I just sat there for another couple of seconds, trying to think how I could honestly answer Vickie. By now I pretty much figured out the purpose of Vickie inviting us over to see these pictures. She wanted to show me how ridiculous men were. She wanted to try and sway me over to her. As I stalled for time I said, "Well that Alice sure was a hoot! I can't believe anyone would want to look like that, let alone put pictures out here where anyone can see them." And I giggled a bit along with Vickie.

'But this Gabrielle is amazing. She is gorgeous. She is a man. She is a woman. I would love to makeup a man to look that beautiful. I would love to have that beautiful of a man under my control.' Those sentiments were left unsaid.

The page finally loaded and there were probably 20 wonderful pictures of Gabrielle. In none of them did she try to look sexy or slutty. Instead, she exuded a sophisticated beauty with sensual undertones. She looked desirable. All of her pictures had small, non-exaggerated smiles that emphasized small dimples. Her chin was up and she was always looking either at the camera or up and away. She never was looking down nor had her eyes half-closed. Her makeup was always as perfect as in the first picture. She struck several different poses. Sometimes she was standing, sometimes sitting, sometimes she had her legs crossed in a very lady-like manner, and sometimes her legs were closed with her hands held on her lap. Her nails were longer than a man's, but not too long. She wore a very pretty, pink nail polish.

She modeled three different outfits. The first was the black dress that she wore on her opening page. It was a knee length, black dress with a fitted waist and a v-neck. The sleeves were long and ended in lace at her wrists. She wore a rhinestone bracelet on one wrist. She had the same earrings and choker from the first picture. She wore black stockings and had black, open toed shoes with three or four-inch heels. In one picture she stood legs together, facing the camera with her hands behind her. Her bosom looked full with plenty of cleavage. The dress's fitted bodice made her waist seem tiny and her hips fuller than they probably were. Her figure was astonishing.

A second dress was a red, floor length gown with a large full skirt. It looked like the dress was velvet. It had both cap sleeves and spaghetti straps. She wore the cap sleeves down off her shoulders, and the strap over the top of her shoulders. Her arms were long and slender, not showing any hint of muscle in the upper arm like a man might possess. The fitted bodice had elastic around the top and shirred detailing under her breasts. She wore a simple silver necklace with a large red stone hanging over the top of her cleavage. Her cleavage wasn't as noticeable as in the first picture, but it looked very real. She also wore pierced earrings with small red stones hanging from silver threads. In these pictures she had her hair in a bun tied tightly at the top of her head. Again, her makeup was immaculate. These pictures showed her both sitting and standing. In the standing pictures, one view showed her from the side. Her bosom was full, not large, and her tummy was as flat and thin as a model's.

The third outfit was a black turtleneck sweater with a light tan, suede skirt. The skirt ended just below the mid-calf. She was wearing suede lace-up boots with three-inch heels. Around her neck she had loosely tied a red print scarf that hung over her right shoulder. Her blonde hair was curled and hanging loose, like in her first picture. This time she had bangs, which I thought made her look even younger. Her hair looked like it had been highlighted with streaks of both lighter and darker color. Her makeup was much softer, opting for pinker blush and lipstick than in the other pictures. She had a tan bag on a long strap hanging from her right shoulder, the strap tucked up neatly under her scarf.

As I was looking at these pictures, I felt very strange and even a bit light-headed. And then I felt the most wonderful sensation in my lower abdomen. My nipples hardened and I could feel a quiver between my legs. I was having an orgasm! My God! I couldn't believe it. It felt wonderful, but I was scared that Valerie or Vickie could sense what was happening. I became scared and defensive.

These pictures astonished me. I wanted to study them in detail. There was an arrow with "MORE PICTURES" listed at the bottom of the page. I so wanted to click on that arrow and continue looking at this beauty, but I knew that I couldn't. I was quite aware that the reason Valerie and I were here was to join Vickie laughing at stupid men. I knew we had to move on and I couldn't take a chance on either girl sensing how I really felt. We had to click onto another transvestite, but I was afraid that if I made the choice it would turn out to be another beautiful boy-girl. I couldn't take that chance.

"Valerie, why don't you pick the next one," I said as I quickly stood up and moved out of the way so that Valerie could take the chair in front of the computer. She gave me a quick look that, in my current state of mind, seemed very accusatorial. I was afraid that she knew exactly how I felt and exactly what had just happened to me. I quickly sat down on the bed and said to Vicky, "This is amazing," giggle giggle, "how did you find this?"

"I was just surfing around one day and stumbled onto it. I don't even remember what I was searching for in the first place. As soon as I saw these pictures I went into a fit. I don't think I have ever laughed harder." She reached over for a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. She looked at me and asked, "Aren't these to just die for?"

"I have to admit, I have never seen anything like this." I again giggled as I said it.

By now Valerie had backed-up to the directory page and had chosen a Debbie or Diane or something starting with D. I hoped and hoped it would be another girl like Gabrielle. But instead, we were in for another hilarious set of pictures. D wasn't as ugly as Alice, but she sure was trying. She was big! Her neck was massive, like a football player's. Her nose was big and wide, and her ears stuck out. On top of this she tried to place a long, straight, blonde wig and around her neck she had placed a thin gold necklace. It looked absolutely hideous. Again, Vicky and I were lying on our backs, kicking our legs up in the air as we laughed until we couldn't breathe anymore. We finally made it through a few more of her pictures, when Valerie announced that it was almost 6 o'clock. The two of us had to head home for dinner.

We put on our coats, said our good-byes and headed out the front door. When we reached the sidewalk and turned towards home Valerie asked, "Well, what did you think?"

Valerie was my best friend. I could tell her anything. We could be totally open with one another. But at the moment I was still feeling very defensive about what had happened while I was looking at Gabrielle. "About what?" I asked back.

"You know what. About Gabrielle. She was kind of pretty, wasn't she." She stated it as a fact, not a question.

I still couldn't open up. "Yeah, I guess so," was all that I said back.

We walked on for about another minute, then Valerie said, "Where do you think she got those boobs?"

That broke the ice. I started laughing; I just couldn't help myself. "I don't know, but I wouldn't mind having a pair of those myself." I giggled for a few more seconds and then got honest with Valerie, "She was pretty, wasn't she? How do you think she did it? I mean, he did it."

She looked me in the eye and said, "I'll bet you would like to know wouldn't you?"

I shook my head in an affirmative. "Yeah, I would like to know. She was pretty. How many of those other transvestites do you think look real?"

"I don't know," she said. We had reached the end of the first block, we stopped, checked for cars and continued walking towards home. "I can't believe very many. You heard Vicky, she said that was the first one she had seen that actually looked good."

We had walked in silence for about half a block when Valerie asked, "How do you think she would look in a wedding dress?"

I stopped walking and turned to Valerie, "I bet she would be absolutely gorgeous!" Then I grabbed Valerie around the neck with both arms and leaned on her laughing like a hyena. She grabbed me around the neck and the two of us stood there laughing and holding one another up. My defensive attitude was gone. We were back to our inside joke and we both knew that it had just turned much more real for one of us. When we were done laughing we wiped the tears away on the back of our mittens and I said to Valerie, "Tonight I start working on my dad for my own computer."

"And don't forget the Internet hook-up too. I wouldn't mind looking over your shoulder when you start hunting down those pretty-boys."

That was during the winter of my fifteenth year. For my sweet sixteen birthday I received a computer and modem. I was in business. I searched the Internet day and night trying to find Gabrielle, but I never succeeded. I didn't want to ask Vicky for the web address of that transgender directory. I thought that would give myself away. But no matter how much I searched, I just couldn't find the right Gabrielle.

I did find other transvestite's home pages. And once in a while they were pretty. Maybe some of them were as pretty as Gabrielle, but in my memory Gabrielle was perfect and that was a tough standard to meet. I did pick up a few tidbits about how they practiced the art of 'female illusion' as they worded it. And some of those illusions were merely photographic and lighting tricks. But what I wanted were the dress-up and makeup tricks. I really wanted to figure out if I could take a cute boy and turn him into a pretty girl. This had become really important to me and I was willing to expend a lot of effort and study time to find the answers.

Over the summer I spent probably four hours a day on my computer. Sometimes mom had to drag me out of my room for dinner. She would always ask what I found so interesting on that computer, and I would answer that it was just girl things. "You know, fashion and makeup and the latest hair styles. It's a great way to keep up on those things." You know, like transvestites and cross-dressing. Valerie would join me once in a while and I think she was interested when I found another pretty cross-dresser. She liked to see the pictures of the prettier girls, but other than that she lost interest. She was more interested in some of the neighborhood boys.

So I researched the Internet more or less on my own. And I learned things that I had never dreamed existed. There were far more cross-dressers out there than I would have imagined. But the percentage of them that were good at it was very low. But in a way that encouraged me. Seeing all of the failures made it that much more important to find everything I could. If I wanted to be successful with my dream, this was far and away the best source of information. And the more time I spent looking at the 'winners', as I called them, the more I wanted to succeed.

First off, I learned the terminology. Cross-dressers were heterosexual men who liked to wear women's clothing. It was a hobby but little more for them. Transvestites were men who preferred women's clothing and lifestyle. Transvestites might live as women full time or part time, such as weekends but they still preferred to remain male. Some transvestites were hetero- and some homosexual. The transgendered were men who wanted to be complete women. They wanted to grow breasts, remove their penises and all of their facial hair and become full time women. Next I learned how many men fit into one or the other category. It became obvious to me that many men liked the softer side of life and I decided that I would not have much trouble finding a man that I could manipulate to my desires.

I found interesting information from all 3 categories. I discovered how they could tuck their penises up between their legs and hold them there with gaffes, tight panties or girdles. Their testicles were pushed up inside their bodies and this left them with a smooth crotch. I discovered that dancing tights could cover hairy legs if you couldn't wax or shave. I found out corsets were wonderful appliances for squeezing fat male tummies into svelte female shapes. They sold panties with padding sewed into the rear to enhance the shape of their buttocks. Push up bras don't work well on most men, they don't have enough tissue in their breasts. You have to be more severe. Their breasts could be physically pushed tight together and then taped into place. This produced cleavage, but no breasts. For realistic breasts, silicone breast forms used by cancer and mastectomy patients could be used. These breast forms could simply be placed into regular bras and held in place by the bra, or there were very strong glues that could hold the breast form on the body for several days. With the glue, they could go braless, wear strapless gowns and even take showers and baths.

The tricks they had for makeup were pretty weak. A good cosmetician could have offered all kinds of insights that they had probably never heard about. But there were two interesting tips. Men tend to have much oilier skin than women. Oily skin not only leaves a shine on the skin, but also tends to soak into the makeup and ruin it. Before applying makeup, men can cover their face with milk of magnesia. The milk of magnesia dries into a blotchy white cover, but it is easily covered by foundation. The milk of magnesia soaks up the extra oil and leaves their makeup looking much better, much longer. One other trick that I would never have thought about was beard cover. Even when men shave very close, their beard stubble is evident. It also adds a dark cast to their face. Using beard cover as a first layer, and under the foundation, can help cover the beard effect. This beard cover could be bought at theatrical supply stores.

For hair, men were totally clueless. Their tips for wigs and wig care were juvenile and generally worthless.

But then came the really interesting items. From the transgendered I learned about hormones, estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone blockers. This was absolutely fascinating for me. I would never have thought of using female hormones on men. And the best part was they worked! More or less they worked. They can't eliminate male traits already in place. They can't make facial hair disappear and they can't grow hair on a baldhead. They can grow breasts but the breasts are usually small and are often enhanced with implants. Hips do get wider, but waists don't get much thinner. Men have more rib bones than women and they are located lower towards the waist. To make waists thinner, dieting or surgery are required. The skin does get softer and prettier with hormones. The earlier the man starts using hormones, the better the results. Ideally, female hormones should be started before the man reaches puberty. The farther into puberty and the later in life that they are started, the less the results. As they take the female hormones they go through a female puberty. Their nipples begin to enlarge and plump and they tend to have the same pains as girls going through puberty. Once men start the hormones they have to continue using them for the rest of their lives.

If facial hair has already started, only electrolysis can remove it. And electrolysis is a long, expensive and painful option. There are all types of cosmetic surgeries to help a man look more female. Face lifts along with different facial surgeries for noses, cheekbones, eye sockets, chin modification and others. There is even a surgery to cut away the Adams apple and make the neck line smoother. For men who want to go all the way, there is sexual reassignment surgery, SRS, where the testicles are removed and the penis is turned inside the body to form a vagina. But that was very major surgery and not really a consideration in my plans.

But I did find one major problem. You can't go half way. As the man begins using these hormones, his own natural hormones are slowly eliminated and lost. The testicles start to atrophy and they shrivel up to nothing. The man becomes sterile and can no longer have children. He can't get erections and ejaculate. He can no longer function as a man. These effects don't happen immediately, but within a couple of months they start to happen. You can't take small amounts of hormones to achieve boobs and a female form without affecting the ability to have erections.

That wasn't good news. I didn't think I wanted my man to lose his manhood or ability to conceive children. I didn't think I wanted to live with a man who couldn't have sex with me. But hormones seemed the answer to many of the things I did want. Hormones reduced the muscle mass and would leave thin, feminine looking arms. They would provide him with breasts and cleavage. They would make his skin softer. They would protect him from male pattern baldness, and allow him to always have beautiful hair. They would widen his hips and give him a feminine figure. They were the best way to produce a truly feminine body that could wear beautiful dresses and pretty hairstyles. And that was what I wanted. I wanted a female-like body for my feminine transformations. I wanted a man inside a female body, but only for show and presentation. After the public display, I wanted my pretty female to come to my bed and be my man. At least that is what I thought I wanted. Now I had to think about what I really did want. Some opportunities had been placed before me, but some choices had to be made also.

As summer moved along I became more and more familiar with my new subject matter. And one of the potential problems that I was wrestling with was how to obtain the hormones, how and when to administer them, how to mark their progress, and how, or if I should, get a doctor to measure his overall health. I had found that there were some side effects concerning blood chemistry and internal organs.

It didn't take long to find a potential solution for obtaining the hormones. Mom and I stopped in at dad's office one afternoon after doing some back to school shopping. We were sitting in the receptionist's area waiting for dad to finish with a patient, when a drug salesman walked into the office. "Hi Claudia" he called to the receptionist. "How are the free samples holding up?"

Claudia stopped her work for a moment and responded, "Oh hi George. I'm not sure how all of the samples are; I haven't really looked in a couple of days. Take a look and see what we have."

George walked behind the receptionist's counter and headed towards the back. I followed. He was carrying a rather large briefcase, and said hello to me as he walked over to one of the cupboards. He opened the cupboard and I could see that it had a large assortment of boxes. I could see that some of the packages were toothbrushes, toothpaste and dental floss. There were some boxes that looked like they contained pills. I stepped a little closer and could read the labels better. I didn't understand the names, but I could see that there were aspirin, antibiotics and painkillers. Many of them had printed on the side the words, 'Sample only. Not for resale'. George proceeded to take out a clipboard and make an inventory of some of the items. Then he went into his briefcase and pulled out replacements for the items that were low or out completely. He finished up his paperwork and headed back out to Claudia's desk.

"Well, you're all stocked up," he said as he handed her the pink copy. "I've billed you for all of the consumables and hand-outs, and I stocked up your free sample inventory. Have a good one," and out the door he went.

"Who was that?" I asked Claudia.

"Him?" she motioned with her shoulder as we could see him driving away. "That's George, he's the local sales rep. for C and D Drugs."

"What does he do? I mean does he just come in here and drop off toothpaste and stuff?"

Claudia leaned back in her chair and took off her glasses and she looked at me. "Yeah, pretty much that's what he does. He checks out our inventory and replaces what we have used. Sometimes he drops off some literature and brochures. If your dad is available, sometimes he will talk to him about some new toothbrush or other item. And once in a while he gives your dad tickets to a ball game or concert."

"Does he leave free samples of drugs too?" I asked as innocently as I could. I didn't want to appear too interested.

"Yep. When your dad removes a tooth, he usually gives the patient a couple of free pain killers to get them home and take care of them until they can get to the pharmacy and fill their prescription."

"Well that is nice of the drug companies to do that," and I smiled as I said it.

"They're not being totally magnanimous," Claudia answered. "They are trying to get your dad to prescribe their brand of drugs. Plus, they want the patient to use their drug and ask for the same thing next time. So there is an ulterior motive."

I thought about that for a minute, then asked, "You mean other drug companies do this too?"

"Oh yes, we have three different salesman who come in here and leave samples. Two of them are major vendors, and the third just shows up once in a while."

"Do they just walk in and stock the inventory themselves? Do you have to check on them?"

"Usually I don't worry about it. They're very competent and rarely make mistakes. I really doubt they overcharge us."

Mom had been sitting in a corner chair reading Readers Digest. She lowered her magazine and looked over at me. "What got into you today?" she asked. "Since when did you get so interested in dad's business?"

That put an end to my questioning of Claudia. I had several more things that I wanted to know, but I had heard enough. I thought this was really promising. A drug salesman with free samples. He must have plenty of free samples of different drugs that he could give out, or claim he gave them out and use them himself. I was sure that he would have to have some type of records and couldn't go around selling prescription drugs. But the doctors and dentists didn't keep records. So he could claim one or two extra went here and one or two extra went there and no one would be the wiser.

So one of my concerns was handled. The answer was simple; I would have to get a job as a drug salesman. That didn't sound too difficult. I had good grades and I would make sure that they got even better. This would give me access to the hormones that we would need, and the how and when to administer them. I would probably be able to learn more from the brochures and literature. Later, as I gave my plan more thought, it occurred to me that the drug company would probably train me and I would learn even more about the use of hormones. And if that wasn't enough, I always had the library and the Internet for sources of more information.

By the time school started in the fall, I had worked this idea over in my head at least a hundred times. It wasn't foolproof, but it seemed to have tremendous potential. I would have to make sure that I had good enough grades to land the job. In college I would take classes in courses that would give me a boost at getting a sales position. I would have to find out which drug companies made the right hormones so that I would have access to them. And I also decided that I had to start my boy friend on the hormones as quickly as possible. The younger he was, the more likely they would be effective. I would want to find a boy that hadn't passed through puberty, or who was just starting. If I had to graduate from college first, and if I wanted a young boy, there would be a big age difference between us. That wouldn't be good. So I decided that I had to graduate and get that job as soon as possible. I figured if I took advanced college placement courses in high school that would help. I would go to summer school so I could graduate earlier. School and academics were going to be key to my timing and I would have to dedicate myself to the task. Going into my junior year in high school I totally dedicated myself to school and grades. I was always one of the smartest girls in my grade, and I was going to get even smarter.

I completed all of the requirements for high school graduation in the fall half of my senior year. By the start of 1998 I was in position to go to college. But I didn't want to leave all of my friends behind. I was afraid that I would be too isolated from Valerie, Vickie, Sam and my other friends if I left high school. I decided to take two classes in the morning, to allow me to keep my social life alive. In the afternoon I started taking classes downtown at the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee. I attended as a part time student that first semester, and I was able to get a head start on my college career with seven credits. The plan was progressing nicely.

My first semester and my first summer I stayed at home and rode the bus to school. My summer workload included six credits. That gave me thirteen credits, which was almost equal to a full semester. This put me almost one full semester ahead of a normal timetable. It was a start, but I wanted to move even faster. The fall semester I signed up for eighteen credits. It was going to be an extremely difficult course load. Mom and dad decided that it would be best if I stayed on campus. So late in August of 1998 I moved into a college dormitory.

I really enjoyed living in the dormitory. It was so much more convenient than staying at home. Between classes I could either go to the library or back to my room to study. It was easier to meet with other girls for study groups also. The biggest drawback was cafeteria food. It wasn't very good. I had a nice roommate. Sheila was two years older in age, but only one year ahead of me in class. She introduced me to some of her friends and we got along ok. She didn't have a steady boyfriend, so we didn't have a problem with sleepovers with boys.

I had a heavy course load each semester, usually sixteen to eighteen credits. Then I would pick up six credits each summer. The schoolwork was hard, but I was able to maintain a 3.5 grade point average out of a possible 4.0. I stayed on the Deans List continuously. My social life at school was rather meager, but I made sure that course work came first. I was able to make good friends with some of my college classmates, and I still got home often enough on weekends to keep up with Valerie and Vickie's busy social lives. And between studying and social concerns, I was able to keep up to date on my favorite subject.

I spent a couple hours a week on the Internet following informational sites concerning cross-dressers, transvestites and transsexuals. I found locations in the Milwaukee area that sold to crossdressers and one time I went to the store posing as a sociology major. I told the manager that I was working on a paper concerning sexual preferences, and asked if I could talk with her and her sales ladies. This was a store that sold to women, but let it be known in the 'community' that they were CD friendly. They were very willing to discuss their encounters. Actually, there weren't that many different men that came into the store. There were about five or six semi-regulars and then about twice that many who showed up occasionally. The regulars seemed to be very comfortable with who and what they were. Those men offered no apologies and had a great sense of humor. Most of the girls really didn't mind working with them.

Two of nine girls that I talked with were uncomfortable with men in their store, so they would try and turn them over to other sales girls. The occasional customers usually just bought something and left quickly, not even trying on items to see if they fit. Then they would have to bring it back later and exchange it for a better fitting size. The girls said they could almost always tell when a man claimed he was buying for a woman, but was really buying for himself. The most useful piece of advice that I received was call ahead and make an appointment. Tell the saleslady who you are and what you want. That way, they could make sure that they would have someone there who didn't mind working with the cross dresser, and they could try and fit him in during a quiet time.

Another time I located a gay bar that was having a drag show. The show started late, almost midnight on a Thursday night. I went to the bar looking for a cross-dresser that I could talk with. I found only one CD there that night, and he was only so-so in his appearance. I talked with him about why he liked to cross-dress. He was very open and sincere and he admitted it was partly sexual and partly the joy of being feminine. The feminine part was the ability to act feminine in his mannerisms, walk and talk. Partly it was the softness of the clothes and the fun of putting on the makeup. But in the end, sexual drives were important. I asked if most men that cross-dressed were truly heterosexual, or just said that. He said that he could only speak for himself, but his desire when dressing was to be with a woman, not a man.

The show was entertaining. One of the four girls looked very nice. They would come on stage one at a time and lip sync to a popular song, or one that had some strong sexual insinuations. The patrons, both men and women, would walk up to them and hand them one-dollar bills in appreciation for the act. The thing that surprised me was the number of women in attendance. I asked two girls why they were there, and they said because it was safe. It was fun, there was dancing before and after the show, and they didn't have to worry about getting hit on by the men.

By the start of fall semester 2001 I had 136 credits. An additional eighteen credits that fall gave me a total of 154 credits. I was able to graduate in December of 2001 at age 21. Starting in September I began sending out resumes to the pharmaceutical companies that were of interest to me. I had spent the summer researching the companies, and came up with four that sold the right mix of drugs. I looked up everything I could find on each of them, and made sure to include some of that information in the cover letters. I wanted to make it known that I had clearly done my homework and I was truly interested in their company. I sent letters to both the personnel and sales departments. Three weeks later I sent follow up letters reminding them that I was still interested. I included a very tasteful photo of myself in a conservative skirted-suit, to show them that I could fit in with their corporate style. I emphasized my grades and pointed out that they didn't have to wait until June for me to start. I would be ready to start January second.

I received responses from three of them. Two flew me to their company for an interview and one came to campus. One invited me back to their Chicago headquarters for another series of interviews, and at the end of the day offered me a position. I promised to give them an answer within one week. Since I did not hear back from the other companies by the end of that week, I accepted a sales training position with Midwest Pharmaceuticals. My starting date was January 6, 2002 at a salary of $48,500 per year. Bonuses would apply, but my first year's bonus would be small because I would be in training most of the year.

The company set me up in an efficiency motel about one mile from their headquarters in downtown Chicago. They paid the cost of the motel, and gave me $40.00 per diem for meals. Training was eight hours a day and lasted for three months. Training covered the product line and technical aspects of the drugs that we were to sell. They covered the company structure, rules, benefits, operational aspects, sales techniques & territories, and on and on. We took physicals and signed forms of all types and shapes. There was a fair amount of homework each night, but nothing like what I had handled in college.

On weekends I went home to Milwaukee about half the time, and stayed in Chicago the other half. Valerie visited me a couple of times. We went shopping during the day and enjoyed the nightlife in the evening. I bought a complete wardrobe of nice but conservative dresses and suits for my new career. I took advantage of the low cost of living (company covering room and board) and I started a savings program and made arrangements to fund my 401K at full level when my probationary period was over. The remainder of the money went to my new wardrobe.

In late March we were given our first sales assignments. I was going to South Bend, Indiana. The local sales representative for the area was Chuck Casey. Chuck was retiring at the end of August. I was to travel and train with Chuck until then. He would introduce me to my new accounts and hold my hand until I was ready to take over the territory. I moved to South Bend the second weekend in April. On Monday I met with Chuck and we drove over to a local auto dealer and I picked out my company car. It would take three weeks for the car to arrive, so I used mom's car for that time.

I found a small two-bedroom house about one and one half miles from the campus of Notre Dame. I thought the campus would be my best hunting ground for finding my future bride. I didn't want to be too close to campus because it would be too expensive, and I wanted to be able to separate my boyfriend from his friends and activities on campus. I was going to try and isolate him so he would be more dependent on my friendship. I was going to work out of my house, which I had been told would offer some good tax breaks. I used half the spare bedroom to set up a small office complete with a desk, filing cabinet, computer, color printer and fax. The company paid for everything, including monthly Internet hook-up fees. I had never realized all of the added benefits to a sales position. I was going to be able to save more of my paycheck than I had thought.

The other half of the bedroom I was going to use as a photography studio. I had decided that I wanted to document the growth and development of my future wife. I bought a large format, digital Nikon camera. With this camera I would be able to purchase and use the regular selection of lenses that Nikon produced. The large format was very expensive, but made a huge difference in photo quality. I would essentially be able to take high definition pictures. I bought a couple of studio lights, a backdrop that could be mounted on the ceiling and pulled down when needed and a few props. Finally, I hit Borders and bought a couple of books on photography, specializing on portrait photography.

By June I was ready to begin my hunt.

Chapter 2

Transcripts from conversations with Melissa Ann May

My name is Melissa Ann May. My maiden name was Matt Kaufmann. Cynthia L. May is my wife, and I am her's. I was born on the fifth day of February in 1984 to parents Kathy and Michael William Kaufmann. I had an older brother Dean and we were raised as army brats. Father was a lifer in the army. We moved every two or three years and never stayed in any one place long enough to make lasting friendships. Father was a disciplinarian and was very difficult to please. Mom was on the receiving end of most of his abuse. He used to yell and swear at mom on a regular basis. He never actually hit her, but he did roughly bump into her and push her around.

Dean took more abuse from dad than I did. Dean was three years older and had a rebellious streak in him. Even when he knew dad would whip him, Dean would go out of his way to deliberately aggravate dad. Dean was a disaster in school and was always running with the toughest group of boys in the camp. We knew Dean was going to grow up to be no good.

I was much smaller than Dean, small for my age also. Because I was so much smaller dad ignored me. It was as if I didn't exist. I could do no right, and usually I could do no wrong. I rarely was in trouble. I was my mother's favorite, and that was clear to Dean as well as to me. Mom tried a little harder to protect me from dad's temper. I loved music, and was very good at it. I could sing and I had a talent for musical instruments. At a very young age I had already made up my mind that my future would center around music. Maybe I would be a professional musician or singer, or maybe a music teacher in school.

I am one quarter Korean. Maybe that contributed to my being small for my age. My maternal grandmother was Korean. Grandpa had met Kim Heesoo when he was stationed in Korea. He brought her back to the United States as his bride. Mom was one of six children that they had together.

Dad never knew his father. His mom was seven months pregnant with dad, when his father was killed in an automobile accident. Grandma raised him with the help of her parents, but dad must have never received the fatherly guidance that he needed. The stories that I heard from other relatives indicated that dad was a bully when he was growing up. He was usually in trouble and desperately needed discipline. The need for discipline, along with the fact that he dropped out of school early, is probably why dad ended up in the army. Somehow the army gave dad what he needed because he stayed on as a lifer.

The army made dad even more brutal. Dad talked about loving his country and protecting the Constitution, but obviously he either didn't believe it, or didn't understand it. His solution to everything was violence. He had no tolerance for anyone different than himself. He hated everyone except right wing radicals. He hated Democrats because they were too soft, but he admitted that the Democrats treated active and retired soldiers better than the Republicans. Money was usually better when a Democrat was president. But he always voted Republican no matter who the candidate was. Dad wasn't any smarter than the rest of his buddies.

By shear chance, my last three years of high school were spent in the same place. I still didn't make many friends. A small, musically talented and non-athletically gifted boy doesn't do very well in a basically army community. But I did do well in school. Well enough to earn a nice one-year scholarship to the University of Notre Dame. When I left for school I was sad to leave mom behind, but I never wanted to see dad again.

I left for school in August of 2002. Mom and dad drove me to South Bend, helped me move into the dormitory and left that night. Two weeks later I met Cynthia and my life changed forever. And for the better I might add. If I had known what Cynthia had planned for me, I never would have allowed it to happen. I would have dropped her immediately and looked for someone else. But in retrospect, meeting Cynthia was the best thing that ever happened to me. Could I have done better with someone else? I doubt it. Things would have been different, but I don't know if I could have been happier. And the world would have certainly been different. I can definitely say that I am extremely proud to be the father and surrogate mother of Kimmay.

I was heading down to the student union with my roommate Jeff, on a beautiful Saturday morning. We were going to catch a burger at the union, then hang out admiring the scenery. We both brought along one textbook to make us look collegiate, but we didn't intend on reading much. Sunny, warm Saturday afternoons brought out the girls in their shorts and tank tops. Life was good.

We had eaten our lunch and carried our soft drinks out onto the lawn where we sat down and pretended to read. We had been sitting for just a few minutes when a girl walked over and stood next to me.

"Do you mind if I sit down and join you?" she asked while beaming the most beautiful smile I had ever seen.

Who was I to complain? That was the reason that Jeff and I were there. "Sure," was all the smooth talk that I could muster. She appeared to be about my height, slim with lots of curves in all of the right places. She had on a tan skort, a cross between a skirt and shorts, and a powder blue V-neck tee. She had thin arms and hands, with her nails painted in a light purple shade. She had long, curly hair, somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, and she was wearing a light shade of lipstick. She was very pretty.

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she said. Without waiting for an answer she continued, " I love summer, the warmth makes life so comfortable. You can wear light, comfortable clothes. You can roll down the window in the car and let the breeze blow through your hair. You can lie on the beach until you bake, then jump in the water and cool down without freezing. The days are long and you can spend the evening sitting outside watching the sunset and listening to the bugs. Yech! I do hate bugs though!" and she started laughing.

What a girl! Beautiful and she could carry a conversation. Something that I, like most boys, couldn't do. Her comments had just started to border on the sappy, and then she totally broke the mood with her comment on bugs. Jeff and I started laughing.

"I kind of like bugs," Jeff said. "What kind of bugs do you hate the most?"

She looked at me when she answered, "The big ones that crawl out from under rocks and things. The creepy, crawly kinds like centipedes and those. Flies and mosquitoes are a pain, but they're not gross."

"How about bees and wasps and things with stingers?" I asked.

"As long as you leave them alone, they don't really bother you too much. I can handle bees, except when you step on one in your bare feet. I did that once when I was just a little girl. I must have jumped ten feet into the air. I ran limping back to my mom screaming bloody murder. I must have been a real sight!" and she started laughing again. Jeff and I found her laughing contagious and joined her. "How about you, did you ever have any bad insect days?"

Jeff answered first, "Well, there was the time that my best friend Bill and I were walking along this creek bed and came up on a wasp's nest hanging from a tree. Bill decided that it would be really fun to take a stick and try and knock it down. So we went looking for a stick and couldn't find a good one. So then Bill decides to shake the tree and try and knock it down that way. I stepped back to watch and he goes up to this tree and starts shaking it furiously. Only, he kept shaking too long. The wasps came flying out and started to swarm him. He starts screaming and running, but he starts running right at me. I yell at him to get away and I take off in the opposite direction. So I end up running home and don't see him again until that night. He comes over to my house with probably twenty stings on his face and neck and shoulders. I just laughed and shook my head at him and said, well what did you expect?" And with the end of the story Jeff started to laugh.

The girl listened politely and then turned to me and said, "What about you? Do you have any insect stories?"

She kept looking at me and talking to me. It really seemed that she was interested more in me than Jeff. This was looking very promising. "Not really," I answered. "I was more of an indoors kid. While the other guys were playing ball, I preferred to work on my guitar or piano."

Her eyes got big and she became more animated. "Are you a musician?"

"Not really. Not yet. I am going to major in music. What about you, what is your major?"

Again, she answered me and me alone, "I'm not enrolled in school here. I graduated last spring. I came down to look around the campus and try and decide if I wanted to come back for my masters. What year are you in?"

"Freshman. I'm just starting," I said. "This was my first week of classes."

"And how did you like them?"

"They were interesting. Ok, I guess. Not really much to say yet." And I noticed that still she was talking and looking only at me. Jeff might as well have been invisible. This was probably the first time in my life that a girl had approached me and seemed interested in me. I was eating this up. I was struggling to keep my end of the conversation going. Staying with the school subject, "What was your major, what did you graduate in?"

"Liberal arts. I have a job as a traveling sales lady. I'll bet you know a few traveling salesmen jokes," she laughed softly. "But anyway, I'm not really sure what I would want to study and that's part of the problem. I like music, but I have no talent. I'm good with math and science, but I like people contact. Actually, I like being in sales. By the way, I'm Cynthia," and she extended her hand towards me.

I shook her hand and introduced Jeff and then myself. She politely shook Jeff's hand, and then turned her attention back to me. We talked a few more minutes, and then she asked if I would show her around the campus. Jeff had already gotten the message, and like a good roomie he took the hint and announced that he had to get back to the dorm to study. Cynthia and I started our walk around campus, which lasted for a couple hours.

I think we both had a good time. I know I did. After walking around a good share of the campus, we headed down to the shopping district. We browsed through a couple of stores and ended up in a fast food restaurant for a drink. Talking with her was easy. I had never been able to carry a conversation with a girl, and this was just too easy. She was very nice. I found out that even though she had already graduated, she was only 2 and one half years older than me. We liked the same music and she even knew a little about classical music. I was impressed. It was starting to get into the late afternoon and I knew the early movies were starting. I asked if she would like to see a movie and she said great. After the movie we walked to her car, and she drove us to a little restaurant in the German district. It was probably the longest meal I have ever had. We sat there for over two hours talking and eating. Before we knew it, it was almost 10:00.

As she was driving me back to the dorm, I kept trying to pick the right moment to ask for her telephone number, but she beat me to it. "Matt, I had a wonderful time tonight. I would really like to see you again. Would you like my telephone number?"

With the largest grin in the world I replied, "Yea I had a great time too. I would love to have your telephone number."

"Reach in the glove compartment, there is a notebook that I use to keep track of car expenses. Rip out a page from the back. There is a pen in there also," and when I was ready she recited her telephone number.

"Maybe we could go out next weekend."

"Or even sooner," I suggested.

"That's not easy. Off-hand I don't remember my schedule for next week. Usually I do my out of town traveling the first couple days of the week. Since the weather is still nice, on Wednesdays I often take a client to the country club for golfing. And sometimes I have an evening dinner scheduled. It would be best if we plan on next Friday or Saturday. Is that ok?"

Of course it was ok. Any chance to see her again was ok. "That sounds fine. I'll call later in the week and we can set something up."

"Great!" was her answer. She pulled up to a stop in front of my dorm, then leaned over and kissed me on my cheek. "I had a really nice time. I'm looking forward to your call."

I didn't want to get out of the car. "Thanks, I had a great time too. I'll call you soon." Cynthia had to get out of the car and walk around to my side to open the door for me, because there was something wrong with the lock. "Bye," and I headed back to my room.

When I got back to my room, Jeff was sitting there watching a little TV that he had brought with him. "Wow. You must have had a nice time, you've been gone all day. Well, tell me what happened. You have a new girl friend?" I gave him the short version, trying to not rub my fantastic luck in his face. "You lucky, friggin' SOB," he said. "You're here only two friggin' weeks and this gorgeous woman comes up to you, asks if she can sit down and then almost begs to get into your pants. Shit, life is not fair!" He sat there with this grin on his face just looking at me. I sat there with a grin on my face also. Life might not be fair I thought, but it sure was good right now.

I called Cynthia in the middle of the week, and we set up a date for Friday night. She offered to pick me up at the dormitory and I agreed. She arrived and we drove to her house so that she could change out of her suit into something more comfortable. She gave me a quick little tour of her house and then ran off to change clothes. She had nothing but fashion and hairstyling magazines on her coffee table, but I picked one up and flipped through it while I was waiting. When she came back out she was wearing a skirt and sweater and had left her hair hanging full length. I suggested that we catch a bite to eat and then go to a movie. Cynthia said she was a little tired and asked if we could rent a movie and come back to her house to watch it after we ate. That was fine with me.

We went out to a burger place and I received another lecture on the Atkins diet. High protein and low carbohydrates. Good for weight loss and surprisingly good for your heart. So instead of fries I had to settle for a small salad and applesauce. Afterwards we stopped by Blockbuster and picked up a chick-flick.

When we got back to her house, I received a little more of a tour. She showed me her camera equipment and then asked if I would pose for her. I said sure. "It will take me a minute to get ready," she said as she started switching on lights and changing lenses in her camera.

"No problemo," I said in my best Arnold voice.

"I'm just learning to take portraits, so do you mind sitting in a few different poses?"

Again, "No problemo." The Arnold imitation was still pretty weak, but she did smile. She was encouraging me no matter how stupid I sounded.

"Let's start with you sitting here." She pulled down her backdrop screen and set a stool in front of the soft blue background. I was instructed to sit facing 45° from the camera, chin up, but not too high, while she checked the exposure on my face. She stepped back and took a picture. "Ok now, a little smile." I gave her a little smile. "Nice," as she snapped the picture. "Ok, now face 90° from the camera. I want to see if I can take a side portrait and keep everything in focus. Arms straight down at your sides, I'm trying to take just your face and upper chest. First no smile and then we'll take one with a smile." Snap. "Ok, a small smile, dimples but no teeth." Again I complied and snap went the shutter.

"Great," she said. "Now let's get some with you standing." She pulled the stool out of the way and positioned me facing the camera. "Really big smile this time, lot's of teeth," she instructed, as she stepped farther back and re-focused the camera. Another snap. I was then positioned at a 45° angle to the camera for a couple more pictures. I folded my arms over my chest. I held my arms behind me. We tried another profile at 90°. It was a little boring for me, but Cynthia was having a great time and if she was happy, then I was happy.

Then she asked if I would pose without my shirt. "Getting a little personal, are we?" I joked.

"Well all stud, male models have bare-chested pictures in their portfolio," she answered back with a smile on her face. "I've never had a model before. You don't mind, do you?"

"I'd love to," I said as I unbuttoned my shirt. I had a polo shirt, and as I pulled it over my head it tousled my hair. I started to smooth it back into place but she stopped me.

"No, no. Leave your hair like that. It gives a more casual look. In fact, fluff it up some more." I did as I was told. She took one more picture and then stopped. "Ahhh, can I ask you a favor?" Her voice was quieter than normal, and she held her head down and looked up with her eyes. She looked adorable.

"What?"

"Well …," and she paused for a second, still looking rather sheepish. "Well, if you look in any fashion magazine you'll notice that most men have a bare chest. They shave their hair. Well … could you shave your chest? Would you be willing? I'll even help."

At first I wasn't too sure about this request, but when she added the part about helping, I gave in quickly. This might be fun. "Ok, anything to further my modeling career."

"Would you?" she yelled as she jumped into the air. "Your great! Thanks. Thanks a million. Here, come this way and I'll shave your chest for you."

She led me to the bathroom and stood me in front of the sink. "Here," she offered me a towel. "Wrap this around your waist, so water doesn't drip into your pants." I wrapped the towel around my waist and tucked it into the waistband a bit. She started the taps and tested the water a couple of times to make sure it was the right temperature. "Wait, just a minute. I don't want to get my shirt all wet either," and she proceeded to pull off her tee. She was standing there with just her bra on! "You don't mind do you? Is it ok if I take off my shirt?"

My heart started racing. I could feel it pounding in my chest. I think I even blushed a bit. I was glad to have the towel wrapped around my waist. "Yes, it's ok with me. We don't want you getting your shirt soaked."

"Thanks." She took a washcloth and wiped down my chest, wetting down all my hair. Then she pulled out a can of shaving gel and smeared it across my chest. "Now, if I start pulling the hair or start hurting you, just tell me." She took the razor and pulled it across my chest, leaving a smooth, clear strip of skin behind. "Is that ok?"

"Yeah, that's ok. No problem. Actually it went through very smoothly with no tugging."

"I am using a new blade, so that should help. I am used to shaving my legs and pits, and a new razor blade is critical." She rinsed off the blade and pulled it across my chest a second time. I could see in the mirror how the shaving was progressing. I stood as still as possible and just watched. She finished with my chest and she picked up the washcloth and rinsed it in the warm water again. I thought she was going to wipe the remaining shaving gel off my chest, but instead she raised her empty hand over my head and said "Raise your arm."

I was taken by surprise. "What? Why?" I asked in mild shock.

"So I can shave your pit," she said very matter-of-factly.

"But I thought you were just going to shave my chest," I said a bit weakly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I said both your chest and armpits. I mean, I thought you understood. Models, guys, they shave their chest and armpits." She was stammering a bit and seemed a bit flustered.

I couldn't have her flustered, so I quickly agreed to have my armpits shaved.

"Thanks," she said, and then moved back into action. "Ok, raise your arm." She held my arm up with her empty hand and wetted down my armpit with the washcloth. She applied the shaving gel and then proceeded to shave my armpit clean of hair. When she finished my left arm, she shaved my right arm.

"Actually, I think you will like this," she said. "Us girls shave our arms and it feels nice. Your antiperspirant flows on much easier." She wiped all of the extra gel from my chest and armpits, patted them dry with a towel and said, "How does that feel?"

I felt my chest, hunched my shoulders around to get a feel of my armpits and decided that it was going to be nice. "It feels good," I announced. "Now, what kind of poses do you need?" Now that the deed had been done, I didn't want to linger or sulk over it. I wanted to be as helpful as I could for Cynthia.

Cynthia put her tee back on and we went back into her studio and took a few more pictures. First she had me standing, posing with my arms crossed and then folded over my head. Next, she brought back the stool and I sat on the stool and gave her a few more poses. After she had finished she asked how I liked my very first photo shoot. "It was just fine, but when do I get paid?" and I gave her a stern look, but quickly broke into a smile.

"Well I'm sure that we can negotiate something," she offered. "Any suggestions?" she asked me.

"I guess I'll have to think about it," was all that I could think up quickly. I would have loved to ask for a kiss, or something better.

"Do you want to see them?"

"Now?" I was a bit surprised. She had a very expensive camera and I just assumed it was film. "Is that a digital camera?"

"Sure. See?" and she pulled out the memory card. "Let's take a quick look, shall we?" and she walked over to her desk and started up her computer. We probably spent the next hour looking at the pictures, laughing at the bad ones and critiquing the better ones. She printed a couple of pictures, cropped them, printed them again, changed the contrast and brightness, printed them again, and kept working on them.

It soon became apparent that she was very interested in taking the best pictures absolutely possible. She discussed many different ways to pose me, to alter the lighting and affect new images and moods. I had never been big on photography, but as a hopeful musician I could appreciate her artistic drive. I told her a couple of times that I was impressed with her creative style, and even earned a hug and a little kiss with one of my compliments.

By the time we decided to call it quits with the photos, it was almost midnight. The time had flown by. She announced that it was late and time to give me a ride back to the dorms. I raised my courage and asked her, "What are you doing tomorrow? Can we do something together maybe?"

She gave me a huge smile and said, "Tomorrow is supposed to be a nice day. When I rented this house, the landlord said he would knock $40 a month off the rent if I would handle mowing the grass and shoveling the sidewalk. He left a lawn mower in the garage. You could help me mow, if you don't mind."

I quickly blurted out, "I don't mind at all!" I didn't want to take any chance on her changing her mind. "What time should I come by?"

"Well, I do like to sleep in a little late on weekends. Would 10:00 be ok? I could pick you up about then."

"Ten o'clock is fine," I said, "and you don't have to pick me up. I know how to get here now, and I can ride my bike. It won't take more than a couple of minutes to get here."

She leaned towards me and gave me a kiss. "It's a deal then."

We started heading towards the door and I saw the movie sitting on the coffee table. "We forgot all about the movie. Do you want me to drop it off on the way back here tomorrow morning?"

"Leave it," she said with a wave of her hand, "maybe we can look at it tomorrow night." We headed out the door and she walked around to my side of the car and held the door open for me. "For my aspiring model," she announced. When we arrived at the dormitory I received a long goodnight kiss. I floated out of the car and up to my room.

On Saturday I cleaned up and went over to the cafeteria with Jeff. Jeff asked me what I going to do the rest of the day. I told him that I was going over to Cynthia's, and then I had to listen to his abuse for the rest of the meal. We went back to the dorm where I got my bike and started on my way over to Cynthia's. When I reached Cynthia's, I parked my bike in the driveway and went up and knocked on the front door. Cynthia was still in her bathrobe when she answered.

"Am I early?" I asked her through the screen door.

"Not at all," she said. "Sorry about not being dressed. I slept a little later than I had anticipated." She gave me a little kiss as she opened the door for me. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Yeah, I ate at the cafeteria."

"Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," and I followed her off to the kitchen. We chatted for about half an hour and then I asked her if I could get started with the mowing. She led me out to the garage and showed me where the mower and the gas were located. I opened the garage door while she stood towards the back of the garage where no one could see her in her bathrobe. When the door opened, the sunlight flooded the garage.

"My, that sun is bright today. Do you have suntan lotion?" she asked. I replied to the negative. "You can't go out without some protection. It is really important that you take care of your skin. Otherwise you will end up wrinkled like a prune when you're older. Come back in the house with me and I'll get you something," and she held open the door back into the house.

This time she led me into her bedroom and over to her vanity. "Here, sit here," and she pulled out the chair to her vanity. After I sat down, she pulled open one of the vanity drawers and took out a tube of some type of cream. "Ok, take this and apply it to your face. I'll go find some sun tan lotion for your arms," and off she went. When she came back she asked if I had applied the lotion to my face.

"Well I thought I could use the suntan lotion you were getting for my arms."

"Oh no," she said. "Suntan lotion is ok for the rest of your skin, but for your face you need something better. You have to take better care of the skin on your face. It is really important to take good care of your complexion. The lotion in this tube is what you want to put on your face." I applied the lotion to my face, and while I was doing that she searched through another drawer and pulled out a tube of lipstick. She handed the lipstick to me, "Use this on your lips."

I looked at her with wide-open eyes. "Lipstick? I can't wear lipstick!"

"Sure you can," she told me. "First, it's 'nude' lipstick. There is no color. Secondly, it is full of emollients and a sunscreen. The sun is really harsh on your face and especially your lips. It's important to keep your lips soft. Don't worry, nobody will know you are wearing lipstick," and she gave me one of her patented smiles.

"Why can't I just use chapstick or something like that?"

"Because chapstick is just solid wax. It does nothing for your lips except make you taste like a candle. This won't kill you." She took the lipstick from me, popped the cap off and twisted it. The lipstick rose out of the tube. "See? There is no color. Here, let me put it on. Pucker your lips." I puckered my lips and she slid it over both the top and bottom. "Now, press your lips together like this," and she demonstrated with her own lips. "Now, look in the mirror. See? You can't even tell that you're wearing it. Taste it." She encouraged me to taste it by licking her own lips with her tongue. "Tastes good doesn't it?"

I shook my head in the affirmative, "Yeah, its ok."

"Good, now here is the suntan lotion, make sure that you apply a good coat to your arms and neck before you go out. I followed her instructions and then set off for the garage and the lawn mower. "Wait, one second," she called after me. She walked up to me and kissed me fully on the lips. "I like the taste of lipstick, too," she said with a wicked smile on her face. "Now you can go mow the lawn."

It was a hot day. It took me about an hour to finish the mowing, and by then I was soaking wet. I walked back into the house and announced my arrival. "You look parched. Would you like something to drink?" Cynthia asked. "I have water, cranberry juice and milk. Which would you like?"

I replied that water would be fine. She handed me a bottle from the refrigerator and I drank it down. She asked if I would like to take a shower and clean up. I gave her an affirmative nod and grin, and she led me to the bathroom. She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a fresh towel, and laid it on the counter. "Do you use an alpha-hydroxy scrub?" she asked me.

"A what?" I had no clue what she asked.

"I guess not. It is a facial cleanser that uses a mild organic acid. The acid is really good at cleaning the pores. It cuts way down on zits. Here, you can use this. Before you get in the shower, put a small amount in the palm of your hand and apply it to your face. It should stay on about thirty seconds. By the time you adjust the water temperature and get into the shower, it should be fine. Use a wet washcloth to scrub it off. It will tingle but don't worry, that just means it's working." She lead me to the tub where there was a shelf hanging from the showerhead. "You can use this shampoo and this conditioner," and she pointed to two bottles. "You really do have pretty hair. You should let it grow."

She walked back over to the sink and opened the doors under it. She rummaged around for a second and pulled out a new stick of deodorant. She set it down on the counter and turned to me, "You can use this when you're through with your shower. I'll try and find you some dry underwear to wear." She headed out of the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

I stripped out of my clothes and followed her instructions with the facial scrub and then the hair shampoo and conditioner. I had never used conditioner before. It left my hair feeling smoother than normal. On the down side, it had a strong flowery smell. The deodorant smelled like baby powder as it glided on smoothly over my bare armpits.

Just as I was finishing up, Cynthia knocked on the door. "How is it going in there?" she yelled.

"Fine," I answered. "I just finished drying off."

"Good," she answered. "If you will open the door just a crack, I'll hand you some dry underwear."

I cracked open the door and she handed in some underwear. I looked at them and saw that they were panties. I yelled through the door, "These are panties."

"You are a clever boy! That's all I have. They will have to do.''

"I can't wear these," I yelled back. "I'll just wear my underwear. It's not too bad."

"No you won't," she yelled even louder. "That underwear of yours is soaked with sweat and stink. I will not go out with you if you wear them. Don't worry, no one is going to know that you are wearing panties. Now don't be ridiculous and put them on."

She won. I pulled on the panties and finished dressing. I threw my underwear over the curtain rod to let them dry. When I walked out of the bathroom Cynthia was standing in the hall looking at me. She had a silly grin on her face. "Well, how do you like them? They're a lot softer and smoother than your scruffy old underwear, aren't they?"

I shrugged and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. "They're alright. They'll do in a pinch."

"In a pinch? Is that what you want now? A pinch?" She started laughing. "I bet that by the end of the day you love them. They are going to be much more comfortable than your underwear. And besides, it really is fun to wear girl's underwear. Just ask me, I'll tell you."

So I asked her, "Do you like wearing girl's underwear?"

She walked over to me and gave me a hug around the neck. "I love it. It's more fun than a boy should have!" She gave me a little kiss and said, "You smell great. By the way, thanks for mowing the lawn. What would you like to do now?"

We decided to have a light lunch and go shopping at the mall. On the way out to the garage she stopped me, reached in her purse and pulled out her lipstick. "I almost forgot. You have to keep your lips protected. Pucker up." I leaned forward and puckered my lips and she applied the lipstick. We jumped in the car and headed down to the local mall.

We must have walked through every woman's store in the mall. She tried on dresses, skirts, shoes, and tops. Every time she tried on something new, she would ask my opinion. No matter how many times I pleaded ignorance about women's fashion, she refused to listen and kept asking me for my opinion. She ended up buying a pair of three-inch, open toed, black high heels with a single strap around the ankle.

Finally, she announced that she was done and we started to head out of the mall. On the way out we had to walk through a department store and past the cosmetics counter. She stopped and told me to take a seat at one of the counters. She would be right back. I watched her walk over to a saleslady wearing a white smock. They talked for a couple of seconds and then they walked over to me. The saleslady walked behind the counter and started searching for something. Cynthia stood next to me and whispered in my ear, "I'm going to buy something for you."

"What?" I asked suspiciously.

"Something that you really need. Just cooperate with the saleslady and you will see." That made me very nervous. Cynthia was full of surprises, and I wasn't sure what this one was going to be.

The saleslady set a box containing several lipsticks on the counter. She ran her finger up and down the rows, reading the colors printed on the bottoms of the tubes. She stopped at one, pulled it out and said, "I think this is what you're looking for." She pulled the top of the tube off, twisted the bottom and raised the lipstick. It was a light color. Not quite pink and not quite tan. " This is our best line of lipsticks. They contain rich emollients and our highest SPF level. They will protect your lips from the sun, and most importantly, keep them kissable."

She leaned across the counter towards me and said, "Would you like to see what it looks like on you?"

"ME?" I asked in horror.

"Yes, you," Cynthia replied. "It's their best lipstick, it will fully protect your lips, and it's essentially colorless. If anyone did notice, they would think that you were wearing chapstick. Go ahead and try it on. It's my gift to you for mowing the lawn today."

"I'm not too sure about this," I moaned, but I let the saleslady apply it to my lips. I looked in the mirror, and had to admit that it was barely noticeable and I was looking up close at it. "Well, I guess it will be ok."

"Good," said Cynthia. "We'll take it." The saleslady rang it up and my eyes almost popped out of my head.

"How can that cost twenty dollars?" I asked.

"It's doesn't pay to be cheap when you are buying products to take care of yourself. Remember, were worth it," she smiled. She handed me the lipstick. "Here, you can carry it in your pocket, and make sure that you use it. It doesn't do you any good just sitting in your pocket." We headed out the door to the parking lot.

We stopped at a Chinese take-out and picked up some shrimp and rice for home. After eating we sat down in the living room and watched the movie that we had picked out the night before. I sat on the couch and she cuddled next to me. I loved sitting there with her. After the movie we watched the news and some of the Saturday Night Live Show. About 11:30 she announced that she was getting tired and it was time to take me back to the dorm.

"Don't worry," I said. "You don't need to drive me back. I have a light on my bike."

"Don't be silly. There are a lot of drunk drivers out at night. You can put your bike in the trunk and I'll give you a lift." I started towards the door and she called me back. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

My mind was racing. I had all kinds of wonderful thoughts ranging from a kiss to a bit more. "Your panties?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," I muttered.

"You might have a tough time explaining them to your roommate."

"That I might." I went into the bathroom and changed. "All set," I announced. I put my bike in the trunk of her car and walked over to the passenger door where she was standing holding the door open.

"I'll be your chauffer tonight, my lovely," and she closed the door behind me. I got a long, wet kiss when she dropped me off at the dorm.

(continued)

  

  

  

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