I wake up with the computer still on my lap; the picture of a beautiful up-and-coming model showing off her cute foot in a strappy, high-heeled sandal. The picture shows one foot stuck out from underneath her long, flowing evening gown, her toenails painted a sparkly bright pink, and a cute little blue and green butterfly tattooed on the top of her foot. A video of her sexily walking in heels down the runway is playing in a continuous loop next to the picture.

I shake my head and groggily get up to go to the bathroom. I almost fall over from the severe leg cramps I get as I stand up. I sort of hop to the bathroom on the balls of my feet cursing the cramps. They get better as I stand in front of the toilet, relieving myself. Slowly I can let my feet down and back almost flat on the floor, although, it is still really uncomfortable. It just feels MUCH better if I am up on my toes.

I run my hands through my hair and turn on the shower. That is when I look over in the mirror and nearly faint. I hobble over to the mirror and look at myself hard as it begins to steam up from the shower. My eyebrows are perfectly shaped, and well-defined—just like in Jayda’s picture (my favorite actress). There is no denying them—they are dark and just shout out to the world to draw attention to my eyes. They are VERY feminine and go perfectly with my eyeliner and lashes—just not with the rest of my face.

I really do feel faint at that sight and drop the lid on the toilet and sit down. That is when I look down at my feet…and nearly fall off of the toilet.

Aside from my feet seeming really small, my toenails are a sparkly pink…and I have a blue and green butterfly on the top of my left foot. Something tells me that neither will come off. The hair that had been growing on the top of my foot was nowhere to be seen. I am suddenly wide awake, without the shower, so I turn it off. I hobble downstairs, still not sure why I am having these leg cramps, only to find a note from Mom that says that she has gone to the mall for the day.

I groan and hobble back upstairs to my room. I put on some jeans and a t-shirt, then get some socks to cover up the pink sparkle and butterfly on my toes and foot. The socks are way too big on my feet. With a sudden bad feeling, I pick up my sports shoes and try one on. It is several sizes too big. Somehow my feet, normally a size ten (men’s), have severely shrunken in size.

I groan. Not knowing what else to do, I hobble into my parent’s room and into Mom’s closet. I pick up the first pair of flat shoes I find. They look like ballet slippers. I look at the label inside and see that they are a size six and a half. They look TINY. I sit down and try one on, without any socks…and it fits perfectly. I sit there dumbfounded. I had gone from a perfect men’s ten to a perfect woman’s six and a half. And I still am having trouble standing flatfooted.

Then I have another idea. One that really makes me weak in the knees as I think about it. I hobble back into Mom’s closet and pick up a pair of her heels. They look really high to me, but she has higher ones. These are probably three inches, or so. I take off the slippers and slide into the heels. Not only do they fit perfectly, but, I feel at home in them…a little higher would be even better, but these feel like heaven to my feet. I slide out of them and into ones that are more like four inches and actually moan with pleasure at how good it feels.

I feel the blood drain from my face as I realize what I am feeling. I walk over to the mirror in her room and see myself automatically placing one foot in front of the other, slightly crossed over to the other side, and swinging my arms and hips in the stereotypical model’s walk—it is like I have walked this way my whole life.

I sit in my room for a long time, not knowing what to do. I just stare down at my feet, in the toeless black heels that are showing off my pink, sparkly nails and the realistic-looking blue and green butterfly on my left foot. Again, if I were a GIRL, I would be really proud of the way it looks. I WANT to be proud…but, I am not a girl…and I am not sure what to do…

Finally, I pick up my phone and text Lewis.

Hey, Bro. Are you with Bethany? Can the two of you come over? I need help…really bad…

A minute later, I get a response.

Yes, she is with me. We will be over in ten minutes.

I open the door as soon as the doorbell rings and rush them inside. Lewis looks at me and asks, “Woe! Bro, what is the ru…” He trails off as he gets a look at my face and notices my feet. Bethany giggles and asks, “Landon, is there something you are not telling us? Those are really nice eyebrows. And you have DEFINITELY been practicing walking in heels.”

I pull them to my room and lay out what has happened—and my suspicions. I show them Jayda’s picture and the picture and video of Christy Marquis (the model). They both give me funny looks; but Bethany slowly comes over to my side of thinking.

She gets her purse and says, “Come over here, Landon. I want to try something.” She pulls out her makeup bag and looks at Jayda’s picture again. She puts eyeshadow on me just like in the picture. Then she uses mascara and an eyelash curler on me. Lewis gasps when she is done, “Dude! Your eyes look JUST like hers in the picture! Except for the color.” Bethany nods and I go look in the mirror in my bathroom.

I walk back in and say, “That settles it. As far as I am concerned, that is where the look came from. That does not explain the how or why, though. The same is true for my feet…and the way I now walk.” Bethany nods and says, “You are…designed…for lack of a better word…to wear shoes like that…and to walk that way. I think if you start doing yoga with me, we can get you stretched out enough that you will be able to stand flat-footed without pain again—although, I bet you will always be more comfortable in heels. I can’t explain WHY, though…”

I shake my head and ask, “What do I do? I can’t walk around in heels… And my eyes…” I shudder… Bethany comes over and gives me a hug. She asks, “So, what size shoes are those? Do they fit well?” I nod and say, “Yes, they fit perfectly. They are a women’s size six and a half… Just last night I was a man’s size ten…”

Bethany nods her head and says, “Well, we need to find you some wedges. That way, your heel can be up and comfortable, but, if you buy wedges where the sole blends in with the shoe, the heel—or wedge—won’t be as noticeable. We can disguise the rest with your pants…we will have to get the right ones for that, too. You are going to have start dressing better, though. We won’t be able to pull it off with most jeans, unless you maybe wear bell-bottoms. I can also help you disguise your eyebrows. People already know about your lashes and liner, so we won’t worry about that…”

An hour later, Bethany comes back from her house with a backpack. She comes into my room and pulls out a pair of black three and half inch shorty, lace-up boot wedges and a pair of dressy black pants. She says, “Luckily we still have these from my younger sister from when she still wore a size six and a half. These are a pair of my older sister’s pants from before she lost her weight. I think they should fit. Let’s see…”

I pale when I notice the pants are GIRL’S pants. Bethany just hands them to me and tells me to put them on…that she will be right back in, as soon as I have changed into them. She leaves the room with Lewis and I sigh. I take off the heels, then my jeans, and pick up the black pants. They feel funny as I pull them up my legs. They are much softer, and stretchier, that anything that I have worn before. They make the hair on my legs itch. I stand up and they seem too long…and they are sort of tight up top around my thighs, but looser towards the bottoms… I struggle, but finally get them zipped and buttoned. It is hard, since the buttons are on the wrong side—like most dress pants, there is an inside flap and button and the normal outside one. The zipper flap is on the wrong side because of this, so zipping them is backwards, too…

Lewis pokes his head in and opens the door wider for Bethany to come in when he sees I have them on. She smiles and says, “Perfect! They fit. You, my friend, are a girl’s size twelve, long.” I shake my head and say, “This will never work! It looks too girly…and they are too long.” Bethany gives me a harsh look and says, “Oh Yea of little faith! Let me do my work! Now, put on the booties.”

I sit back down and put on some thin, short socks that Bethany gives me and then pull on the wedge-shaped short boots. I tie them and stand up. I feel pretty good in them and look in the mirror. The pants fall perfectly to the tops of the boots in front. The length also makes them fall down over the wedge in back and further disguise the fact they are over three inches high.

Bethany goes to my closet and finds my black dress belt and has me feed it through the loops in the pants. Once I buckle it, you can’t really tell they are not guy’s pants, since the button is covered up. If you looked really hard, you might see that the zipper flap is backwards, but that is unlikely for anyone to do. The only other problem is that the back ‘pockets’ are way too small to really put anything in. Heck, the front pockets will barely hold a quarter.

Bethany smiles as I complain. She shrugs and says, “Girls use purses. So, sue us. We will figure something out... Now, let’s see… She goes back into my closet and takes out a polo shirt. She tells me to put it on, but not to tuck it in. I do and look in the mirror…and smile… I say, “This could work… You said you can fix my eyebrows, too?”

Bethany first cleans off the eyeshadow from my eyelids and the mascara from my lashes. Then she takes out some dark eyeshadow and a makeup brush, along with a brown eyebrow pencil and a stencil of some sort. She puts the stencil over my left eyebrow and fills it in with the pencil; then she repeats that on the right. She takes the brush and eyeshadow and works on each brow a bit. Finally, she is satisfied and says, “Take a look.”

I go back into my bathroom and flip on the light. My eyebrows do not look completely natural, they are still too neat, but they look MUCH better for a guy…and could pass as just having been professionally ‘cleaned up’ a bit… I go back in and hug Bethany. She then spends the next hour showing me how to do it…

When I feel confident enough that I can do that, I say, “Well, the only major thing left is this walk of mine. I can’t seem to NOT walk like a model. What do I do?” No matter what I do, as soon as I quit completely concentrating on walking ‘like a guy’, I revert to my new ‘natural’ style of walking like a super model on a catwalk runway. Bethany says, “I don’t know Landon…I guess people are just going to have to get over that…like your eyes… They may think you are a bit…girly…or gay. Maybe it will get better if we get you stretched back out with some yoga…”

Bethany is just packing up her stuff when Mom comes home. She gives me a funny look and asks, “What is going on, Honey? Why are you dressed like that? And what is up with your eyebrows?”

Lewis and Bethany leave and I spend the next half hour explaining to Mom what is going on. I show her my feet…and how I now can’t help but walk. I use a makeup remover cloth and show her my brows. She gets a little paler with each revelation. I don’t go into my suspicions of where the looks come from; and I couldn’t tell her why at any rate.

When I am done, she sighs and says, “Well, come on, Hon. Let’s go back to the mall. Bethany is on target with the clothes. We need to get you some more pants that you can wear. You will also need at least one more pair of shoes…”

I sigh and pile into the car with her after I fix my eyebrows back. I am not fond of going out in public, but I am going to have to get out at some point—Monday at the latest. We get out at the mall and Mom takes me into a women’s clothing store and picks out several pair of pants, in black and khaki. She also finds some in denim that will work. We go to the shoe department and she picks out some wedges with ‘camouflaged’ heels. She pays and we go into a men’s store where she gets me some more nice polos. Then we head back home.

On the way, she stops at a restaurant and we go in to eat supper. I feel like everyone is staring at me with every step I take, but, in reality, no one pays me the least attention—anymore than they had at the mall.

Now, if it will only work out so well at school on Monday…