Synopsis: 16 year old boy gets caught by his father while wearing his mother's clothes. This is a story about why he does the things he does and what happens to him as a result.

I had been caught in my mother's clothes before, but that had been years ago. I wasn't a curious little kid any more. I was a 16 year old boy. Doing it when I was young was bad enough, but this was so much worse. I had so much more to lose- my reputation, my image, my masculinity, and of course my self-respect.

Adding insult to injury, I'd been caught smoking my mother's cigarettes. Whether or not it mattered, it wasn't a whole cigarette. It was a long butt I'd found in ashtray.

The look in my father's eyes said it all. He was as ashamed of me as I was of my self. He told me to stay where I was and not to change. "Your mother needs to see this," he said.

I watched him as he turned his back on me and closed the door behind him. I was all alone in my parent's room.

Not that I should have been doing what I had done, but I wasn't supposed to get caught! I thought I'd have the house to my self for at least another three hours.

What would my mother say when she saw me in her nightgown with a bra full of my father's dirty socks? Would she tell my little brother? I prayed that she wouldn't. George had always looked up to me. I was his big brother. He'd never understand and he'd never forgive me.

I wondered what was keeping my mom so long. She should be here by now. What was she waiting for? Of course it probably hadn't been that long since my father left. It just felt that way.

I thought about who I was and what I had done. My name is John Butler and I'm not the kind of guy who dresses up in his mother's clothes- but of course I am that kind of guy. But no one else was supposed to know that.

I'm not a sissy, a fag, or a pervert. I'm not a virgin either. I've had sex with three different girls and I liked it. I play short-stop on my school's baseball team and I'm a starting corner-back for our varsity football team. I have lots of friends, but I won't have any friends at all if anyone else finds out about this. My life will be over. Its already over. I feel like I'm waiting to die. I want to die. I'm so ashamed.

I'm not the kind of guy who is supposed to do something like this but I do it all the time. I've been dressing up in my mother's clothes ever since I can remember. I was probably five or six when I started. It was as if I couldn't help myself because it was something I always wanted to do. And it felt so good, except for now. I've never felt worse than I do right now.

What am I going to say to my mother when she sees me like this? I think I hear her coming up the stairs. It won't be long now. The sound of her feet have stopped in front of the door. I hear her hand on the door knob. I can see the door starting to open.

My mother has stepped inside the room and she's looking at me. I look away. I can't look her in the eye. Please let me die. She closes the door behind her. Its just the two of us. I guess my father has had enough of me for one day, maybe even for the rest of his life.

I'm the first to speak. I tell my mom how sorry I am.

"Stand still and look at me honey. I want to see what you've done to your face."

I look up at her but she's blurry from my tears so I wipe them with my fingers.

"Your mascara is running," says my mother.

And so it is. My mascara is running. Of all the things she could have said, why that?

"Lets get you cleaned up," she said as she put her hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me toward the bathroom that she shares with my father. The tone of her voice was serious yet compassionate. I'm sure she was upset with me, but she didn't sound angry.

She put some cold cream on a cotton pad and wiped it against my face. "You can quit crying now," she said.

Why was she being so nice to me? I told her I was sorry.

"I'm sorry too," she said. "I didn't want for it to happen like this. I wanted to say something to you about it, but I didn't know how to bring it up. I knew you'd be embarrassed, so I pretended like it wasn't happening. I shouldn't have done that. I should have said something."

I wanted to deny her allegations with every fiber of my being, but I couldn't. It would be useless. She knew. My mother knew. "How long have you known," I asked?

Mom shrugged. "I've known about the clothes for years. It wasn't hard to tell. You don't put them away as well as I do. And then there's the stains. I know what dried sperm looks like. But I didn't know about the smoking. When did you start that?"

I shook my head, because I didn't want to talk about it. I knew in my heart that the smoking was just as bad if not worse than the dressing up. My parents had been very vocal about their opposition to my brother and I ever starting.

"Its okay honey. You can tell me. I'm not thrilled or happy about any of this, but I think we both need to be honest with each other. How long have you been smoking?"

"A couple years I guess."

"I see," said my mother. "Do you inhale?"

I nodded shamefully.

It was my mother's turn to cry, and so she did. Seeing her tears made me feel even worse about what I'd done. Telling her I was sorry was the only thing I could think of.

"How could you John? I thought you were smarter than that?"

She was right. I was smarter than that. But I had done it anyway, because I had my reasons, even though they'd never make sense to anyone other than myself. Again, I told her I was sorry.

"I don't get it," said my mother. "You've always been so good at sports. And none of your friends smoke, do they?"

I told her they didn't. My friends were all jocks. They'd never do something like that. But wasn't I a jock too?

"Do you think it makes you look tougher or cooler? You're already tough and cool."

"No Mom."

"Then why John? Tell me why!"

"Because it makes me feel pretty, like you," I said softly.

My mother was stunned. "Like me? You think I look pretty when I smoke?"

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and nodded.

"So are you saying this is about me," she asked?

I closed my eyes and said, "Yes."

"How is this about me?"

"Do we really have to talk about this," I asked?

"Yes we do John. I need to know and you have to tell me, so I'm going to ask you again. What do I have to do with your wearing my clothes and smoking?"

My sobbing quickened as I struggled for a way out of the mess I had made. She'd never understand. She'd think I was sick. If nothing else, she'd throw me out of the house. My mother deserved better than me and so did my father.

I wanted to run away but she was blocking the door. And there was nothing I could think of that could shed a positive light on what I'd done. I'd been caught smoking cigarettes and I'd been caught wearing my mother's nightgown.

"Are you going to tell me or are we going to stand here all day. Or perhaps you'd like for me to get your father and you can tell him."

Feeling trapped, I opened my mouth, hoping against hope that a lie would come out and that my mother would believe it. She'd look relieved because it wouldn't be as bad as she thought. But I couldn't lie.

I felt as if I was watching a train wreck in progress as I heard the words come out of my mouth. "I did it because I love you and I want to be just like you. I was pretending to be you when Dad found me."

"Oh John," said my mother as she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me tight so that her real breasts were mashed up against my fake ones. "I didn't know you felt that way. I'm not sure what I thought, but I never thought this. I still don't understand, but you need to know that I love you honey. I love you more than anything in the world, and I promise you that we'll get through this."

Neither of us said anything for the next minute or so as she rocked me back and forth in her loving embrace. I felt the wetness of her tears against my neck as she rubbed my back with her hand. "Its going to be okay," she said. "You'll see honey. I promise."

I felt her hand slip away and she took a step back so that she was looking at me. "I think you should get changed now. I'll wait for you in the bedroom and we can talk some more." She kissed me on the cheek and closed the door, leaving me to dress alone in her bathroom.

Despite the lack of anger in her voice, I felt horrible about myself as I changed back in to my clothes. I had told her things I hadn't meant to say, regardless of how true they were. I felt as if I had betrayed my manhood and everything else about myself.

As I put on my shoes, I wondered if there was anything I could do or say that could repair the damage I'd done to my reputation. I knew that whatever I'd said to her and whatever I would say to her would be relayed back to my father. He'd seen what I'd done and one of us would have to explain it to him.

I understood my life had changed in ways I had yet to comprehend as I opened the bathroom door. I felt fear and anxiety for my future in addition to the overwhelming shame that came with getting caught.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed smoking a cigarette and she patted the mattress with her hand. "Come sit by me," she said.

My feet felt like mush as I trudged the distance to the bed and sat down beside her.

"I really needed a cigarette," she said as she handed me her leather cigarette case. "I imagine you need one too."

I blushed as my fingers touched the soft brown leather case. Did she really expect me to smoke a cigarette in front of her after everything that just had happened? Didn't she know how bad I felt and how ashamed I was? I told her I couldn't.

"Its okay John. You can have one. I know you need it and it will help you calm down."

"I'm so sorry Mom," I said as I removed a long white menthol cigarette from the pack of Virginia Slims tucked inside the case. "I promise I'll quit. This is my last one. I swear. And I'll stop wearing your clothes too."

"Its okay honey. We can talk about quitting things later, but right now, I want talk about what you said in the bathroom, about your wanting to be like me. Did you mean what you said? Do you really want to be a woman?"

The bluntness of her question took me by surprise. Did she really expect me to give her a yes or no answer? How could I say yes? But then again, how could I say no?

She smoothed my hair with her fingers and said, "If you're worried about what your father might think, then don't be. It's not as bad as you think. He already knew about the clothes. He just didn't know you were smoking. Neither of us did and I admit it came as a shock. But after what you said in the bathroom about wanting to be like me…, well I think I understand now. You and I are a lot a like, I just didn't realize it until now."

She put her hand on my thigh and said, "When I was a young girl, I felt the same about my mother as you feel about me. I just didn't recognize it until now because you're a boy. I thought wearing my clothes was some kind of phase, and maybe it is, but then again, maybe it isn't. What do you think John? Is this a phase, or do you really want to be a woman like me?"

The room began to spin as I replayed her question in my head. Did I want to be a woman? Did I want to be like her? I looked down at the smoldering cigarette between my fingers. The smoke curled upwards as it slowly dissipated into nothingness. I could hear myself breathing as I thought of how to answer her question. Did I want to be like her? I'd thought about it all my life. But how could I say yes?

"Its okay sweetie. You can tell me the truth- either way."

I lifted the cigarette to my lips and drew hard on the filter. I felt the cool mentholated smoke as it traveled down my lungs and I watched as it exited my mouth. "I don't know Mom. But I think about it all the time and I've thought about it for as long as I can remember."

"So are you telling me you've always wanted to be a girl?"

I shook my head no. "Its not like that," I said. "I don't want to be a girl. I want to be a older than that."

"How much older," asked my mother?

I told her I didn't know and asked how old she was.

"I'm 45," she said.

"Then I want to be 45 too."

"But you're only 16," said my mother, "and you're a boy."

"I knowt. But when I think about it in my head, I'm a grown woman like you. So if you're 45 then I'm 45."

My mother bit her lip and sighed. "When you said you think about it in your head, do you mean you're fantasize about it?"

"Fantasizing is a good word for it," I said.

"Sometimes we fantasize about things that seem good at the time, but we really wouldn't want them to happen in real life."

"I know what you mean, but how come I don't fantasize about anything else? Its always about being like you. Its all I ever think about."

"I'm not saying its wrong to want to be like me," said my mother. "As a matter of fact, I'm very flattered. I'm just trying to understand how important this is to you. And at the same time, I want you to understand the reality of my life. My life isn't all fun and games and the grass isn't necessarily greener on the other side of the fence."

"I know that."

"Do you really?"

"Aren't you happy being you," I asked?

"I'm very happy sweetheart. I love my life, but that doesn't mean I think its perfect. But while we're on the subject of good lives, I always thought you had a pretty good life, and I don't understand why you'd want to throw it away or trade it for mine. Why are you in such a hurry to grow up?"

"I know what I feel but its hard to put in words."

"So try it any way," said my mother as she took the spent cigarette from my fingers and put it out in the ashtray. "From what I've heard so far, I don't think there's going to be any right or wrong answer. But I need to know why you feel the way you do."

"Okay," I said as I closed my eyes. "I'll give it a shot, but don't expect it to make any sense."

"Don't worry about whether or not it makes sense to me. I want to know why it makes sense to you."

"Its not that I don't have a good life, but I don't like being a kid. And I'd trade my life for your life any day."

My mother interrupted me. "But John, you won't always be a kid. Everyone grows up. You'll grow up too."

"But I don't want to wait. I know that doesn't make sense and I told you it wouldn't, but that's the truth. I've felt this way my whole life."

"You know honey," said my mother, "being an adult comes with a lot of responsibilities."

"I know it does, but I'd take all those responsibilities in a heart beat if it meant I could be a woman like you."

"So what would you do if I waved my magic wand and turned you into a 45 year old woman like me? You don't have a high school diploma. How would you support your self?"

I told her I wasn't lazy. "I'd get a job. Maybe I could be a waitress."

"But you're so smart John. And you could do so much more with your life than work as a waitress. Don't you want to go to college and make something of your self? And I'm not saying you couldn't make something out of yourself as a woman. I'm just talking about going to college and getting a good job, one you'd be proud of. I know you fantasize about being a woman. But what kind of job do you dream about having some day?"

I shook my head and sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," said my mother as she lit another cigarette and handed me her case.

"I want to be a mom and a house wife like you," I said as I removed a cigarette from my mother's case and lit it. "I think that would be the best job in the world," I said as I exhaled. "And I want it now. I don't want to wait until I'm older. And its not like I'm going to grow up and turn into a woman anyway. That's why I just dream about it."

"And act it out in my clothes when you have the house to your self?"

I nodded shamefully.

"So if you want to be a house wife like me, does that mean you want to be married to a man- like me?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm not gay. I like girls."

"Okay," said my mom. "But when you fantasize about being a house wife like me, do you also fantasize about being married to a man. That's the best way to have children, you know. And you did say you want to be a mom."

"Its not the same thing. Its like you said about fantasizing about things that you never really mean to come true."

"So you do fantasize about being married to a man," asked my mother?

My confession was frustrated and angry. "Yes! But not like you're saying. When I think about being married, we don't' have sex or anything."

"I'm sorry," said my mother. "I didn't mean to upset you. But its important that you realize that it doesn't matter to me if you like men or women. Being gay won't make me love you any less. And the same goes for your father."

I didn't want to talk about being gay or being straight any more so I acknowledged her with a nod and took a puff from my cigarette.

"So what else do you think you'd like about a being a grown woman," she asked?

I shook my head and stared at the cigarette between my fingers.

She followed my gaze and asked, "Does smoking have anything to do with it?"

"Kind of," I said.

"Not that I want you to smoke, its a terrible habit. But your father smokes and since you're going to do it any way, why not smoke like him?"

"I hate Marlboros. They're ugly and they taste gross."

"If you like menthol, I could buy you a pack of Salems. They're all white like mine and they taste about the same."

"That's okay. I like yours."

"But mine are women's cigarettes," said my mother.

"I know that."

"So does that mean you want to smoke like a woman," she asked knowingly?

I nodded yes and wiped away a tear as a warm chill reverberated across my body.

"I'm starting to get the idea that you think its sexy and glamourous when I smoke. I thought the same thing when I was your age. But now that I'm older, I know better. Its a real addiction- just like drugs. Your father and I are both addicted. We couldn't quit if we wanted to, and believe me, we do, but we can't. Do you really want to be addicted like us?"

I took a puff from my cigarette and considered the cool menthol taste and all the things I liked about it. "I know I like it and I know I want to keep doing it, so I don't see what's so bad about being addicted to something I love to do."

"Spoken like a true smoker," said my mother sadly. "And for what it's worth, you do have a very feminine way of handling your cigarette. I suppose you learned that by watching me."

I nodded that I had. "I've watched you a lot," I said.

"You should have paid more attention when I was putting on my make-up. Have you ever painted your nails?"

"No."

"But you'd like to, wouldn't you?"

"Well yeah, I guess. Sure."

"So what do you think we should do about this?"

"I don't know. Punish me, I guess."

"How do you think I should punish you?"

"I don't know, but it really doesn't matter. I feel like my whole life is over anyway."

"Don't talk like that," said my mother. "Your life isn't over, not by a long shot. You have your whole life in front of you. Today is just a hiccup and it will be over before you know it."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"I appreciate you talking to me the way you did. I know it was hard for you to be honest with me."

"Like I said, it really doesn't matter any more. I'm glad I told you."

"I need to talk to your father about this."

"Are you going to tell him everything I said?"

"Do you want me to?"

"I shook my head. "Don't you think I've been embarrassed enough already? Telling Dad isn't going to make things better. Even if you don't say anything, he's never going to look at me the same way again."

"And maybe that's a good thing."

"I don't think its ever a good thing to find out your son is a sissy."

"I promise you that I'll give it a lot of thought before I talk to him. Do you want to go down stairs with me?"

"No," I said. "Can I just go to my room?"

"What about dinner?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You can't stay in your room for the rest of your life John."

"Just for tonight."

"Okay honey," said my mother as she pushed her self off the bed. "But just so you know, this isn't the end of the world. So don't do anything you'll regret."

"I already regret everything."

My mother sighed, "Well still…don't do anything stupid. I know it seems bad now but it won't seem nearly as bad tomorrow or the day after that. You'll see," she said as she kissed me on the cheek. "I love you. Let me know if you get hungry. Okay?"

"Okay," I said as I got up off the bed and followed her out of the room. She touched my hand as we parted ways. She went downstairs and I went to my room.

****

I laid down on my bed and looked at the alarm clock. It was only a quarter past four. Despite what I'd told my mother, I was hungry, but I'd rather starve to death than face my father.

My room lacked a television but I probably wouldn't have watched it if I did have one. My thoughts were scattered and unfocused. I couldn't concentrate on anything other than my troubles.

I told myself that it could have been worse. My mother could have screamed and yelled at me. She could have called me names and said that she hated me. But she didn't. She was a lot nicer than she needed to be. I felt undeserving of the kindness she had showed me.

With my head against the pillow, I stared at the ceiling and made mental forecasts for my life. I felt my life was over, but in some ways it was only half over. I had destroyed my reputation as far as my parents were concerned. But on the bright side, none of my friends or coaches knew what I'd done and I didn't think my parents would tell them.

I thought about George. Would my parents tell him what I'd done? I didn't think they would. But if they were looking to punish me by humiliating me, then they might. And if they did tell George, would he tell his friends, and would they tell their friends? Could it all get back to my friends? Oh God, I hoped not.

The good thing was that next week was the last week of school. If I could get through next week then maybe I could make it though the summer without anyone else finding out.

I made up my mind right then and there that I'd stop every thing. I'd never smoke another cigarette and I'd never wear my mother's clothes again. I'd put my feminine days behind me and never look back.

But what about my mother? I'd spilled my guts to her. Could she overlook the things I said? And what exactly had I told her?

My stomach began to cramp as I recalled our conversation. I'd told her everything! How could I? She had asked me if this was some kind of phase I was going though. I'd messed up when I told her I didn't think it was. But if she brought it up again I could tell her it was a phase. And I could tell her that I'd never do anything like this again.

I decided that as long as I didn't starve to death in my room that I'd be able to get through the night. Unfortunately this was only Saturday and my dad would be home all day on Sunday. Tomorrow would suck but Monday might be better, since Dad always left for work before I got downstairs. All I have to do is to make it through tomorrow, I thought.

*****

I woke up early on Sunday morning. At first I tried to convince myself that yesterday didn't happen, but I knew it had.

I got up out of bed and took a shower before going downstairs to face my destiny.

I found my parents in the kitchen smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. George was still in bed. They each said good morning to me and I returned their greetings. This is it, I thought. Its just the three of us. I decided to wait for them to say something first.

My mother asked if I was hungry. I told her I was but that I'd make it myself. I don't usually make my own breakfast but I was glad to work three minutes or so off the clock. Three minutes making breakfast was better than three minutes of facing my father.

Either one of them or both of them could have said something to me while they were eating, but they didn't and the silence was deafening- or was that the guilt I was feeling?

"Is it okay if I go out and take a walk after breakfast," I asked?

"Where are you planning on going," asked my mother?

Before I could answer her, my father suggested I was probably going off to the woods to sneak cigarettes.

My mother scolded him and reminded him to behave the way he'd promised to do. And then she turned her attention back to me and asked me again about where I planned to go.

I told her I had changed my mind and that I was going back to my room.

"Okay honey. I'll check on you later," she said.

I finished my cereal and put the bowl in the sink before retreating upstairs.

I felt like shit. My dad wasn't going to let this go, not that I expected him too. I don't know what I expected, but then again, I supposed it could be worse. Regardless of the way I felt, I knew I was getting off easy by hiding out in my room. Maybe my dad would leave the house by the time lunch rolled around.

I'd been laying on my bed staring at the ceiling for about an hour when I heard a knock on my door. It was my mother asking if she could come in. I sat up and watched her walk in with three large paper shopping bags from different stores.

"I decided to do a little spring cleaning in my closets and thought you might like these," said my mother as she deposited the bags on the bed.

My heart sunk because I had a pretty good idea about the contents of the bags. I watched as my mother pulled a nightgown from one of them. It was the same gown I'd been caught in the day before.

"You don't have to this Mom."

"Its okay dear. I want too."

I told her about the promise I'd made to myself about never wearing her clothes again. I told her that I had thought about it and had decided that I had been going through a phase and it was all behind me now.

My mother smiled and sighed. "I don't know what to call it, but since you've been doing it for more than ten years, I think its safe to say its not a phase. The same goes for your smoking," she said as she dug an old leather cigarette case from one of the bags. "I don't use it any more, but its still very nice. Don't you think?"

Before I could answer her, she produced an ashtray and a pack of Virginia Slims menthols from the bag. "There's a lighter in the case," she said. "I tried it and it works."

My eyes began to moisten and I felt a lump rise in my throat as my mother tore the wrapper from the cigarette pack and stuffed it inside the leather case. I begged and pleaded for her to stop. I told her that I didn't want any of the things she was giving me.

"We both know that's not true honey," said my mother as she pulled some panties and bras from the bag. "I'll put these in your underwear drawer," she said.

She talked to me as she pulled garment after garment out of the bags. There were slacks and blouses, skirts and slips. There were even a couple pairs of sandals. I pleaded with her to take the clothes back as she hung them in my closet and placed them in my drawers.

"Why are you giving me these when I told you I don't want them?" I cried.

"I can give you several reasons," she said as she turned and faced me with her hands on her hips. "For starters, you can think of this as your punishment. After all, when were talking yesterday, you did say that you deserved to be punished."

I asked her how long I had to keep the stuff.

"All summer," she said. "But you have do more than keep them. You have to wear them. For what its worth, this is your father's idea, but I agree with it and I support it, even though my reasons are different than his. When I told him what you said about being a woman, he said we should give you what you asked for."

I began crying as the horror of the reality she described sank in. She said I'd have to dress like a woman for the rest of the summer! It was the worst punishment in the world. And it could only get worse because someone was bound to find out. How would I be able to hide something like this?

My mother reacted to my pain by sitting down and putting her arm around my shoulders. "I know this is supposed to be your punishment. Your father thinks that after you get your fill of being forced to live as a woman, you'll get it out of your system and never want to do it again. The same goes for the smoking. Neither of us think you'll quit smoking or stop dressing on your own. I know you say you will, but saying it and doing it are two different things. If you want to really quit doing these things then you'll want to quit for yourself and not because we told you to."

I tried to understand my parent's reasoning. Perhaps it was some kind of reverse psychology. Whatever it was, I didn't like it and I didn't want to do it. Too many things could go wrong. And besides that, it was just disgusting! I couldn't let anyone see me smoking or dressed like a woman. It was too humiliating.

"You need to know I'm not mad at you," said my mother. This wasn't my idea but I support it 100% because I think the experience will be good for you. Your father thinks that after this summer is over you'll never look at a woman's dress again or pick up a cigarette. I'm not so sure about that. I'd be happy if that were the case because I want you to live a happy and normal life. But that's the important part. I really do want you to live a happy and normal life. And if it includes dresses and cigarettes, then so be it."

I took a deep breath and held back the tears long enough to make one final stand. I told her that she and my father didn't have to do this because I had learned my lesson.

"But your father thinks you haven't," said my mother. "And this is the lesson he's come up with and I do agree with him that it's a good lesson. To him this is just punishment, but for me, its a chance to show you what being a woman is all about. I don't necessarily think you'll like it but I do think you'll appreciate it. I'm glad you love me and look up to me as some kind of role model, but my life isn't as wonderful as you think it is. Nobody's life is perfect- not your father's and not your own. We have to play the cards we've been dealt. But you didn't like your cards, so your father dealt you some different ones. For better or worse, these are the cards you'll have to play, at least for the summer."

I buried my face into her shoulders and cried as she rubbed the back of my head.

"Of course you'll need more than I could pack in these bags," she said. "I need to buy you a pair of breast forms and a wig. You can go with me if you want."

I told her I didn't want to go and added that I didn't want a wig or breast forms.

"You can stay here if you like, but I'm still going to get them because you'll need them. Otherwise, you'll have to go the summer looking like a boy in a dress. You don't want that do you?"

I understood what she was saying. Cooperating with my punishment was the best way to conceal it from the world. I asked her what I should do about my friends.

My mother told me that I had a week left of school and that I should use that week to let my friends know that I wouldn't be in town this summer.

"But what if they see me," I asked?

"We'll say you're my sister. I thought we could call you Joan."

"So I don't have to dress like a girl when I'm at school?"

"Of course not," said my mother! "Your father may be punishing you, but he's not trying to ruin your life. He's hoping that after this summer, you'll stop smoking and go back to school as if nothing ever happened."

"What about George," I asked?

"We already told him. We had to honey. Its not as if you could hide it from him. Besides the two of you live in the same house, and you'll be wearing women's clothes around the house- starting today."

"And the cigarettes? You told him about that too," I asked?

My mother nodded. "Its like I told you. He knows everything and we've made him promise not to tell his friends or anyone else."

I asked my mother what George said when they told him.

She smiled and nodded her head. "He actually thinks its rather funny. We told him that he's to call you Aunt Joan until school starts back in the fall."

I asked my mother if there were any other rules about the punishment that I should know about."

"The rules for you are the same as for any other adult woman. But…your father did say that he wants you to get a job this summer. He doesn't want you hiding in the house."

"I usually cut yards over the summer," I said.

My mother laughed and said, "Middle aged women don't cut yards honey. You said yesterday that you could get a job as a waitress so I thought I'd talk to my friend Doris about letting you work at her diner. We haven't talked yet, but I'm sure she'd be good with it. You know how she's always talking about needing extra help."

Doris was Doris Wagner and she was one of my mother's best friends. Truth be told, she was the reason I had talked about being a waitress, and not because I really wanted to be a waitress, but because I kind of had a crush on her. Doris was more than just a waitress. She was the owner of the diner and had bought it 10 years earlier from the man she used to work for.

I liked Doris a lot, but I didn't want her to know. After all, it wasn't like she was going to forget about it after school started. I asked my mother if there wasn't some other job I could do.

"Nope," said my mother as she pushed her self off the bed and kissed me on the cheek. "You need a job and Doris needs the help and I can't think of a better way, unless of course you want to tell someone else the truth. Anyone else would ask for a driver's license and a social security number. And then you'd have to explain why you look like a woman but you're really a boy."

"I guess you're right," I said.

"Of course I am. And now for the next thing. I know you've already taken a shower this morning but I need for you to do it again while I go out shopping for you. But this time shave your legs and under your arms. You'll also want to shave your face. I know its just peach fuzz, but it will show through your make-up."

And that was that. My mom went off to buy me a pair of breast forms and a wig and I went back to the shower.

Was I happy about the turn of events? Absolutely not! Was I excited by it? Strangely, yes.

I thought about my situation long and hard as I shaved my legs in the shower. I thought about obvious things such as, would the hair on my legs grow back before school started? I thought about George and my father. Would they ever look at me the same way again? I thought about my mother and Doris. Oh my God, I thought. I'm going to be a woman like my mother and Doris! My penis stiffened at the thought.

Its funny because I would have given three months of my allowance to have a dream like this. But to have the dream come true was more of a nightmare. What a mess, I thought as I walked my hairless legs back to my bedroom.

It had been about 20 minutes or so since my mom had left to go shopping. I didn't know when she'd be back but I obviously had some time on my hands. After locking the door behind me, I put on the nightgown my mother had given me and picked up the leather cigarette case.

I understood that this would be as good of a time as any quit smoking, but then I remembered what I'd heard my mother say when she talked about. She always said there's never a good time to quit smoking. I guess that's why the phrase popped in my head. I was thinking about her after all.

I walked over to my dresser and stood in front of the mirror so that I could watch myself light a cigarette. I looked like a 16 year old boy wearing his mother's nightgown and smoking a cigarette. But I felt like a woman! I felt like my mom, but the reality of who and what I was stayed with me.

As I watched myself smoke in the mirror, I thought about my love/hate relationship with cigarettes. John Butler- that's me, is the last guy in the world who would ever take up smoking. The truth is that I hate it, so how could I have both a loving and a hateful relationship with something I hated?

I'm a good athlete and athletes aren't supposed to smoke for obvious reasons. Smoking slows an athlete down. I'm also a kid and kids aren't supposed to smoke. I hate it when I see kids smoking. It's like they're trying to be cool or older than they are. I especially hate it when I see teenage boys smoking. Boys look like wimpy faggy freaks when they smoke and I want to kick their asses.

I don't like to see grown men smoke either and I wish my dad would quit. When I see a man smoke, I think he looks weak and I don't have any appreciation for weakness, because I'm tougher than that. I can forgive a man for smoking though, because I know he made a mistake and he's just living with it the the best way he can.

Girls are different story though. Whenever I see a teenage girl smoking, I can empathize with her, because I think I know how she feels. A young girl that smokes is trying to be a woman, and I understand a lot about trying to be a woman.

I realize my thought process is completely illogical when it comes to women and smoking, but I can't help the way I think because I've always thought that way. I know my mother is an addict just like my father but it seems different to me.

My mother is so many wonderful things to me when she smokes. She's beautiful, sexy, and charming. She's strong, confident, and powerful.

I looked down at the leather cigarette case in my hand and considered the paradox it presented. Cigarettes are a drug and most addicts aren't proud of their addiction. I've never seen a heroin user sport a fashionable leather case for his needles. And I've never seen a heroin addict hold his needle gracefully while he smiles as if he doesn't have a care in the world. I've never seen a heroin addict shoot up in public. But all of those things held true for women with their lovely cigarette cases.

As a teenage boy, my cigarette habit was embarrassing and something to be ashamed of. But as an adult woman, it was something I was proud of. And now I was a Virginia Slim smoker just like my mom. I felt proud and ashamed at the same time.

I took a puff from my menthol cigarette and exhaled into the mirror as I pinched my nipples against the silky fabric of the nightgown I was wearing. Look at me, I thought. I'm smoking like a woman!

I thought again about my situation. I hadn't asked for this but it was something I had to do. My mother was out buying me breast forms and a wig. There was no way in the world that I was going to get out of living as a woman for the summer and working at the diner for Doris. My parents didn't tell me that I had to smoke. As a matter of fact, I knew they'd be thrilled if I didn't. But they had given me their permission. More than that, they had given me their permission to smoke like a woman.

I put out the cigarette in my ashtray and prayed that I'd be able to quit by the time school rolled around in the fall.

I was going through the clothes my mother had given me when I heard her voice and a knock at the door. "I'm back," she said.

I opened the door and she walked in with two bags in her hand.

"I got them," she said. "The breasts are a little on the large side, but since you're supposed to be my sister, I figured they were appropriate. And the wig is the same color as my hair."

She told me to get dressed and said she wanted to help me with my make-up. "You'll need to wear make-up every day after school. And when summer vacation starts, we'll do something about those eyebrows of yours. We're going to have to shape them if you expect to pass as a woman. And speaking of passing as a woman, you're probably going to need some professional help if you want to look as old as me, which is crazy if you ask me, because I'd give anything to look as young as you."

I asked her what I should wear.

"Don't ask me," said my mom. "Put on your woman hat and figure it out for yourself." And with that she flopped the shortish brown wig over my head. "We'll pin it back after we put on your make-up."

Knowing that George and my dad would be seeing me, I intentionally chose something a little more unisex, although there's nothing really unisex about a pair of women's tan slacks and a white billowy blouse.

"You have nice taste," said my mother as she herded me to her bedroom bathroom.

Despite what my mother said about waiting until summer to shape my brows. She couldn't resist taking a pair of tweezers to them. To her credit, it wasn't much and I was fairly certain I'd be able to get away with it at school the next day, but the thing of it was that it did make a big difference on how I looked after my mom finished with the make-up.

"I'm going to paint your nails," she said. "So be sure to use the nail polish remover before you go to bed. And of course you'll need to take your make-up off. You'll break out if you don't and as far as your nails go, I'm sure you won't want your friends to see them."

She lit a cigarette and took a comb to my wig. "Do you think you'll be able to put on your make-up by your self tomorrow after school," she asked?

I told her I didn't know but that I'd try.

"Well except for your shoes, I'd say you're done. What do you think?"

I was speechless and in total awe as I stared at my reflection.

"Well don't just sit there Joan. Say something. What do you think," asked my mom?

"I look beautiful Mom…and so much older too! Do you mind?" I asked as I picked up my leather cigarette case.

"Of course not honey, but you don't have to ask for my permission. As far as your father and I are concerned, you're a grown woman for the next three months. Speaking of being grown-up, you'll need to start calling your father and I by our first names since we're telling everyone that you're my sister. So Aunt Joan, are you ready to go downstairs and meet your brother-in-law and your nephew?

********

I helped my mother make lunch, not because I wanted to, but because it kept me from having to look directly at my father and brother. My mother talked to them as she and I prepared the meal. For lack of better words, my mother re-explained the rules to them, which included no laughing and no telling.

"I know this is a big change for everyone," she said as she put the tray of lunch meat on the table. "But we're going to do this right and we're all going to make the best of it, and hopefully John will learn something from it."

"Can I call him John when its just us," asked George?

"No," said my mother. "It will be easier if we all stick to Joan. Otherwise we might risk a slip and we wouldn't want that."

George grinned at me and said, "So you're my aunt now. Cool!"

Cool indeed, I thought. But it wasn't cool. I was dressed like a woman in front of my family having lunch with them. There was nothing cool about that. It was downright humiliating!

Whenever I looked across the table at my father, I noticed that he was doing his best not to look at me. In some ways that made me feel better, because I was spared from his look of disappointment, but in other ways it made me feel worse because it was an indication of just how far I'd fallen from his grace.

"I think its going to be nice having another woman around the house," my mother chirped. "It kind of evens the odds. Now two against two."

"Yeah," said George. Its even teams now."

"This isn't a game or a competition," said my father sternly. "This is a punishment."

"It is," said my mother, "but that doesn't mean we can't make the most out of it."

******

I've never looked forward to going to school before, but Monday morning was a blessing. My name is John Butler, I thought as I pulled up my pants, and I'm a boy.
My friends knew nothing about my weekend and I wasn't going to tell them.

My last week of school was spent watching movies in the class rooms and signing year books.

When I got home from school, I'd change into a skirt and become Aunt Joan. When I talked to my friends on the phone, I made up excuses as to why I couldn't go out with them.

Living dual lives was stressful but I was on the verge of paring it down to one.

My mother told me she had talked to Doris about my working as a waitress for her over the summer. She said Doris was looking forward to it.

Everything had been set in motion. I'd even told my friends that I wouldn't be around over the summer. I made up a lie about getting a job on a shrimp boat in Alabama. It was a stupid lie, but it was the best thing I could come up with and I'd just seen the movie, "Forrest Gump".

I felt overwhelmed as I rode the bus home for the last time. I understood my final hour of manhood was upon me and that it was slipping away. But I couldn't understand how I felt about it. I should have been depressed, but I wasn't. I was actually excited and I found that very disturbing.

My dad thought he was punishing me by making me live as a woman over the summer.

It was a punishment, but it was something else too.

In the past, dressing as a woman had always been a choice. But it wouldn't be a choice this summer. It would be mandatory starting today.

I had been responsible for getting myself into this situation, and I felt guilty about that. But I wasn't responsible any more. My parents were telling me I had to live my summer as a woman. They were the ones who were responsible now, and thinking of it that way lessened the guilt. No doubt I'd still feel embarrassed and humiliated about it, but I wouldn't have to feel guilty about it any more and that in it self was a big relief.

I thought about the other alternative as I walked up the driveway. Perhaps my parents weren't serious about making me live as a woman for the summer. Maybe they had been trying to scare me by making me do it after school for a week.

My mom was sitting in the living room reading a book when I walked in. After asking me about my last day of school, she told me about our plans for tomorrow.

"I'm taking you to the salon," she said. They'll shape your eyebrows, style your wig, and help you with your make-up. And when they're done, you and I will look like sisters."

My name is John Butler, but you can call me Joan, at least for the summer.