It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri starts living as a girl.

Chapter Seven: First Steps

What a day!

The daughters-in-law have finally all gone home to their families and Samantha and I are home staring at a pile of shopping bags in my bedroom.

It turned out that I wear a pair of panties about as good as any still-waiting-to-bloom twelve year old girl. My little male appendage did stick a tiny amount, destroying the image. Debbie’s idea of using a control brief was a good idea, so we bought several pair. Helen thought that what I really needed was a size too small nylon/spandex panty to hold things tucked back. That worked too. We added a dozen pair in various colors and styles to my inventory. Chances are they’ll be too big in a couple of weeks, but they weren’t that expensive. Several of pairs of tights in various colors were also added to the inventory—being winter, I’m told that they are nice to have. We got a couple of pairs of girl’s jeans which fit a little snugly in places which would hurt on a guy. The latest trend seems to favor elaborate sparkly embroidery on the back pockets so, of course, that’s what we got. There will be no confusing me with a boy in these jeans. They show off my slightly rounded bottom quite well.

We bought half a dozen tops in various preteen girl styles. I drew the line on tops with girly phrases or other decorations on the front. I don’t want to get uber girly here. I think it is best for those around me that I ease into this. I’m still thinking about what my “style” will be, but I’m pretty sure that uber girly is not it. I’ll probably have to try a few styles before settling on something.

It was decided by the group that I need to have a dress or skirt for church tomorrow. I must have tried on several dozen options before there was general agreement on a final choice. As spring is approaching, we went with a sundress with a long sleeved T-shirt like top under it for modesty and warmth. I have to admit that wearing a dress for real as a girl is a strange thing. None of my closet cross dressing episodes with Aileen’s skirts over the years really prepared me for this. For the first time, dresses look right on me—it’ll still take some time to get used to them. I’m not particularly beautiful, but at least I don’t look like a guy in a dress. And I won’t continue to look like a girl wearing her big brother’s clothes. I look like a typical flat-chested, late blooming early teen girl. They had me get a couple of training bras as apparently girls that age are in a hurry to develop and often start padding things while they wait for the real thing to appear.

Of course we had to buy shoes as well. All my old ones are too big, even those we bought a month ago. Given that I’m still shrinking, we kept it conservative with a pair of trainers and a nice pair of dress shoes with a one inch heal. They also had me purchase some feminine socks to wear with them.

Nightwear was also on the agenda. Debbie is the most girlish of the bunch and wanted to get me in a night gown. While inwardly I smiled at the idea, the rest strongly recommended a flannel bottom and camisole combination popular with teen girls these days. They seem to be worried that I’ll rebel if pushed too hard too fast to be a girl. In keeping with my cover, I buy a whole flannel pajama set and a camisole “just in case.”

The hair salon experience was better than stories you hear. The hardest part was deciding what to do with my hair. There’s not a lot you can do with short full hair. As I expressed a desire to grow it out longer, it was decided by the committee (after extensive conversation and after consulting many style magazines) that a simple part down the middle with a layered look would be best for now since it will grow out nicely. It is definitely a girl’s haircut. The staff at the salon did a fantastic job on the cut. The girls picked out a few barrettes for me and showed me various ways of pinning my hair back and/or up for different looks and occasions.

In payment to the girls, I offered to cover their costs if they wanted to use the services of the salon. Debbie and Samantha took me up on it, getting their rather long hair trimmed and styled. I later paid for clothing items for Helen and Amanda—after all, I’m far from broke. Unlike many preteen girls I have a steady income greater than what their parents normally earn. It’s nice to do something special for each of them.

Now, Samantha and I are sorting and storing my new clothes.

“I guess we can box these up,” Samantha says, waving at the small assortment of relatively new male attire taking up a small portion of the closet space. “And the stuff in the drawers too.”

Due to her ruthless cleaning strategy, my closets and drawers are virtually empty already. The only things we keep are those special items of Aileen’s that I saved during the first purge. Those items are now all too big for me and have been relegated to the back of the closet.

Adding my new items to the closet and drawers doesn’t do much for relieving the emptiness.

“It still looks like I’m living out of a suitcase,” I comment when we’re done.

“That’s a good way to put it,“ Samantha agrees. “Living out of a suitcase on your road to disappearing.”

“I don’t know about disappearing,” I reply. “My calculations show that the way things are going, the height and weight curves should level out somewhere around the size of a five year old girl in about three years’ time.”

“That should be wonderful,” she snorts. “I could become your mother. I’m not ready to be a mother.”

I agree with her about her preparedness to be a mother. While she’s made great strides these past six months, she is still not really ready for that great responsibility.

“Well, you’ve got about two and a half years to work on it,” I tell her. “Most women only get nine months’ notice.”

“I think that I’ll just turn you over to one of your daughters-in-law,” she retorts.

“Ah,” I smile at her, “I doubt that. What did your mother say? Something like you are supposed to help me through these changes? I think that means that you’re to stick this out with me.”

“I’m doing my best,” she earnestly replies.

“I know, sweetheart,” I reassure her giving her a hug, “I’m really impressed with what you’ve accomplished so far. I don’t think that I could have adjusted so well without you. You have been my rock through these changes.”

“You’re adjusting just fine,” she observes. “It’s kind of scary actually. I would have been distraught if something like this happened to me. How can you deal with this?”

“As we both know,” I answer her, “It is in the Lord’s hands. I believe this is happening in response to that angelic visitation. There is no other explanation. So if this is what God wants for me, then he must have a reason for it.”

I’m still holding back about admitting my life-long burden to anyone. As I ponder this, I get a strong impression that now is the time to broach the subject with Samantha.

“Samantha, sweetheart,” I begin, “can you keep a confidence?”

She looks at me enquiringly. “That’s weird. I just got tingly all over and received the impression that what you’re about to tell me is true and should be kept private. So, I guess the answer to your question is: yes.”

I am grateful for the divine assistance. It would be hard to convince her otherwise.

“Well,” I begin with a deep breath, “I’ve always felt that I should have been born female. I’ve tried hard, however, to live the life I’ve been given. I’ve tried to be the best son, brother, husband, and father that I could be but I have always wished with all my heart that I could have been a daughter, sister, wife, and mother. I’m afraid that this longing may have interfered with my efforts to be a good man.”

I start to get some tears in my eyes recalling the struggle. I really did, and still do, want to do what’s right in the sight of God.

Samantha gives me an affectionate hug—something which is out of character for the old Samantha. “You’ve been great. You were nicer to Mom and the rest of us than most fathers are to their wives and children. I always looked up to you as a sensitive caring man. You have been very manly and a good father in ways that few men of my acquaintance have been. I’ve never met another man like you and I’ve always felt blessed that you were my father.”

This does bring tears to my eyes. I never knew that she felt that way.

“I did notice, however, that you watched a lot of girls and women over the years,” she continued. “I thought that you might have a wandering eye but you never seemed lecherous. Most women and girls that I know felt comfortable and at ease in your presence. More so than they are with other men. It always struck me as being odd. How did you come to be married then? Weren’t you attracted to men if you were a girl inside?”

“I had a male body with male hormones,” I point out. “It’s funny, but while I wanted to be a girl and often wondered with sex would be like as the wife, I never saw a man who attracted me. I just couldn’t fathom being with a male as a male. I did, and still do, love your mother with all my heart. I just wish that we could have traded roles.

“And about watching other females, after getting through teenage and early adult years and after settling down with your mother, I don’t think that I ever looked at them as sexual attractions. Your mother was very good at satisfying that part of my life. I would, however, watch them to see if I could figure out what life was like for them and what it would have been like for me if I had been born the way I wished I had. I was very envious of them—often thinking that they probably don’t appreciate how lucky they are.”

“Lucky!” She snorts in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I like being a girl—men are pigs—but have you noticed how poorly women have it? We have to really work at getting respect. There’s still a lot of macho crap out there. Being a woman has not been easy at any time in history.”

“You’re right in a lot of ways,” I agree, “but I’ve notice a few things over the years that might balance that.”

“Oh yeah,” she challenges me, “name a few.”

“Okay,” I begin, “there is my observation that most women do not tend to have the macho pride issues that men do and, consequently, tend to be more effective at getting things done than men. I suspect this is because they have to work harder at it. They generally get the job done when it needs to be done and much more thoroughly than most men. The competent women that I have worked with have almost always raised the standard for performance.

“Also, most successful strong women tend to be more empathetic than men. They are more likely to reach out to someone in need. They make great mentors. They don’t let macho pride stand in the way. This is why you see women flocking to what is perceived as people serving professions like medicine and law. They often are more interested in helping someone personally than in the bottom line. This makes our society a better place. Look at you, for example, once you started to get past the ‘what’s in it for me’ attitude, you started to find ways to make a difference in people’s lives without thought for profit. Remember when you got interested in dance therapy as a way to help troubled souls? There was no money in that but you didn’t care—you just wanted to help people.”

“Well,” she responds with a little disgust in her voice, “look where I am now—in corporate America helping to make the owners of my company rich.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” I admit, “but maybe what you are doing is helping people to understand the current social issues by delivering accurate images and news. If people don’t know what’s going on, they can’t make informed decisions which will help them to live better lives. What your company does is important to our community, even if it does make a few people rich.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Let’s look at it this way,” I try again. “What would happen to the community if your news company, or one like it, didn’t exist? How would people know about what’s happening in government? What about knowing what weather is likely to happen over the next few days?”

“I see your point,” she grudgingly admits. “Our company does fill a need, but being male or female is irrelevant in that case.”

“Is it now?” I ask. “Don’t you think that it’s good to have both a ‘male’ and a ‘female’ perspective on things? Also, in your case where you have yet to have input into what is said, don’t you think that an employee who is there to do their part for the community—as opposed to one who solely wants a paycheck—is more likely to help the organization be effective in serving the community? Which employee will get the most satisfaction? The female perspective tends to have the broader view. I’d be more inclined to hire a sincere woman than a career minded man any day.”

“Not everyone shares that view,” she points out. “But I see what you are saying. It sounds as if you think that being a woman is superior to being a man.”

“I could list a few more points in favor of women,” I continue, “but, as a man, I can also point out some of their faults. It’s not that one is better than the other; it’s just that they are both wired slightly different. Personally I think that men and women complement each other nicely. Each couple finds way to supplement each other if they are to be successful as a team. How they do it is up to them, but I think that people are generally happier when they have a companion at their side and with whom they’ve worked out a mutually agreeable way to work together, amplifying each other’s strengths.”

“You and Mom got better at that over the years,” She observes.

“It seems to takes a lifetime,” I respond.

“Speaking of mother,” Samantha observes, “She was very happy when she came to me. She said that good things were happening for her. I’m wondering how that could be as you will become a woman and she will be without you in heaven.”

“There’s another dream I had,” I tell her, “that I’ve only ever told your mother. I think that it will shed light on that.

“A couple of years after we married, we were still struggling to find that complementary balance. One night I had a very vivid dream. In the dream I had died and was on the other side. Your mother had died first so I was looking around anxiously for her. After a time, I saw her walking towards me hand in hand with a very handsome looking man. She was radiant. She was happier than I have ever seen her. Kind of like what you described to me from your visit with her.

“When she got to me, she threw her arms around me and gave me a great hug. Standing back she put her arm around this man and held him close. His arm was possessively around her shoulders and he had a very serene smile on his face. He didn’t say a thing.

“Your mother did speak to me, however. She said ‘Thank you so much for our life together, Jerry. I can’t tell me how much I appreciate it. You were a good man, but I am not yours. Your mission was to prepare me to be worthy of this great man.’ With that they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes and the vision faded away.

“I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. I wondered if it was a warning of what I’d lose if I didn’t live my life the way I should. I worked hard the rest of my life to make sure that losing her was not due to my own unrighteousness or inattention to her.“

“So now, you think that she’s met her true companion and you’re free to become the girl you should have been,” Samantha speculates. “Doesn’t that hurt a little?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking and praying about this the past few months,” I tell her. “I believe that I’ve gotten confirmation of what you say. I get the impression that we’ll still be the best of friends—or at least I hope so. While she has found her true love, now—when the time is right—I will need to seek for the man who I can love forever. Yes, I will miss being with her, but I have faith that there are other great things in store which will make up for the loss.”

“So that means that you think this shrinking business will cease and you’ll grow as a girl?” She asks.

“Yes,” I confidently reply, “I do. I just don’t know when the changes will be finished or how old I’ll be when they do. It seems clear that I’m going to have to be a teenager again. I’m not really looking forward to that. Hopefully my sixty years of being a man will keep me from making foolish schoolgirl mistakes.”

“So,” She grins at me, “you don’t think that you are going to be a boy crazy teenage girl like the rest of us?”

“I don’t know,” as I give her a playful shove, “I know a lot more about boys than any of you ever did so they aren’t that mysterious. After all, I was a Scoutmaster for lots of years so I got to know how young men operate. And before you ask, I’ll remind you that I was never sexually attracted to boys or men.”

“We’ll see what happens when you go through female puberty,” she smirks. “Oh yeah, I can’t wait until you have your first period. I think that every guy should have to go through that once or twice. Hormonal swings can do a number on you.”

“At least I’ll have you here to guide me through it.” I smile at her.

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t think that I’m cut out to act as the substitute mother of a hormonal teenager.”

“You’ll do fine,” I tell her. “After all, your mother and I survived it when you went through that stage.”

“Just so you know,” I conclude, “I am not happy to be becoming a girl because of any perceived advantages. I am happy because I am finally becoming who I have always wanted to be regardless of the advantages or disadvantages. I feel at peace becoming a girl”

“Well,” she smiles at me, “welcome to the sorority. I hope that it is everything you are hoping for.”

After an affectionate hug (something very unlike the old Samantha) we finish putting everything away and watch one of Aileen’s old romantic films. I’ve always enjoyed them and it is great to see Samantha start to loosen up and enjoy them as well.

It has been a great day and evening. My first day living as I have wanted all these years—as a girl.

To Be Continued...