Something Feels Strange…

“I’ll have to work on that idea,” is what comes out of my mouth as I start to remove the jeans. Still avoiding looking down or in the mirror.

Chapter 3:  Resignation

I trade the jeans for the skirt. Holding it up I am trying to figure out which way it goes. This skirt has a fly on the front and normal jean's pockets which solve my dilemma. Unzipping the fly, I step into the skirt and pull it up to my waist. After doing up the zipper and fastening the button I turn to look at the mirror to see the girl–sorry… me–looking back. The skirt seems a little loose in the waist but my wide hips keep it up. The skirt has belt loops so I guess that I could wear the belt with it if I want. The hem is right at knee level.

While Mom is doing an inspection Laurie shows up with about a dozen tops. Seeing me in the skirt, she offers her assessment.

“Mrs. Quinn, that is a nice skirt but don’t you think that it is a little long for a teenager?” Laurie asks cautiously.

“Laurie, it looks pretty nice as it is.  I don't know why you teenagers feel the need to show your entire leg to look nice.” Mom replies, as if she has heard this before. "I think that the more modest look will be easier for Chris at this point."

“I’m not thinking micro-mini, Mrs. Quinn, just something around mid thigh,” Laurie suggests.

I sense that a disagreement is brewing here and, yes, I have heard this one before. My older sister Tiffany–or Tiff to her friends & family–and our parents had it often when she was in high school. Most of the time the argument ended with the young one in tears and frustration on the face of the adults. I suspect that Tiff wears what she wants now that she is away at college where Mom and Dad don't need to know.

Marla and Mrs. Mercer show up and join the battle. The line is clearly drawn between the generations and little progress is being made. I can sense that the mothers are about to lay down the trump card so I decide to utilize their own strategy.

"Excuse me, ladies!" I shout to be heard. "Aren’t we on some kind of schedule here? How about we settle for an inch or two above the knee or longer and get on with things?"

The two teenagers look at me like I’m some kind of traitor while the mothers concede but aren’t entirely happy.

The denim skirt goes on the reject pile and we sort through the rest.

The modeling requests come thick and fast. The girl tries–sorry… I try–on over a dozen skirts before the assembled fashion consultants settle on three. One is a denim skirt but it is a little shorter than the first one–as a matter of fact the hem is a little more than 2 inches above the knee. The girls feel happy with their small victory. The mothers, however, seem to have won the war since the other two skirts are both longer. One, they tell me, is a 'tiered skirt' with four tiers of fabric with lace trim around the hem which ends about mid-calf.  It has a tie-dyed look that is darker at the top and becomes lighter as it progresses downward.  The color looks to be somewhere between blue and purple. The other skirt is a more formal 'full length'–extending down to shoe level–skirt and has a green floral pattern.

Sometime during the fashion show the group decides that a half slip is needed. I don’t really know why but my fashion consultants seem to think that it was obvious. I guess that there is plenty of time to understand why later–or so I’m told. An off white half slip that goes to my knee is produced from somewhere and added to the pile after being appropriately modeled.

While the skirts are being modeled I am directed to try on possible candidates for matching tops. About half of the chosen tops/blouses were eliminated by the mature women as being either too tight or too revealing–either at the top or bottom. There is some frustration in the younger set but they managed to get in a few of the too revealing items by adding camisoles or thin sweater like items to counter the concerns of the older women. I wonder to myself if arguments about bare midriffs could be termed 'navel warfare'! In the end half a dozen tops are added to the suitcases after Marla rings them up.

By the time we get through the skirts and tops I realize that brain central has not expressed any opinions or warnings about feel of the clothes or the larger questions for some time.  I guess that I've been kept too busy by my keepers to think about much. There has been little time to notice the strange feelings associated with the new clothes or time to ponder on the big questions like: Why are we here? How did I become a girl? How am I going to bring myself to accept the new anatomy?

There is only time to respond to the fast flying requests for modeling. I think that being busy has kept me distracted and has prevented a meltdown. I am pretty sure that the project manager understands this and is intentionally keeping me distracted.

That is good… I think.

Once we are through with the skirts we look at the slacks that Marla found. Many don’t fit quite right and are rejected. It seems that finding the perfect fit is harder for girls since they come in so many variations on the basic shape. There is a mini-crisis when the white Capri pants are modeled. Apparently you have to watch what you wear under thin white fabric. The leopard print of my bikini panties is rather obvious. Panty lines are also an issue to the fashion consultants. This kicks off another involved technical discussion that is beyond me. Marla reminds Mom that the thong is the best solution to avoid panty lines so it is agreed that some thongs will be added to the inventory.  In the interest of the tight schedule the decision is made to skip modeling the thongs–phew, thank goodness!

Marla is being kept busy at the cash register. I am beginning to wonder if the suitcases will hold everything but, I am told, it is not my problem right now.

Now it is time for the dresses. I think that Mrs. Mercer wants a baby daughter again or at least a girly girl daughter. The color pink and frills predominate her selections. Now I join the teen contingent in open rebellion though not with the same focus. If I have to wear dresses at least I don't need to look like Shirley Temple! I don't need some of the dresses selected by the younger girls either.

Marla has me try on a dress that barely covers anything private and we end up back in the skirt length argument with the same results as last time–thankfully. I feel pretty exposed in that dress. I don’t understand why the girls like them so short. I know why we guys like them so short–even the good boys can’t help getting a bit excited by short skirts, let's face it, short skirts get lots of attention from guys–which is a strong case for the new me to keep them a lot longer. I'm not ready to be lusted after. I may have switched teams but I haven't had time to assimilate the culture.  I haven't thought about boys from the feminine viewpoint and don't even want to go there until there is time to examine the issue in some depth. This is hardly the time to open that can particular of worms.

From the conversation swirling around me I gather that the girl needs dresses for casual events (school, hanging at the mall–not!–or the odd casual date–oh no!), semi formal events (like church, work or an outing to a concert or something like that), and formal occasions (serious dates and social events).The first dress we tried way back at the beginning of this adventure just about covers the semi-formal–or so I think, but then again what do I know? There is quite a division amongst the consultants about exactly what is really needed and for what. It is clear that dress shopping is the most difficult task of all.

In the end, they decide that maybe a go-to-church kind of dress and something casual–in addition to the first dress–will be sufficient until I (see… I can do it! I did not say ‘the girl’) develop my own style.  Apparently I don't need a full wardrobe for the immediate future. That thought sounds ominously like there more intense shopping in my near future.

After a fair amount of trial and error I (there, I said 'I' again) end up with what they call a burgundy colored ‘shirt dress' that stops just above the knee and a colorful dress that seems to have a fitted top with a skirt that flares out a bit before stopping a couple of inches below the knee. This one has ties for making a bow in the back. The shirt dress has a wide lapel collar and buttons all the way up the front. It comes with matching wide belt. A nice feature for me is the two front pockets on the hips.

While I am going through the final fitting of the colorful dress–the one with the bow–Mrs. Mercer and Laurie disappear for a while returning with about a dozen packages of hosiery. Each package consisting of a slightly different color or style. The sheer number of options is staggering. How do women keep all this straight?

Laurie opens a package and shakes out a pair of pantyhose. Brain central receives the visual signal and sends out the message that we are about to have a crisis again. There is just no way the pantyhose is going on without messing around in territory so far unexplored. While acceptance of this new body as my own has been growing over the last couple of hours I have not had to deal with the male taboo subject of female genitalia since the last pair of panties went on. This, my friend, will be extremely difficult to do.

I stand staring at her–not moving.

She starts smiling. The smile threatens to turn into a giggle.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“Well, let’s see,” she says putting a finger to her cheek and looking upward to the side mocking a contemplative look. “For the past few hours you have been trying on women’s clothes and you are currently standing in the middle of the Junior's section wearing a beautiful Sunday dress like you’ve done it all your life. Now when confronted with a bit of nylon you go into a panic. What’s the big deal?”

“Well, let’s see,” I mimic her. “For the past sixteen years or so it has been drilled into my head that certain intimate parts of the female anatomy are strictly off limits. I have been rigorously taught that I am not supposed to invade that privacy at any cost. Furthermore, I have been told, that rule will only change with marriage and only then with one woman when she is agreeable. Not to mention that every woman that I know would be extremely unhappy for me to be looking at their intimate apparel–particularly when they are wearing it. If I tried I would probably be beaten to death by the offended female and all her friends. I would be labeled as a pervert and become a social outcast. Now, here I am, getting a free view and feel of all the taboo areas on a very pretty young woman that I can’t quite accept as me. Could any of this be a problem?

“The act of putting on the panties and bra," I continue, "which we did earlier, was one of the hardest things that I have ever had to do. Not for what they are but for what they cover. Since then she has–or I have–been covered and when I look at her/me I see a pretty young girl appropriately dressed and I am not in danger of violating anyone’s personal privacy by looking upon her.

“Now, you want me to put on more intimate apparel. There is no way that I can do this without messing with the private areas of the pretty girl again. And I don't even know why all this is happening. Give me a break! I have some issues I've got to work through,” I pout.

For the first time since the group assembled there is absolute silence in the store. They all stare at me as if I’m not making any sense but they are trying to sort it out.  A feeling that I–by the way–have had for several hours now.

Finally the light seems to come on for my mother. She gives me a hug and says, “Chris, I’m so sorry. I know that this has been hard for you. It’s just that this kind of shopping is all so normal for the rest of us. Looking at you as you are now it is easy for us to forget that you haven't always been who you appear to be now.  Also, we know that you want to know what is going on and we'd love to tell you but, trust me, it is not in your best interest right now.  I wish that we could take it a little slower, but––”

“–we are running out of time,” I finish her sentence again with a sigh. I take the offending garment from Laurie and ask. “So… any advice on how to install this thing?”

My reluctant acceptance of the garment and associated situation brings smiles back to the assembled faces.

Marla comes to my aid this time. She gives me a little hug then takes the pantyhose from me and starts to gather up one of the legs. “Have a seat over there Chris,” she directs. “Now lift your right foot and let me put this on it.” She places the bunched up hosiery over my foot and starts to unfurl it up my leg; she stops when she gets to my knee.

“Try doing the same thing with the other leg," she gently directs. "The key is to gather it up then stretch it over your legs.  You don't want to pull it on like a pair of jeans because you destroy them if you do.”

“Don’t I have to take off my panties?” I ask.

“No. I suppose you can but most of us find it more comfortable to wear regular panties under our pantyhose," she explains. "You will find that wearing pantyhose is a pain after doing it for a while.” 

I proceed to do as directed, stretching the hosiery up the other leg. I get to the point where I need to stand to pull it higher. The skirt and slip get in the way and I go through some contortions to get them all the way up without catching the other clothing in the pantyhose. I am so busy managing all the fabric that I don’t notice my hands being in forbidden territory. The experience isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

There are grins all around so I look to see if I messed it up.

“Sweetheart, we are laughing with you not at you,” Mother explains. “We all have done that many times. Most of the time you will probably put the hose on first then the dress or skirt. At least you didn’t run the pantyhose. That is quite a feat for the first time!”

With the skirt back in place I look in the mirror again. The pantyhose does look nice. The feeling of the hosiery on my legs is a totally new sensation that gets added to the inbox for later analysis.  It's not an unpleasant feeling either.  But for now it is just another sensation for brain central to sort out when there is time.

“Yep,” Laurie says. “You’ll have to shave those legs. The pantyhose will feel even better when you have smooth legs."

Looking down, I see what she means. The leg hair appears out of place. As far as the sensation goes, I'm not sure how to deal it is now.  What will be different with smooth legs?  Something else to look forward to–sigh–I guess.

“Now that you have the pantyhose in place let’s start looking at shoes!” Mrs. Mercer bubbles. Laurie has told me that her mother has more shoes than anyone can imagine. She must really know her shoes and now you can tell that she is excited to put her expertise to use.

They drag me to the shoe department to begin the next phase. None of them have used a foot sizer before and neither have I. We find one and mess with it until we figure it out. It looks as if I might wear a women’s size eight shoe, so they start looking for a pair for me to try on for size.

"Jennifer," Mom says, "remember that we only need a couple of pair.  They need to fit in the suitcases too.  We really are running very short on time so we must keep it simple."

Mrs. Mercer pouts somewhat. You can tell that she'd like to go all out in this department.

“Speaking of time,” Mom says, “Chris needs an appropriate watch and some basic jewelry. Marla, you have access to the jewelry counter don’t you?”

“Yes, Mom," Marla replies enthusiastically, "Can I take Laurie with me? She has been around Chris enough lately to know what might work with her personality.”

“That would be great, honey. Just keep it simple. And inexpensive," Mom directs. "No real diamonds!” 

Happily, the two girls depart on their quest and Mom wanders to a nearby aisle to find some socks.

In the mean time Mrs. Mercer has come up with a couple of shoe options including a pair with pointy high heels. I’m not so excited about the heels, but she assures me that they are not ‘extreme’.

First, she has me try on some clunky looking shoes with thick soles and a big fat heel. I’ve seen shoes like this on girls before. I never could figure out why they would want such thick soles–I suppose they just want to be taller. Having lost 4 inches tonight, I guess that it would be nice to recover a couple. Mrs. Mercer says that the shoes will look good with some of my jeans and pants. Maybe even the denim skirt. She finds some socks in a box by the chair that we can use while trying on shoes and slip a pair over the nylons. That feels very strange.

The shoes are a bit ‘roomy’ all around. Looks like a seven and a half will be better. A quick check finds another pair in the new size. Yep–the seven and a half is a better choice. Walking in the clunky shoes is very different than in any shoe that I've had before. They look strange with this Sunday dress as well.

“Mrs. Mercer?" I ask. “Don’t I need something nicer for the good clothes?”

“Yes, darling," she replies. "This pair of pumps that will go well with that dress and the black dress like Laurie's as well as some of your nicer slacks.” She is referring to the high heels.

‘Pumps?’ What do I need a pump for?–I ask myself. I don’t plan on wading through any swamps or anything.

The shoes in question are decidedly feminine high-heeled shoes, similar to those Laurie is wearing tonight. They are black with a silver buckle for decoration, and have two to three inch heels on them. Pointy heels. Doesn’t this look fun? Not!

“Darling, you'll need to take the socks off for these,” she directs.

While the toes are not exactly pointed they do narrow a bit before ending in a squared off toe. This looks like a tight squeeze to me. It turns out that my foot fits in the shoe surprisingly well though the toes are somewhat constricted. The challenge is standing steady on them.

“Okay, I take it, Chris, that this is your first time in heels?” Mrs. Mercer says as more of a statement than a question. “Try walking more on the balls of your feet as if you are tip toeing."  I take a few steps.

"That’s good," she says. "Now just try walking around the aisle for a couple of minutes. I need to find something more casual for everyday use,”

“I’ll try, Mrs. Mercer," I respond. "Can we get some running shoes?" I hope I'm still able to run!

“Good idea, Chris," she replies, "maybe they can double as your casual shoes for now, but we really should get you some flats when we have more time.”

Mom heard my comment about running. She calls over from a couple aisles away, “How could I forget! I’ll grab some athletic socks while I am here. Remind me to get you some running shorts, a sports bra, and a top.”

I practice walking in the heels; I am more than a bit wobbly at first, but things get better as I implement Mrs. Mercer’s advice. I just don’t know about tip-toeing everywhere. It is also very hard on the arches and calves–not to mention the toes. At least walking in these shoes should be good for stretching my shins.

Mrs. Mercer comes back with some running shoes in the right size. They are white with pink trim–definitely a feminine version of running shoe. I slip the socks back on and I try on the running shoes. They feel alright so we quit shoe shopping with only three pair of shoes. It seems more than enough for me but Mrs. Mercer assures me that I’ll want a lot more as time goes on.

Mom comes by to show me the socks she has chosen before taking them to the sales register. She is holding nothing back. There are two pair of good old athletic socks in there–thank you!. The rest are nothing like the socks in my drawer at home. Mom's selected a variety of pastel colors–including pink. Most of the socks have hearts, little loving sayings, or ‘cute’ animals on them. A couple of pair will just barely clear the top of my running shoes. There are even a couple of pairs of knee socks–for those cool winter days she says–in the mix.

In case you are wondering, I think that brain central has totally abandoned me now. It has been a while since I've heard any alarm bells. Also, I don't sense any anxiety–mostly just resignation. More disturbingly, I am beginning to detect some active curious interest from brain central in the proceedings. This is very worrisome; even my control system is joining with the women!

I hope that we are about done. After all, what more can a girl need?

A silly question, as I soon discover.

Mom, apparently, has more on her list, “Come with me, Chris, while Jennifer takes the shoes and socks to the register.”

We head into an area filled with exercise clothes. It becomes very clear that this won’t be simple either. What is it with girls? Can't they make anything simple? This girl stuff is very complicated.

There are one piece suits that I discover are called leotards. They come in an infinite array of styles, colors, and patterns. There are sports bras, also in a dizzying array of shapes and colors. There are special leggings for purposes that I can’t imagine. Then there are the tights. Tights appear to basically be heavy duty pantyhose. And there is the special wicking underpants–oops! Panties–and don’t forget the headbands, wrist bands, spandex, shorts and running tops–why can’t they call them shirts like the other ‘team’? This section also stocks accessories such as water bottles, sunglasses, and the like.

It is a good thing that we are running out of time.

Mom spots the sports bras and picks out a couple of likely candidates and turns to me. Noticing that I am still in the church dress, she ponders the need to have me disrobe to try on the bras. That will take time. After a few moments I can tell by the look in her eyes that she has found a solution.

“Turn around, sweetheart, and let me unzip you," she directs. "We’ll just drop the top of the dress down so that you can try these on. These are hard to fit, so you have to try them on.”

We are about to go back into no man’s land–bare breasts. I am waiting for the panic signal from brain central but all I get is a interested go for it, that bra looks like it will be useful when you're running. What??? Something weird is going on with my mental facilities–almost like acceptance of the change. I wasn't expecting that.

Mom sees my hesitation but before she can say anything I turn around so that she can do the deed with the zipper. While she is at it, she unhooks the bra that I am wearing.

Without looking directly at my breasts, I manage to get the restrictive garment off. I hadn’t realized how restricting the bra is until it came off. There is a feeling of relief as my breasts are released.

Turning back to Mom she helps me struggle into one of the sports bras. Talk about restrictive! This one is like a tight straight jacket compared the bra I just removed. Mom tells me the extra restriction is on purpose–after all, you don’t want your breasts to bounce around too much when exercising. She tells me that prolonged bouncing can be painful. Fortunately she is sticking to basic white–she didn’t have to. There were lots of other options, but I think that she is catching on to the fact that basic is good for me right now.

As stated, the bra is very tight across the chest.  But this one downright hurts as it pinches my new anatomy so we try the next one.

“How is that, sweetheart?” she asks.

“Better, but still snug.” I reply.

“But does it hurt?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, “she says while fiddling with it a little, “I think a larger size will be too big right now. If your bust grows much more you’ll have to move up a size. I think that we will get this and a black one for now. Before putting your dress back up, let’s find you a couple of tops.”

She has a pretty good idea of my size by now so she flips through the racks asking me about a few that she finds. I reject the ones with sayings like ‘I run like a girl, just try to keep up’ and end up with a powder blue one with white trim and a bright yellow one. The blue one has the caption “I love running”. The other says “Gotta Run”. The phrases seem innocent enough. Too bad they are plastered across the bust bringing attention to my two new additions.

After removing the sports bra she has me put the 'normal' one back on by myself–for practice she says–then helps zip up the dress again.

Next come the shorts. She finds a matching running short for the powder blue top. I am able to slip that on under the skirt of the dress. I hold the dress up for inspection to ensure we get the right thing. Next is a black pair of shorts that passes muster as well.

“I wish we had time to find you a nice leotard,” she says wistfully, “but I guess that it is not essential right now. Let’s go find the others.”

We find them busy at the register packing the suitcases.

“Look at what we found!” Marla bubbles enthusiastically. She holds up a thin silver necklace with a heart shaped pendant. “It is on sale too. Every girl needs one of these.”

“I found this one for you,” Laurie says as she shows me a gold colored chain with a running shoe charm on it. “It reminds me of you.”

She put it around my neck and fastened the clasp. The charm settles in just above the top of my dress.

“I hope that this body can run like my old one,” I sigh hopefully.

They have also found a couple of ‘cute’ silver and gold colored bracelets that they slip on my arm.

Attitudes seem to be relaxing. I hope that this is a sign that we are nearly done–it has been a long night.

Marla is back at the register ringing up the latest purchases as the mothers pack the latest items in the suitcases. It looks as if it will be tight but maybe they will fit.

As the pressure drains away I suddenly find myself getting tired and lean against the counter putting my head on Laurie’s shoulder. Her arm goes around me–I feel protected.

Mom notices and her eyes open a bit wide in alarm.

“Time is very short, ladies. We must get Chris back into his pajamas NOW!” she orders.

Back into his pajamas? I am confused again. For hours now I have been her and now I am him?  I don't think that I can handle flipping back and forth like a ping pong ball. And what do my pajamas have to do with anything?

“What?” I ask unintelligently.

“Come, Chris darling, we need to get ready to go,” Laurie says as she leads me back to the dressing room to where my pajamas are.

Suddenly I am too tired to resist. Laurie and my mother help me out of the running shoes, socks, dress, pantyhose, bra, and bikini panties. The jewelry and barrette also come off.  Mom pulls my jockey shorts up my legs then–with Laurie’s help–gets my Sponge Bob pajamas on me.

As I fade away, the last thing I hear is Mom exclaiming, “We forgot to get some sleepwear!”

“And a swimsuit,” Laurie adds.

I hope that whatever they get won’t be too racy!

“And makeup,” Marla interjects from a distance.