Would she berate me and expose my charade? Would she throw us out? Had I failed Mom after shepherding my sisters all this way?
Mrs. Nelson continued, "I know your concerns. We've discussed this and have made a decision … if you agree to our idea of course. It's a five hour drive from here to her place. We’ll take you there and if she doesn't want you or you decide you don't like her, we'd be delighted to have you live here with us. Our children are married and live in California. We hadn’t realized how lonely we were until you three came into our lives. You've made us feel needed and useful. We mean exactly what I've said." Tears were trickling down her face and Mr. Nelson's eyes were damp.
To say we were stunned is putting it mildly. My mind raced furiously. If Grandma was unbalanced how would she feel about having her only grandson show up pretending to be a girl? Would she simply laugh and throw us out or could I explain why I was dressed as a girl? If she did throw us out, how could I tell the Nelsons that I was a boy after all they'd done for us? Especially with all the compliments I’d received for my apparent femininity. They'd probably think I was sick or something and turn us over to the juvenile authorities. What would the authorities think of a boy masquerading as a girl? These thoughts swam about in my mind … one in focus after another … but none ever going away. The confusion, doubt, and conflict must have been evident upon my face.
"Are you all right, Krista?" Mrs. Nelson was leaning toward me looking worried.
"Uh … yeah, I … I'm all right. This is all just a little too much to believe after all we've been through," I responded, quickly snapping out of my fears. Thinking of what would be best for the girls … accepting my fate … whatever it was to be … I added, "I just never expected such an offer. There's so much to consider … but I want to do what's best for my sisters." I swallowed and forced out the next sentence with a weak forced smile. "We'd be delighted to accept your offer." I hoped I hadn't sealed my fate, but the girls reaction … jumping up and down and hugging me and each other … assured me I'd made the best decision.
The smile on the Nelsons' faces told me they were pleased, too.
The rest of the day was spent preparing for our trip. Mrs. Nelson had us once more try on the clothes we’d taken from the attic to make sure they fit properly. It turned into a mini fashion show. I managed to hide my embarrassment at prancing about modeling dresses and skirts, and begrudgingly had to admit it was fun. By the time we were done we each had several suitcases filled with soft pretty lingerie, shoes, socks, skirts, blouses, and dresses. The twins were delighted since we each now had small but complete prissy feminine wardrobes. Naturally, I was less than thrilled to see all the prissy clothes that were to be mine. I can tell you I would've given almost anything for at least one pair of pants, but there were none.
I spent a restless night imagining all sorts of horrible outcomes for the upcoming events. The twins awoke refreshed and eager. I was scared and tired to the point of not being able to think clearly. My sisters realized my bewilderment and guided me through our preparations. After showering and washing and drying our hair, we returned to the bedroom. I did what they told me to do, and put on whatever they gave me in a zombie-like fashion. I felt as if I were outside my body watching as a boy assumed the image of a girl. I trembled as I slid the soft pink nylon white lace edged panties up my slender, smooth, boyishly hairless legs. The lone sentinel of my manhood was compressed, hidden, and caressed by the silken garment. I allowed the girls to slip the matching pink lace nylon padded training bra onto my prepubescent boyish hairless chest. My nipples actually grew hard under the firm but gentle embrace of this bit of feminine garb. A matching pink lace slip was lowered enticingly over my shivering body. The lace hem ended mid-thigh and tickled my upper legs maddeningly whenever I moved. I wondered how I'd be able to withstand this constant assault upon my defenseless boyish body.
My consternation must have shown as Teri smiled smugly, "What's the matter, Krista, are you starting to like wearing these pretty clothes and dressing as a girl? Lyndi and I both love dressing up like this, and we're both glad you're our sister now. Now you can understand what we girls have to go through."
Both girls giggled and hugged me. My embarrassed confusion was evident as her words sank in. I knew they weren't insulting me. I realized I'd been quite tough on them … driving them on towards our goal … until now … when I found myself in skirts. Since then I'd softened considerably. I was much more compassionate. They really did want me to be their sister.
I pondered their words as they sat me at the dresser. Teri slipped pink lace-topped anklets onto my feet and neatly rolled the tops down to show-off the delicate lace. Then she slipped a pair of white patent-leather Mary-Jane strap shoes into place. Next, she took my hands to trim and lacquer my nails with a light pink gloss. At the same time Lyndi brushed my long blond hair. She brushed a small bit forward over my face. Then taking a scissors, she carefully trimmed the long locks to create bangs that ended about half an inch above my naturally thin brows. She gathered the rest of my silken tresses into a by now familiar ponytail in the rear on the top of my head. She tied a pink satin ribbon into a perky bow to hold the bouncy ponytail in place. They had me stand as they slipped a pink nylon short-sleeved dress over my lingerie. It was a layered dress, the top a transparent light pink nylon that revealed the daintier pink satin underdress. The hem saucily stopped three inches above my knees.
They stood me before the full-length mirror while they hurriedly dressed. I just stood there staring at my reflection. I was terrified! In the mirror I saw was a totally feminine cute preteen girl! Her sleek shapely legs were nicely accented by the shoes and lacy socks. The short flaring skirt of the dress as it swayed gently about her firm thighs saucily amplified her every minute movement. The gentle swelling of her pert breasts was accentuated by the snug fit of the underdress about her torso. Her face was so beautiful make-up wasn't needed. Her open-eyed innocence was totally beguiling with its virginal purity. The light freckles sprinkled across her nose were set off by the blond bangs of her silken hair. Her golden-maned ponytail seemed to be emerging like a fountain from the large pink satin bow atop her head with the loose tresses cascading behind her. She seemed to be radiating the very essence of blossoming girlhood. Then as I watched her expression slowly changed from one of slightly stunned confusion to one of smiling delight. I realized I was smiling at my reflection! I really felt guilty for liking what I saw … but I couldn't help it.
The twins bounced up beside me, one grasping each arm. In the mirror I saw three lovely girls. The two on the outside were obviously twins, and slightly younger versions of their pretty sister standing between them. They giggled at my discomfort and I had to join them, giggling at my own mixed feelings of guilt and simultaneous delight.
As we walked arm in arm to breakfast, I blushed as I thrilled to each tender caress and reminder to my sensitized body by the feminine finery I wore. I rationalized the sickness had weakened me, the bubble bath, the bed rest in that soft bedroom, and the compliments about my apparent girlishness had made me highly receptive to the softness and femininity of my apparel. I felt extremely guilty for enjoying the clothes. My masculinity was waging an all out war with my more logical mind as to what I wore … and losing. I wondered how I could love and hate something so intensely at the same time. The result of this inner turmoil was that I allowed myself to be swept along by the events happening around me while maintaining my secret as the Nelsons assumed my awkwardness and hesitation was due to my tomboyishness.
I sat between my sisters in the back seat of the 2006 Expedition as we began the trip to Grandma's house. The girls giggled at the way I was constantly trying to tug my short skirt down to my knees. They were also constantly touching me: smoothing my skirt, holding my hand, hugging me, or occasionally adjusting the ribbon perched atop my long ponytail. Their actions kept me constantly and totally aware of what I wore and made me feel like I actually was a girl!
Because of their constant attentions, I was unsuccessful as I tried to think of a way to explain my predicament to Grandma without getting her upset or letting the Nelsons know of my deception. I came up with and discarded hundreds of ideas. The hilly country side of central New Jersey quickly gave way to the flatness of the southern coastal area. The girls and I both enjoyed spying the many inlets and bays and the numerous boats dotting the waterways. After an hour and half we reached the southern tip of New Jersey. I told the Nelson’s it would probably have taken us six days to walk the eighty miles we’d driven. They just looked at us in disbelief at the casualness and confidence of my declaration.
We arrived in Cape May, New Jersey where the signs indicated we were heading for the Cape May-Lewes Ferry. Now we had seen ferries about Cape Cod, but we were unprepared for the massiveness of the ship that sat at the dock. We’d seen a ferry for one car. We’d seen a ferry for six cars. But the Cape May-Lewes ferry held at least a hundred cars! We sat in stunned amazement as we drove onto the huge ship and parked. Mr. and Mrs. Nelson were smiling as they ushered us out of the car and up onto the passenger levels. We’d never been on a ship this size before. There were seats and benches, and even a snack bar and souvenir stand!
Once we were underway we could feel the gentle sway of the ship as it steamed across the waves. The Nelsons led us outside where seagulls were flying about, and even hovering to catch bits of food people tossed to them. While we watched, Mr. Nelson stepped inside for a few moments and returned with some snacks. As we dug in he told us it was okay for us to share with seagulls, which we did. We then made our way to the bow and luxuriated in the fresh salty air as it blew in our faces. We could see several ocean going ships and numerous smaller vessels sailing about the Delaware bay. The bright sunny day and balmy summer breeze lulled me into a wistful remembrance of my past boisterous rollicking boyhood days … which I feared might now forever be over. At first my already shaken sense of boyishness felt uneasy as the wind teasingly fluttered my skirt about my legs but that quickly passed as I began to revel in the delightful girlish sensations. Unfortunately I was snapped back to the present by a playful gust of wind.
My sisters and Mrs. Nelson reacted from experience, foiling the wind's dastardly effort to flip their skirts. But the devilish breeze was about to be rewarded by what it did to me. In that one moment I learned that anyone who wears either a dress or a skirt cannot afford to ignore the often devilish wind. The breeze that had been playfully tossing my skirt impishly swirled about my exposed legs testing my immature girlish abilities just as it had done with countless other girls. With a fluttering swish my lace edged slip daintily hidden beneath my pretty skirts billowed and rippled for an instant. I felt the unfamiliar sudden coolness of the wind flitting beneath my skirts.
At first, the gentle flitter of nylon and lace caused a most pleasantly disturbing tickling sensation on my thighs. This made me feel fragile and vulnerable … once more driving home the scope of my petticoated predicament. While I noticed the other's unconscious repositioning of hands … the reason for it … to hold down their skirts … did not register in my befuddled still mostly masculine mind. The frolicsome wind seemed to realize it had an opportunity with my innocent girlishness to play its oft sought and usually denied trick. With an impetuous swirl, the mischievous zephyr darted beneath my skirt, momentarily puffing it up like a balloon.
As my skirt rose, terror filled my quivering heart as I realized what was about to happen. A squeal that was embarrassingly girlish escaped my lips as I hastily tried to capture my errant fluttering skirt. Alerted by my utterance, others instantly realized what was happening and looked in time to see the wind have its way with me. Like that famous scene from one of Marilyn Monroe's movies, my skirts fluttered and gaily danced above my waist revealing my dainty panties.
It seemed to take forever before I was able to regain control of my errant skirt to restore my girlish modesty. In reality, the humiliating ordeal only lasted two or three seconds. Guiltily I looked about to see if anyone had seen my faux-pas.
For me to publicly expose my dainty lingerie was, I suspect, a symbolic sweet revenge for all the times boys attempted and sometimes succeeded in flipping a girl’s skirt. Teri and Lyndi were almost choking as they struggled to control the urge to burst out in laughter. I suppose for them to see me so outmaneuvered and humbled was hilarious. The twins placed their hands over their mouths to hide their giggles. Yet they too had experienced the same thing as I, and understood that the mortifying experience would help crush what little remained of my stubborn boyish pride. But most humiliating for me were two boisterous grade school boys who stood nearby and had seen everything.
"Nice panties," one called out as he pointed and laughed. "How about showing us again?"
"I wish I had a video camera," exclaimed the other as he chuckled heartily. "I'd show all the guys what prissy girls wear under their dresses!"
I wished the deck would open and swallow me. While it was absolutely terrible to be so humiliated before the girls and Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, it was altogether loathsome to have my debacle witnessed by two loudmouthed younger boys. Knowing boys, I had no doubt that before too long other boys would be regaled with the gory details of the lusty tale of how a prissy girl had her undies exposed by the wind. But even worse was my helpless inability to do anything about the dire occurrence. For the first time in my life I was totally impotent to seek a means of salving my tarnished honor. The only thing that was remotely comforting was that the boys had not recognized that I was really a boy. They thought I was a real girl … but was that really any consolation? How competent had I been as a boy if I was so easily transformed into a believable girl?
Tears of frustration and helplessness began to trickle down my rosy cheeks. Never before had I realized how terrible it was for a girl to have her undies exposed. To catch a glimpse of a girl's undies was one of the few ways a boy could satisfy his curiosity about the mysteries of the fairer sex without risking being labeled as a sissy. Often in the past I had watched girls on a windy day in the hopes that one would be careless enough to let the wind flip her skirt. On dares, I had even attempted to flip up a girl's skirt and in fact, all too often had succeeded in completing the dastardly deed. The truth was that I had taken great pride in my ability to expose a girl's undies. Back then it had seemed like fun and was a source of empowerment for my boyhood, and served as proof of my boyish prowess. It was also indicative of my burgeoning interest in girls.
Now that the skirt was about the other waist … to paraphrase a well used old saying … now that I was the girl being victimized … those here-to-fore honorific macho deeds and thoughts seemed out of place and abhorrent. I wished I could undo all the misery I had caused girls by my crude boyish efforts to spy a girl's undies. I felt an urge to warn all boys how horrible it felt to have one's undies exposed.
This singular event more than anything else that had occurred on this momentous day, drove home the point of just how different my life could be from this day forward. Unable to handle the dichotomy of my plight I helplessly looked to Mrs. Nelson for succor. She reached out for me as I burst into tears and flung myself into her comforting arms.
While they could not help giggling, Teri and Lyndi felt instantaneous compassion for me. They understood I was delving deeply into the uncharted waters of girlhood. They decided to do all they could to make my transition comfortable. Mr. Nelson tried his best to be discreet and led my sisters towards the stern while Mrs. Nelson ushered me back inside the passenger lounge until I regained my composure.
As we took a seat I buried my face in Mrs. Nelson’s embrace and sobbed quietly. Not only was I crying about the humiliation of my skirt flipping up to expose my panties, I was crying about the apparent loss of my boyhood. I had always been such a stoic and hardy boy, staunchly resisting anything that might even remotely make me appear to be a sissy. The death of my mother 32 days earlier had forced me to change.
Mother’s last request sent me on this quest to get my sisters and myself to Grandmother’s home. In order to complete this odyssey I’d been forced to steadily compromise my masculine principles. Each time, the circumstances goaded me into allowing myself to appear to be a girl in order to get what we needed to continue our odyssey. The problem was that our circumstances never gave me a chance to return to being the boy I’d been before all this began. Each time I’d been forced deeper and deeper into unwanted girlhood.
Now I was in a dress. But even more disturbing to my shaken boyhood was that I was starting to like being a girl! In a few hours I’d be at our destination … we’d be at Grandma’s home. How would she take my deception? I had no answer to that or any other questions my girlish masquerade engendered since my still weakened physical condition still befuddled my thoughts.
Mrs. Nelson and I rejoined her husband and my sisters at the railing before the voyage ended. By then I had once more … not by choice but by circumstance … assumed the guise of a demure pretty preteen girl. As far as my sisters and I were concerned, although for different reasons, the 70 minute 17 mile voyage across Delaware Bay ended way too soon. They loved being out on the water as much as mother had, but they were also anxious to meet Grandma and explore their new home. I had been hoping to be able to work out my gender identity problems before we arrived at what I hoped would be our new home. Yet all my efforts to resolve my dilemma had been thwarted by girlishness.
The traffic thinned out quickly once we made our way out of Lewes, Delaware. A 65 mile, 75 minute drive led us to Easton, the county seat of Talbot County where we made our last rest stop. As we bordered the car for the last leg of our odyssey, Mr. Nelson gave us each detailed maps of Talbot County.
“We’ll take it easy on this last leg so you can keep track of where we’re heading so you can get a head start on knowing the area,” he explained. “Try to relax, Krista,” he added. “I’m sure your grandmother will take you in once she sets her eyes on you three.”
“We have to think positively,” Mrs. Nelson added. “Besides, if she somehow decides she doesn’t want you, you’ll have a home with us.”
“That’s right,” Mr. Nelson agreed. “Even if you come back with us, at least you’ll know a lot more about the area where your mother grew up.”
“Thank you,” I answered. “You don’t know how much we appreciate all you’ve done for us.”
We followed Maryland SR 33 for about ten miles around the Miles River onto the Bay Hundred Peninsula which jutted into the Chesapeake Bay and through its largest town, the quaint town of St. Michaels. The land was fairly flat, with a lot of forested patches only a few feet above the level of the many rivers, creeks, bays and coves. Why they called these huge bodies of water creeks was a mystery to me. Some were over a mile wide at points, and very slow moving. Nearly everywhere we looked we could see open water where there were docks and boats.
The peninsula extended north from St Michaels, then dipped south, spreading into two narrow fingers. The westernmost finger bordered the Chesapeake Bay while both projected into the Choptank River. About two miles past St Michaels, we turned left off SR 33 onto SR 579 headed down the inner peninsular finger. The east side was bordered by Harris Creek, while Broad Creek ran along the western side. At places, the creeks were less than a quarter mile apart.
After a bit over 3 miles we passed through a village called Bozman, and the land widened, spreading into several smaller peninsulas. Continuing south for about a mile the land narrowed again to about a half mile width. Another mile onward, the land again spread, and about a mile north of the village of Neavitt and the tip of this finger of the peninsula, we turned left off of SR 579 onto a road going through a forest. A sign there declared that Wells Point Road was a dead end. After about a hundred yards the northern woods gave way to open fields with a view of Leadenham Creek, a tributary of Broad Creek.
The road skirted the northern fringe of the forest for about three quarters of a mile before once more being engulfed by trees on both sides. In about a quarter mile the southern forest opened into fields beyond which we could see Johns Cove and Balls Creek as well as several farms and houses. The forest gave way to fields as we continued onward. To the south the fields extended onto a small peninsula named Locust Neck. This small area was bounded by Johns Cove, Balls Creek, Broad Creek, and Steves Cove. About three quarters of a mile further on the road passed through a north-south patch of woodland as the mini peninsula we were on narrowed to a quarter mile wide. Steve’s Cove cut into the land from the south while Bromwell Cove came down from the north.
Upon exiting the hundred yard wide band of forest there was a small farm straddling the road … our destination.
According to the map there was a swampy area north of Steves Cove that ended at the orchard. The farm filled the end of Wells Point Peninsula. Patches of forest covered about a third of the land, most of the rest was farmland. I was confident fantastic views of the peaceful local waters would be everywhere. The farm was cut off from the base of the peninsula by the band of trees we’d just passed through. Starting in the southwest, a bit over a half mile of coastline bordered Steves Cove. The land curled east at Piney Point, the southernmost point of the farm. Three quarters of a mile of coastline ran in a northeast direction from Piney Point before going almost due north for a half mile, all of which bordered Broad Creek . The land then curled sharply west at Meetinghouse Point, although there was no meetinghouse there. From there, Leadenham Creek bordered the land on the north. The coastline headed southwest almost paralleling the southern northeast coastline, with about half a mile of land between them for about half a mile. the land ran almost due west with a slight northern bump into Bromwell Cove. Just across Bromwell Cove jutted the last of the farm, a hundred yard wide by three hundred yard long mostly forested mini peninsula ending at Fishing Point
I’d been so busy I never resolved my gender dilemma before we reached Grandma’s farm. I almost panicked as we stopped in front of a two and a half story brick farmhouse on the north side of the road. Although the paint on the windows and porch was peeling, the house looked quite sturdy. Across the road was a barn that had once been painted a bright red, and two big round silos. The house was right next to the wooded area we’d just passed through. Pine trees on the edge of the wood would serve as a windbreak from the chilly west winds blowing off the Chesapeake. To the south of the barn was an overgrown but fruit-laden orchard. It was obvious that while a bit run down, at one time the farm had been well maintained. With a little work it could be warm and inviting.
Due to the quiet solitude of the area the sound of the vehicle on the road had announced our arrival. A severe looking woman with a trouble worn face stepped out of the house onto the porch. My sisters and I gasped in shock as we saw through the worry lines that she was an older version of our mother. Mr. Nelson exited the car and greeted the woman while Mrs. Nelson ushered us out and straightened our dresses and ribbons. My stomach was churning madly as Mrs. Nelson swished my skirt to loosen any wrinkles. The car served to hide us, and the soft conversation on the porch was inaudible. Lyndi and Teri looked at their grandmother across the hood of the car, while I did my best to look at the ground. Seeing my skirts sway girlishly in the gentle breeze only drove home the fact that here I was, about to meet my grandmother for the first time … a boy pretending to be a girl. As the minutes ticked by my terror grew and I felt the insistent need of a bathroom blossom as I nervously wrung my hands. Tears threatened to flow from my eyes while my lips were trembling.
Finally Mr. Nelson called to Mrs. Nelson to bring us forward. The twins slowly made their way to the porch as Mrs. Nelson placed a comforting hand on my shoulder to gently urge me to follow. I fearfully shuffled along behind the twins. I was shivering and squeezing my thighs to hold my suddenly bursting bladder. My anxiety reached its height as we stopped at the foot of the porch steps. Furtively I glanced at Grandma. She was looking right at me with her eyes boring into me! Did Grandma know I was a boy? Would she berate me and expose my charade? Would she throw us out? Had I failed Mom, after shepherding my sisters all this way? I felt the blood pounding in my temples. My heart was beating so wildly I could feel the soft bra I wore flexing to the pounding. I felt funny as my stomach churned violently and everything began to spin. With a moan of despair I felt my bladder's released contents warmly flowing down my thighs as my knees buckled. Thankfully everything went black.
I awoke in a big old-fashioned feather bed covered by a warm coverlet. I was hot and perspiring, yet chilled. As my disorientation passed I slowly sat up. A damp compress fell from my forehead and my sour stomach let itself be known with a loud belch. I surveyed the room. It was a neatly furnished girl’s bedroom … although not nearly as lavish as the bedroom at the Nelsons' had been. As I stirred, I realized I was wearing a soft flannel nightie.
Suddenly the events of my arrival popped back into my memory. I clearly recalled wetting myself and falling. I wondered how I'd wound up here. But where was here? It obviously wasn’t a hotel room or a hospital. I had to be in someone’s home. Hope flared in my weary heart … could I be in Grandma’s house?
I didn't have to wonder long. The door to the room opened and the woman I’d seen standing on the porch entered. It had to be Grandma … she looked at me with piercing blue eyes … just as Mom had done when I’d done something wrong. I swallowed nervously and almost passed out once more as she walked across the room.
The severe expression on her face softened. "You’d better lie back down. You're not well enough to be up yet," she said in the same soothing voice with the same inflections and sweet southern accents Mother had used on us to comfort us whenever we’d been ill.
Immediately I felt better, still terrified, but somehow better. She didn’t seem to be mentally unbalanced or threatening. I automatically obeyed and calmed down immediately.
"You've had a very trying summer," she said as she sat beside the bed and rinsed the compress in a old fashioned wash basin.
I felt her love reaching out to me. My eyes grew damp. “Grandma …”
"It’ll be all right,” Grandma declared. ”Mr. Nelson carried you in here. While we made sure you were all right the Nelsons told me about how afraid you were that I’d reject you and your sisters. They also told me more about your odyssey. When I thanked them for what they’d done for you they seemed a bit upset. Apparently I’ve left a lot of people thinking I’m a bit loony. I guess I have been … eccentric. When the Nelsons realized I’m not a mean ogre, or crazy and intended to keep the three of you, they were pleased and a bit let down. I think they were hoping to have you stay with them.”
“You’ll keep us,” I exclaimed with delight. “Oh Grandma … you have no idea how afraid I was …”
“Yes I do,” she sniffed. “I was afraid I’d never see you or your sisters. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life … I’ll do my best not make any more.”
For several minutes we hugged fiercely and cried tears of relief and joy. After our emotions settled I gasped. “Are the Nelsons still here?”
“They seemed relieved when I told them they'd be welcome to come visit anytime,” Grandma replied. “I offered to put them up here for the night, but they felt it would be a bit awkward intruding on our getting to know each other.”
“I never got to thank them and say goodbye,” I blurted out in distress.
“They haven’t headed home,” Grandma soothed me. “They headed back to St Michaels. They made reservations at a bed and breakfast. They’ll be back tomorrow after lunch.”
“Good, I really wanted to thank them,” I declared.
“You are so much like your mother,” Grandma declared. “Always concerned for others. Promise me you won’t go running off if things get tough. You can always talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”
I paled a bit as I looked into her piercing eyes. She knew I was a boy. I nervously wet my lips as I struggled to figure out what to say.
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