Lawrence's natural loveliness permits him to continue living a girl's life and he takes a chance to go with another girl's family on a camping trip as a 'girl friend;' Lawrence continues to worry about his father's reactions.

Chapter Five: The Camping Trip and Revelation

His mother looked in on him that night, as he was getting ready for bed, having donned his boy pajamas with the Green Bay Packer logo. He had spent some moments in the bathroom primping, playing with his hair and admiring how cute he looked. He wished he could have worn nighties as he did at Stacy’s, but knew his mother was trying to hide her husband from noticing his growing girliness.

The eyebrows, truly, were a giveaway; if his father cared to look at him closely, he would notice they had been trimmed away, leaving just thin strands of light hair. His cheekbones seemed to hold a high profile, adding to the feminine look, along with his rather full lips. His neck was thin, and with no noticeable Adam’s apple.

As he looked in the mirror, his shoulders thin and arms slender and smooth, he could see only a girl, not even an effeminate boy. Just a girl. Even in the boy’s pajamas, he could only see a girl. It was exciting. He remembered how he looked in the swim suit, and how much he was admired as if he was all girl.

He lay in bed that night, wondering if Wendy was right, that he could spend a weekend as Heather with her father and his girl friend and not be discovered. From what he saw in the mirror, he thought it could be done!

The next morning he told his mother about Wendy’s invitation; she balked at the idea, particularly when told that Wendy and he would likely share the small tent together while her father and his friend would be alone in the main tent.

“But, mom,” he protested. “Wendy doesn’t want me as a boy. I told you that.”

“Well, it’s strange all the same dear,” his mother said, her tone soft and gentle. “I just don’t like the idea of two 13 year olds sleeping together, even if the boy thinks he’s a girl. You still have your penis and I know you’ve begun to experience it.”

“Oh mom,” he said. “Not much.”

It was true. Lawrence had only recently begun to masturbate; it happened for the first time in bed one morning, when he awoke and begun to feel the softness of his upper left arm, using his right hand, imagining himself a girl. His penis grew hard between his thighs, and his mind moved into a fantasy that he was a pretty teen girl. All of a sudden, without warning, his thigh was wet with sticky white substance; it scared him at first until he realized that he was doing what he was told was “masturbating.” Fortunately he captured most of the moisture in his pajama bottoms.

His parents had permitted him to participate in a special class in school which included explicit sex education, helping young teens to understand their bodies.

Momentarily, this first experience puzzled him. Did it mean he was a boy after all? He hated the idea; girls, he had been told, had a different experience.

Lawrence had three more cases of masturbation since then; and, he realized, they all developed when he was picturing himself as a girl.

“Am I weird?” he asked himself. “I only do this when I think I’m a girl.”

In the end, his mother, after a call to Wendy’s father, agreed to the camping trip; she became convinced in her call that the father thought of her son only as “Heather, a girl friend of Wendy’s from school.” He assured his mother that Wendy, also an “A” student like Lawrence, was responsible and that his girl friend was also a responsible person; she’s a “flight attendant, Mrs. Collins, and very well-respected.”

“We’ll tell your dad that it’s a camping trip with several friends,” she said. “I hate to lie, but he’ll have a fit if he knows you’re going to be a girl for a weekend.”

*****
Lawrence had never been camping in his young life, and the prospect of sleeping on the ground — even though he was in a sleeping bag — seemed “yucky” to him. Would there be bugs on him? Maybe a mouse or squirrel nibbling on his ears?

His squeamish behavior would be normal for a 13-year-old girl, and Wendy found his girlish squeals to be “cute.”

“You’re such a girl,” she teased him the first night in the tent.

“But I think something’s biting me now on my leg,” Lawrence said, his voice in high register and whiny. He tweaked his right calf with the toes of his left foot, hoping to relieve the itch.

Wendy giggled, and Lawrence added: “It’s not funny. Maybe it’s a wasp.”

“Get out of your sleeping bag, girl,” Wendy demanded. “It’s stuffy in here, and we can sleep on top of my bag, and use yours for a cover if it gets cold later.”

He did as she commanded, and soon the two were lying on their tummies, looking at each other, almost touching. Wendy had examined his leg and using the flashlight found no evidence of a bug or a bite; she did use the opportunity to run her hands along the slender calf of his leg, an action that excited Lawrence, causing his penis to swell.

Both were wearing flannel pajamas, Wendy’s being light blue with floral designs and Lawrence in pink with bunnies running across the top. Wendy was hugging “Bouncy,” her favorite bunny and Lawrence with “Daisy,” the well-worn poodle doll.

Lawrence, now becoming “Heather” in all but physical reality, found comfort in being close to this strong young girl. He loved her sinewy arms and legs, so beautifully formed and proportioned, and soon found his hands caressing her bicep as the two lay together, talking softly into the night. He felt her hands later caressing his slender arms, his softness and weakness now making him feel so totally female.

After a while, Lawrence heard footsteps outside the tent, and a tentative voice ask: “You two girls doing OK?”

“Yes, Tricia,” Wendy responded to the voice of her father’s girl friend. “We’re just talking.”

“OK, girls. Your dad, Wendy, says you two should get your sleep,” Tricia added. “You know we got a canoeing trip tomorrow?”

“Yes, Tricia. We know.”

“And Heather, you doing OK?” Tricia’s voice continued. “I know this is your first time in the woods.”

Lawrence, who had been worried the woman would come in the tent and see the two of them so close together, merely said a tentative “Yes ma’am.”

“Good night, girls,” Tricia voice came, followed by her footsteps, crunching on the twigs and gravel that covered the forest floor.

“Do you like my dad’s girl friend?” Wendy asked, once they were sure Tricia had left.

“She seems cool,” he replied. “Don’t you like her?”

“Well she’s not my mom, but she’s OK. I miss my mom so much, Heather. But Trisha has been nice to me.”

Lawrence sensed in the darkness that his friend was beginning to tear up; soon he heard quiet sobs, and he reached over to her, drawing her tightly to his chest. Wendy sobbed into his chest, her tears wetting the front of his pajamas. Lawrence knew that Wendy still reflected to her mother and her death when she was seven. He felt so content at that moment, knowing that he could provide comfort to another person. He knew that sweet feeling came from the fact that he was being accepted as a girl, at least for this weekend. Earlier, his penis had grown hard, but as they lay together, it soon softened and he found sweetness in being together with another girl, as a girl. They talked no more, and soon were asleep in each other’s arms.

*****
For Lawrence, the canoe trip began as a disaster; he stumbled as he was pulling the canoe into the water, falling totally into the water and getting his shorts and top wet, losing his pink baseball cap in the process. As it floated down the west fork of the Chippewa River, he tried vainly to catch it, only to fall again.

The others laughed as he got himself up, the wet purple girl’s tee-shirt plastered to his skin, showing the tiny mounds of breasts and nipples in a damp outline.

“You’ll be ok, Heather,” yelled Tricia, as she came over to assist him out of the water. “It’s a warm day and you’ll dry off quickly.”

To make matters worse, his first time in a canoe was scary. “It’s so tippy,” he complained in his girlish voice to Wendy.

“That’s OK, Heather, I’ll keep it steady. Just step in.”

Finally Lawrence managed to get in the front of the canoe, and waited for Wendy to step into the back. The current of the river, still swollen from early June rains, made it difficult at times to steer, but soon Lawrence got the hang of it, realizing that Wendy at the rear was truly in command of the canoe and that he, being in the front, could do little harm.

The four were in two canoes, with Wendy’s father and girl friend leading the way in their canoe.

“What a fun day?” Lawrence exclaimed when they returned to the campsite. “Thank you Mr. Hoskins and Tricia, for letting me join you.”

“We’re glad you could come,” Tricia replied, announcing that it was Wendy and Heather’s turn to make lunch.

“I’m no good at it,” Wendy complained. “I’ll just poison you all.”

“Remember, Wendy, you said you’d share the chores on this trip,” her father said. “Now get to it.”

“But, daddy,” Wendy began to argue.

“Let’s do it, Wendy,” Lawrence interjected. “We’ll fix ‘em a good one.”

“That’s a good girl,” her father said. “Heather’s setting a good example for you, Wendy. It’s great you have such a nice girl friend, Wendy?”

Wendy gave a cold stare to Lawrence, no doubt for his playing the “good girl” before her father. Lawrence reddened not feeling at ease with the attention he was getting; so far, the charade that he was “Heather” was going well, but closer scrutiny may cause that to end.

“Oh, daddy, you know how much I help around the house,” Wendy said.

“I do, honey,” Wendy’s father replied. “And dad’s grateful to you. It’s just that I like Heather’s attitude, and she’s so sweet. When did you two become friends?”

“She’s been around, daddy, only we were never good friends until I spent time with her at Stacy’s PJ party.”

“Well Heather, we’re so happy you’re with us,” her father said as Heather and Wendy began to make lunch.

“I’ll get the fire started,” volunteered Tricia, as she went to the grill to fire up the wood.

The two were to fry potatoes and fish the group had caught, mainly small panfish, along with one nice walleyed pike. Wendy’s father had insisted that the two girls, who caught the fish, had to clean them too. “Those who catch them must clean them.”

Lawrence, as Heather, was timid in the chore, calling it “uckky.” He was sincerely revolted by seeing the fillets trimmed off the frame of the fish, some of them still twitching with blood spewing as they went under the assault of the fish knife.

“That’s awful, the poor fish,” Lawrence said, his tone one of shock.

“You’re such a girl,” Wendy said with a laugh as she tackled the project with zeal, showing Lawrence how to properly fillet a fish.

The U.S. Forest Service campsite was outfitted with a grill and picnic table; but otherwise there were no amenities. A public bathroom with cold water showers was available for use by all campers about 300 yards away. Lawrence and Wendy usually trekked to the women’s room when the need arose together; fortunately, the women’s room had individual stalls so that Lawrence could pee in private, but the room was always filled with other women and girls, many standing about in only panties and bras as they sometimes washed undies in the washroom sink, in spite of signs saying: “Please do not wash clothes here. Use Susie’s Laundromat on Highway 77 in town.”

Trish was a tallish, well-groomed woman in her late 30s, and in spite of the rough amenities of the campsite managed to look like she stepped out of an L. L. Bean catalog. She wore her medium length light brown hair in a bun while on the trip, and put on no makeup, yet you could see she was a beautiful woman. Her body, too, was a picture of health, toned and without any fat.

She wore Capri pants and a tee-shirt, saying “Central States Airlines: Unfair.” Lawrence saw the same tee-shirt on his own father, indicating that Trish, too, must be a union activist. He knew she was a flight attendant, and that, heaven forbid, she might even know his father.

“Heather Collins?” Trish began, as she stoked the wood, causing sparks to fly, “Are you any relation to Larry Collins.”

Lawrence who was cutting the potatoes at the time, said simply. “Yes, he’s my father.”

The minute the words left his mouth Lawrence wished he could have them back, swallowing them forever.

“Larry’s a great guy,” Trish continued. “He’s really been good for the unions at the Airlines.”

Lawrence nodded, and tried to concentrate on the chore of preparing the potatoes for the frypan.

Trish continued to talk about how she knew Larry Collins from the union coordinating group, which the various unions representing the Central States Airlines workers had formed. It turned out that Trish was the lead representative for the flight attendants and knew the senior Lawrence quite well from the union work.

“I didn’t know Larry had a daughter,” she said finally. “He’s only talked about his son.”

“Oh, I guess,” Lawrence said, speaking softly, tentatively, hoping the subject would go away.

“Well, he’s got a lovely young daughter, Trish,” Wendy’s father said simply.

It was apparent that Wendy’s father, Paul Hoskins, whose management job with the airlines, was both jealous of Trish’s warm talk about Lawrence’s father and her deep involvement in the unions.

“Let’s get that meal going, girls,” he said.

Mercifully, the topic of Lawrence’s father was ended, but he could see the puzzled look grow on Trish’s face.

*****
Later that afternoon, Wendy and her father left for a few minutes to get more firewood, leaving Lawrence alone at the campsite with Trish.

He was sitting on a picnic bench, his legs tucked under him in typical teen girl fashion, reading “Pride and Prejudice.” He wore denim shorts and a tank top, with his hair tied in pigtails. Trish, too, was reading, a popular best seller that was currently on the Oprah reading list, “The Story of Edgar Sawtelle,” a fascinating novel of a deaf 14-year-old boy who lives in the Wisconsin northwoods.

“You reading that for school?” Trish asked.

“No, I like the book,” he answered.

“Oh I did too, must have read it a half dozen times,” she volunteered.

“Me too,” he volunteered.

“Why do you like it, dear?”

“Oh, I guess I like reading about a family of all girls.”

“That is neat,” Trish agreed. “Would you like to have been a girl back then?”

“I don’t know, life was more difficult, I guess, but I think girls were so much more feminine then. I like that.”

“Don’t you believe girls or women are equal to men and can do the same jobs?”

“Oh yes, Miss Kendrick,” he replied using Trish’s last name. “I believe in women’s rights, but I just like women to still be kind of dainty and feminine.”

“You mean like you?”

Lawrence blushed, wondering where this was headed. He was worried and tried to turn his attention back to the book.

He saw Trish close her book, and reach across the table touching Lawrence’s arm, a gentle touch.

“Darling, you may call me Trish, by the way, and you know what I think?”

He shook his head in a negative motion.

“I think there’s a sweet boy hiding underneath Heather.”

Lawrence said nothing; he looked down at his book, as if to ignore the comment. He knew she figured it out: that he was Lawrence Collins, Jr., not Heather.

All he could do was cry. His body shook as he tried to hold back the sobs and tears, but it was to no avail; soon he realized the woman was next to him, holding him tightly in her arms, welcoming his sobbing face onto her shoulders as she patted his head gently. The two sat together, rocking gently as Lawrence cried and cried.

“Don’t tell dad,” Lawrence finally said, as the crying subsided.

“We need to talk some more about this,” she said.

“No, don’t tell him, he’ll kill me. And don’t tell Mr. Hoskins.”

“Oh my darling,” Trish said, drawing him closer, letting him sob again. “Tell me all about what you feel, my darling. We’ll figure out what to do and how to tell.”

Lawrence told how he so often felt he should have been born a girl, how much he enjoyed doing girl things and how he wanted to be a pretty girl. He told her how out of place he felt in the boys’ world, how inept he was at sports and how frightened he was of trying to live up to his father’s expectations that his only son would be a strong, masculine lad who would marry and eventually father children.

Before he finished talking, Wendy and her father returned from the lake.

“What’s going on here?” Paul Hoskins asked. He had obviously noticed that Trish was holding Lawrence in her arms and that “Heather” had been crying.

“Heather and I need to keep talking about something, Paul,” Trish replied.

“What? Is she sick?”

“No, Paul, it’s personal. Just let us walk to the beach, she and I. We’ll be back soon.”

Lawrence saw that Wendy looked perplexed, and he gave a tentative nod to her. He saw the girl nod back, followed by some terror in her eyes. Lawrence knew that Wendy suspected that Trish had learned their secret that Heather was really Lawrence Collins, Jr.

*****
“Honesty is always the best policy,” Trish said after she and Lawrence found a quiet spot on the fishing dock. Being mid-afternoon, and sunny, there were no persons fishing, knowing the unlikelihood of catching anything in the brightness of the day.

“I know, Trish, but I felt I had to lie, and I know I shouldn’t be here as Heather, lying to you and Wendy’s daddy.”

“Yes, it is a lie, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“What do you think we should do?” Trish asked.

“I don’t know,” Lawrence replied, although he knew what the answer should be.

“You do know, Heather,” Trish said. “You know we need to do one thing first: tell Paul about this. He needs to know his daughter was sleeping with a boy.”

“Oh no, Trish. No. We didn’t do anything? Really we didn’t. Just hugged each other like we were girl friends and giggled.”

“I know that honey, but it still looks bad. I’ll make sure Paul understands your situation. He’s a good man, dear.”

“I know he is. He’s been so good to me and this has been the best weekend ever, until now.”

Lawrence leaned closer to Trish, who took his hand and held it. He felt so dainty and feminine sitting next to her.

“Then, I’m going to call your mother and tell her she should tell your father, and tell her I will help make sure that your father understands.”

“He’ll never understand,” Lawrence said. “He hates me for being a sissy.”

“No, he doesn’t hate you, dear. He’s told me how helpful you are around the house and how you do his meals. He loves you dear. Once he understands, he’ll love you more.”

Lawrence nodded, but wasn’t sure that Trish was correct about his father.

*****
After Paul Hoskin’s initial shock that “Heather” was really Lawrence Collins Jr., he settled down. He knew about transgendered children, he said, having seen a news report recently on such situations, and thus was not too surprised.

“But, what I hate is the deception, the dishonesty, and from my own daughter,” he railed at Wendy.

“It was my idea,” Lawrence said, trying to defend his friend.

“No daddy,” Wendy said. “I urged her to come as Heather. I like her; she’s my best girl friend, daddy.”

“But she’s not a girl!” he exclaimed.

“She should be,” Wendy replied.

“But she’s not. She’s a . . . or . . . he is a boy.”

They all agreed that for the second and last night of the trip, Lawrence would sleep with Wendy’s father and Trish and Wendy would share the small tent. Lawrence, of course, had no male clothes and he would remain dressed as Heather for the rest of the trip. Other than the sleeping arrangements, he was treated as Heather, a sensitive, dainty girl.

In the tent, as he tried to sleep that night, Lawrence stifled the temptation to cry; it was true: Mr. Hoskins had been kind to him since the revelation, stating only that he found it hard to understand, but he soon followed that with words of praise for the boy, ironically calling him “Heather,” several times. He praised the boy’s eagerness to work and cooperate; he noted that Wendy said that he was a top student, and then asked Lawrence: “Was she telling the truth about that?”

“Yes, Mr. Hoskins,” Lawrence replied.

He laughed, adding: “Well I must say you’re quite a girl. Now let’s get some sleep.”

Soon Lawrence heard his host’s steady breathing, indicating he was sound asleep; Lawrence laid on his side, massaging his soft body with his right hand, thinking alternately of the previous night with Wendy and then about how his father would react when the truth came out. Would he be as understanding as Mr. Hoskins?

As he pondered the thought, he wondered if he could somehow run away, plotting all sorts of schemes until sleep came.