We kept chatting until it was time to go in–just a couple of normal teenaged girls. I wanted to explore that new sense of myself, but felt doomed by the return of the men. Oh well, I thought, enjoy it while you can because it may be over at any minute.

The Cabin - Part 4

Chapter 12: Making A Salad

We didn’t last a full hour on the dock; the sun started going behind clouds and a cool breeze came across the lake. At first it felt wonderful, but then it got too cold, so we packed up and went in. Cindy showered first while I got a drink of water in the kitchen. My aunt was peeling some carrots and smiled at me.

“I thought I’d bring a salad over. Do you know how to peel carrots?”

I nodded, reached over to wash my hands, and reached for the peeler. She smiled even more and handed it to me and began shredding lettuce.

“I keep forgetting that you spend most of your days alone, right?”

“Yeah; it’s not too bad. I mean, I don’t really know otherwise, except when I go over to someone’s house.”

“Do you have many friends?”

I thought for a moment. “Not really. I know that sounds awful, but I just never really got excited about anything anyone else was into. Baseball, Nintendo, whatever. And it seems like nobody reads anymore!”

“I know; isn’t it awful? But when you’re a grownup, everyday things keep you from having the time. But when I was a little girl, one of my favorite things was to read and then daydream about what I’d read.”

“‘When I was a little girl’ ...I wish I could say that.” She looked at me quizzically, and I chuckled with some embarrassment. “I mean, I never really felt part of anything or anybody before. Even Mom and Dad ...they’re always working or studying. And I don’t mean anything bad about that; it’s their jobs and what they do that lets us live, but …yeah, I spend a lot of time on my own. There were a couple of guys I was sort of friends with …kinda, but I usually only played with them once and didn’t get asked back. Didn’t do Little League or Cub Scouts–” I reached for more carrots. “–really didn’t do any of those things. Some movies. Lot of TV–I love old movies!–and mostly books.” I shrugged my shoulders. “So not much of a boyhood at all. Now I’m thinking my problem and my lack of feelings was because I didn’t know I should have been a girl.”

“Well, girls have just as many problems growing up as boys do. Maybe more, I think sometimes. Different problems, certainly, but just as many. And they can be lonely and not have friends, too. I think it’s rough growing up no matter who you are!”

“I agree, but think how it must be if you don’t know what you are?”

She nodded sadly. “I see your point. Well, we’re going to have a little soap opera here in a few days when the boys return; that’ll just make everything even harder for you. Are you up to it?”

I finished the carrots, rinsed the peeler, dried my hands, and turned to look my aunt in the eye. She turned to face me; she knew it was important. I frowned, took a breath, and spoke with some determination.

“Aunt Margaret, for the first time in my life, I want something. I know what I want. Even more important, I know who I am. Or, at least I know who I’m capable of becoming. And I know that it’s only been a few hours, really, but …” I sighed. “It’s right. Everything just makes sense. And I don’t just mean what you and Cindy can see; I mean a lot of the thoughts I’ve had and my life so far …knowing about being a girl just makes everything click.”

“Your life so far?” she asked, neutrally.

“My relations with my parents, the few friends I have …well, don’t really have any. Um …what I think about at school–and that’s another thing. Five minutes of conversation with my uncle and his sons versus five minutes of conversation with you and your daughter? Absolutely no contest. I don’t get how guys talk and relate–if they actually do relate; they’re always so busy topping each other. But just listening to you and Cindy …I understand. I think and feel the same way. So in my head, I’ve been going over my life, things I’ve heard or seen boys and girls do, and I feel like such an idiot. I want to slap myself–it’s such a duh!”

“Duh?” she asked, her mouth crinkling in a smile.

“Duh,” I nodded. “I’m not saying that if I’d been born a girl everything would be easier; easy is not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about making sense. I’m talking about knowing who you are and how you fit in the world. Because …” I sighed deeply. “I’m Susan. The instant I heard it, I knew. Deep down. It makes sense. And now I know that I’ve got to live as Susan. And I will put up with any amount of sh–” I caught myself in time. “Excuse me; any amount of hassle and pain it takes, as long as I can begin living my life as a girl.” We held our locked eyes for a silent moment. She nodded seriously, and I hugged her. “And thank you for any help you can give me.”

“You’re welcome, Susan my darling niece,” she said quietly as she hugged back. “I just thought of something: you can have a girlhood. I mean, when you meet people for the first time, you can make one up and be anything you want! You can say, “When I was a little girl ...and we lived in the castle ...” We both laughed.

“No, I think it’s best to avoid any discussion about it at this point. Wait a minute–what about tonight? What do I say to the Doyles?”

She smiled again. “Relax. Monica already put two and two together–now don’t go all long-faced on me. She’s sharp and a great lady. She’s known you from a distance for the past couple of summers and she saw you the other night. She said it didn’t surprise her at all, and she hopes you’re happy.”

“Whew! But what about Bonnie?”

“Bonnie’s cool. She’s just finished her first year of college and I think she’ll be open-minded enough, or I wouldn’t risk your feelings by taking you over there. There’s one thing about Monica Doyle, though ...she hates men because of her divorce, and so she kind of views the battle of the sexes as ‘The Battle Of The Sexes’, a real war. She might think that you becoming a girl is a victory for ‘our side’; ‘one less male’ and so on. But she might also have some gloomy thoughts about women being second-class citizens in our society. So take everything she says with a pinch of salt, and maybe more than a pinch, okay?”

I nodded. Cindy called out from the bathroom that she’d finished her shower, would change and come back down to help. I hugged my aunt again, a single tight squeeze, and went to the bathroom. I stripped my suit off, and was glad to see that I hadn’t really burned, but I was a little dismayed by the white marks from the top. Even the untanned area at the bottom was shaped like a girl’s suit, so there was no way I could let the boys see me until things were resolved. At the same time, I felt a little thrill–my first girl’s tan line! I had an irrational desire to get a skimpy bikini and tan dark, dark, dark.

I showered, washed and conditioned my hair, and rubbed aloe vera on my skin after toweling off. I brushed my hair out, and looked at my face in the mirror–I mean, really studied it–for the first time in days. I began thinking about some of the girls’ faces I’d seen in Seventeen, comparing them to mine. It certainly didn’t look like a boy’s face; it looked like a girl’s face without makeup, or was I imagining that because I wanted it so much? I began wondering how I should make up my eyes; how my eyebrows should be shaped; what color lipstick–oh my God, I thought, lipstick! And makeup! What a whole new world I would have to explore!

I wrapped the towel around my chest, the way I’d seen girls do in movies, and walked upstairs. Cindy was straightening her room, and was already dressed in a green and yellow plaid sundress. I had that now-familiar rush of envy–I wanted a dress like that of my very own.

“Cin? Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Sue, what’s up?” She turned to look at me. She’d applied some makeup and looked older than 13.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

She stared at me for a beat. “Yes,” she said seriously and turned back to her drawers.

I was shocked and stunned and unable to respond. Then I heard her snicker.

“Yes. Oh, yes, you’re crazy!” Suddenly she exploded with laughter. She’d been joking!

I felt immediately better, but a little mad at her for freaking me, so I grabbed a rolled-up pair of socks and threw it at her. “Oh ...you! Freaked me out!” She ducked the socks and kept laughing. “That was mean!” I sat down on the chair at the vanity.

“Geez, what did you expect me to say? Give me an opening like that ...” She shook her head, still chuckling. Then she sat on the edge of her bed. “Actually, to be serious, yes, I do think you’re crazy–now let me finish!” She held up her hand to my protest. “You’ve got to admit that anybody changing their sex or gender or whatever is asking for a whole heap of problems, right?”

I nodded.

“Okay, I know from personal experience how hard it can be growing up as a girl and growing up as a boy. I know that because I’ve got brothers, and they don’t seem to be doing so well.” We both smiled sadly at that. “Fine, so it’s tough growing up, we’ve established that. But then to do it twice? In the opposite sex, halfway through without any idea what’s involved? And how freaked out everybody gets when you even mention sex–let alone changing it? Hell yes, you’re crazy.”

I must have appeared saddened.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t support you 110%, girlfriend. Because I really do think you are a girl. I meant it when I told Mom that. If ever anybody was trapped in the wrong body, it’s you. And I owe it to you–after all, you are my cousin–to help you be the girl you are. Or want to be. Or ...well, excuse me if it gets confusing. You know what I mean! Anyway, not just because you’re family, or because it’s ‘one for our side’, but because I really like you, Sue. When you were a boy, I couldn’t really care less, because after Chuck and Larry I don’t have a lot of interest in male family members. But just spending time with you, I think you’re a real good girlfriend. And can you believe it’s only been two days?”

I nodded, sobering a bit at that thought. Was I rushing it? One thing I did know was that I had a real friend in my cousin Cindy. I stood up and went to hug her; she did the same, but jumped back suddenly.

“Ooo, that towel’s still wet!”

We chuckled at that, and I sat back down on the vanity seat, then turned and looked into the mirror.

“I don’t know, Cindy. I was looking at my face in the bathroom mirror, and I can’t tell what I am. I mean, am I imagining all this? Does my face look like a girl’s? Would a stranger think ‘girl’ or ‘boy’ or ‘funny boy’?”

I’d meant this as a small joke, but Cindy had turned serious. She came up behind me, standing over me, and pulled my hair back tightly so it wasn’t much visible in the mirror.

“Okay,” she said, “here’s a short-haired ...what?” She let the hair out, fluffing it around my shoulders. “And here’s a long-haired ...what? Tell me what you see.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t know; what do you mean? I see me.”

“Okay, that’s a good start. And understandable, since you know ‘you’. But here, try this. Turn your back to the mirror, spin around on the seat and look in the mirror.”

I looked at her like she was crazy, but did it. I spun around, locked eyes with myself. “Okay, what?”

“No, no; try it again. Wait, this seat doesn’t work right. Stand up, close your eyes, and I’ll spin you around in place three times. Then open your eyes.”

She pulled the seat out of the way as I stood, reluctantly. I closed my eyes after giving her an ‘are you nuts?’ look. She spun me around with her hands on my upper arms. Once, twice, three times, four–hey! She said three times! I’d lost count, and didn’t even know where I was pointing. Suddenly she stopped me and told me to open my eyes.

Whether I was disoriented from the spin, I don’t know, but when I opened my eyes I saw a pretty girl with shoulder-length, messy hair, wrapped in a white towel. Whoa! It was me! I realized as my eyes found my own eyes in the mirror. There was no doubt at all that I had a girl’s face. Cindy had certainly proven her point!

“Wow! I can’t ...I don’t ...wow!” I slowly sat on the seat that Cindy had replaced. Now I couldn’t take my eyes off the girl in the mirror.

“See, silly? Now do you believe me? And it’s not just the mirror. If you could have seen yourself in your swimsuit today, the way you moved ...And the way you talk? Do you realize that you’re kind of talking like me? I mean, like a teenaged girl? I guess you’re just unconsciously matching me. Whatever. But the whole thing is, everything says ‘girl’. Face it, Susie, the only thing about you that says ‘boy’ is your birth certificate!”

I was stunned. She was right; I’d just been so uninvolved with myself and the world that I hadn’t noticed. Had everyone else noticed? Aunt Margaret said Monica Doyle had noticed, and that was from a distance away. Judging from the trip to the sporting goods store, I guess my male cousins had noticed. What about my school? Maybe that was why I didn’t have many–okay, to be honest; I had no friends. Just classmates. Did they notice? Did Mom and Dad notice?

“You know, Sue, the way you look and move and talk and everything, I don’t think anybody could think you were a boy. But we’ve got to build up your own self-confidence as a girl. And I know the perfect thing, because even if anybody had any question about you–and they won’t!–they’d still think ‘girl’. And that perfect thing is …makeup!”

I was amazed at how much Cindy and I were on the same wavelength. Not half an hour before, I was looking in the bathroom mirror thinking about makeup, and here she was bringing up the subject! I saw that she was rooting around among the things on the vanity.

“Mom says we can’t do anything permanent. Or at least, not yet!” she said with a mischievous grin, as she selected a large brush and small tray of items. “So that means no cool hairdo, no pierced ears, and no eyebrow plucking, although I know it’s only a matter of time! So we do what we can do. We can have lots of fun experimenting, but because we’re going to dinner soon and we’re all girls there anyway, there won’t be much to start. Maybe that’s best. Close your eyes.”

I did so obediently, and she began brushing over my eyes; then a pause, then a brush at my cheek bones; then a pause and she did my lips, this time with a small brush. She told me to blot, having inserted a tissue between my lips, then told me to open my eyes.

Even locking eyes with myself immediately, there was absolutely no doubt that I was a pretty girl. A light brown dusting on my eyelids, a slight blush on each cheek, and matte burgundy lipstick and my God! I was so pretty! I felt lightheaded and she noticed.

“Careful there!” She admired her handiwork in the mirror. “Damn, I’m good! And damn, you’re good, too! That was only a slight quickie; imagine what you’ll look like when we really go to town. Oh! Go to town–that’s it; we’ll have to get Mom to take us to town to the mall!”

That was a delicious and frightening thought. I could see the reflection of the clock in the mirror, and tore my eyes from the mirror to look at Cindy.

“Thank you, Cin! You did a great job! Now, uh ...what do I do?”

“First thing is forget that you have any makeup on. Just go about things normally. You’ll get a special buzz when you see your reflection the first few times, though. Okay, second thing is, you’ve got to get dressed. No, that’s the third thing. Second thing is this.”

To my surprise, she leaned close to my face and tweezed out some eyebrow hairs.

I said, “Ow! I thought you just said no eyebrow plucking!”

“Did I?” she asked innocently and spoiled it by giggling. “First of all, plucking your eyebrows is not what I meant–I meant a really pretty shaping. That’ll have to wait. And second of all, it was just a few strays but makes all the difference. Third of all–back to my original third of all: Time to get dressed.”

“Is there anything in my room up in the attic?”

“Probably, but I’ve got something I think would look great on you.” She turned to her closet and pulled out a short faded-rose colored gingham dress. It had puffy little short sleeves, a square neckline, and was an ‘empire’ style bodice, as I later learned. It was gorgeous, and I wanted it even more than I wanted the dress Cindy had on, and I would get to wear this one!

I stood up and started to unwrap the towel. “Uh ...” I said, and Cindy knew immediately.

“Undies. Not to worry; just panties. You don’t need a bra with this one.”

“Not that I really need a bra anyway.”

“Don’t worry, you will; you will,” she said with that mischievous grin again.

She handed me a pair of panties that were rose with white lace at the top. I let the towel fall; mercifully my penis stayed in place. Cindy gave me a warm smile at how I looked ‘down there’. I pulled the panties on, then took the dress, raised my arms and let it fall over me. I pulled it down; there was some elastic at the bodice so I gave a slight tug, and there I was, neatly dressed and feeling slightly naked as well.

Cindy said, “See? A great color for you. And what I like about this dress is you can put the sleeves up or down.” She demonstrated by pulling them down around my shoulders, so I had a horizontal neckline all across. I loved the look. “Or wear ‘em up for a casual farm girl kind of thing.” She popped them back up.

I was going to pull them back down but she stopped me. “For boys, down. For girls, up. Right?”

I knew she didn’t mean ‘boys wearing dresses’; she meant ‘boys looking at girls (me!) wearing dresses like this’. Whew! Pretty soon I’d have to start dealing with boys, too! This was going to be complicated. So I left the sleeves up (I liked that look, too) and saw how well Cindy had matched my makeup to the dress–she’d obviously been planning this all along.

“You know what’s weird, Cin? There I was, prancing around in almost a bikini and I didn’t feel naked. But for some reason I feel really exposed in this dress. But I think I love it!”

“I know what you mean. That’s one of the great things about sundresses, and especially some little dresses for hot dates: you feel like you’re totally naked and vulnerable. Some women hate it; I kind of like it. Occasionally. Other times I want to be a strong grrl who doesn’t take shit from anybody.”

“Yeah; that’s all part of finding your own personal style. Well, I’ve got a great teacher in you, and a great start here. I really, really like what I see in the mirror. So let’s go help your mom.”

“Okay–wait! Almost forgot!” She picked up the necklace and bracelet I’d worn before and quickly reattached them for me.

I picked up the hair brush and gave my hair several vigorous strokes until it flowed like it was supposed to. Cindy obviously wanted more, so she reached over and fluffed my hair out over my shoulders. Finally, she spritzed us with a little more Sunwater and we started to leave the room.

“Oops! Forgot again!” She stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. “Shoes.” We walked back to her closet and she handed me a pair of white sandals. They had a little heel and wrapped around the ankle. I tried them on while she put on a brown pair of flats. I was feeling a little vain; I couldn’t help but admire my pretty toenail polish in the sandals. The sandals were actually a little big, or maybe I hadn’t tightened them enough, but they stayed on fine as we walked downstairs to help my aunt.

Chapter 13: Dinner With The Doyles

Aunt Margaret had already packed up the salad bowl and condiments; she raised her eyebrow at our makeup and dresses and said, “Aren’t we a little gussied up for this? We’re just going over for dinner.”

Cindy looked at me and blushed a little. “Yeah, I guess we got a little carried away. But doesn’t she look great, Mom? I mean, check her out! She’s a babe!”

I did a little self-conscious pirouette, holding my skirt out, which pulled the hem up even further, showing more leg. I finished the pirouette with a really bad curtsy.

My aunt laughed. “We’ll have to work on the curtsy! I really think you two ought to quickly remove the makeup–yours is too old for you, anyway, Cindy–and you might want to dress warmer, too. We’re not really due any special time, so ten more minutes isn’t going to hurt.”

Cindy’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, alright, Mother. Bummer. But, Mom–” she brightened, “I really mean it–doesn’t Sue look fantastic?”

My aunt studied me critically and nodded. “Yes; a bit too old for twelve, maybe, but a good choice of colors. Who did it?”

I nodded to Cindy. “Don’t blame her; I was kind of wondering ...”

“Oh, don’t worry, Sue; it’s perfectly natural for teenaged girls to experiment with makeup. Or almost teenaged girls!” Aunt Margaret laughed, referring to my upcoming thirteenth birthday. “Anyway, you girls get ready.”

Cindy and I looked at each other, shrugged, and went back to her room. I really hated taking off the makeup already; I could tell Cindy did, too. She had some moist wipes so it took next to no time. And I really loved the sundress, but besides not being quite right for the dinner, it probably would be too chilly as well. Cindy stripped off her dress, hung it up and pulled out a big blue sweater. She pulled some gray leggings from a drawer, sat on the bed and pulled them on, then pulled on the sweater and fluffed out her hair, and slipped on a pair of flats. I stood around, not knowing what to do, since I didn’t have a closet full of clothes.

Cindy looked at me. “What are you waiting for?”

“I, uh ...don’t know what to wear.”

“What do you mean ...oh! Silly me; of course you don’t! You don’t have any clothes yet–but you will, you will!–so feel free to borrow any of mine. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that.”

She jumped up and started flipping through her closet, then said, “I’ve got something great for you. Here.” She handed me a blue denim overall dress, then a white sweater. She went to a drawer and threw something white at me.

“Tights,” she said. “Pull ‘em on, then the top, then the dress over. You’ll look great.”

I stripped off the sundress and reluctantly handed it to her. It felt strange standing there in only the panties. I sat on the bed and pulled on the tights. They felt wonderfully cool, and I loved the way they slinked up my legs and held them firmly. I did a little straight-legged flutter kick, and realized that without thinking, I’d crossed my arms in front of my chest, like a modest girl. Cindy noticed, too, and handed me a stretchy bra from her lingerie drawer. It felt reassuring once it was on; oh God, I thought, this is going to be weird when the boys get back, if I feel naked without a bra ...I just wished I had something to fill it with ...

Got the sweater on and standing, I flipped the dress over my head, arms up, and it slithered down and I pulled my hair out. Cindy was right; it was a good look and I felt both feminine and warmly dressed. I slipped on some brown flats she pointed out, and we were ready.

We went back down to the kitchen, grabbed the salad stuff, got an approving nod from Aunt Margaret, locked the doors and walked through the trees to the Doyle cabin.

Mrs. Doyle saw us coming and stood at the screen door, holding it open as we entered. She welcomed us and took the salad bowl. My aunt followed her, and I just followed Cindy’s lead. We dropped the bag of stuff in the kitchen, which already had a wonderful smell–chicken Dijon, Mrs. Doyle informed us. Since the entree wasn’t quite ready, we decided to sit on their back patio for a bit, where we found Bonnie and Hannah.

I knew instantly that I’d never met Bonnie, because her beauty was so striking that I was sure I’d remember. She had blonde hair cut just above her shoulder, kind of cute squinty eyes, and reminded me of the actress Renee Zellweger. She wore a blue v-neck chenille sweater and white slacks, and looked happily at ease, holding and rocking her dozing four-year old sister. Hannah was a cutie-pie, with curly blonde hair and rosy cheeks. Bonnie made a ‘shush’ motion to us, and we stood quietly while she stood and walked with Hannah into the house. The four of us sat in plastic patio chairs, leaving Bonnie’s seat vacant. We were just admiring the different view of the lake when Bonnie returned.

It was a very interesting night for a couple of reasons. First of all, I was totally accepted by these women as another female. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do anything really bone-headed that shouted ‘boy’; I knew enough to shut up. When they talked briefly of mammograms, I listened but of course had nothing to contribute. No reference was ever made to me being a boy, other than Mrs. Doyle’s one statement that ‘I always knew you’d be pretty’. Apparently my, uh, ...blossoming femininity came as no surprise to her. I wondered yet again how evident it had been to other people the last few years.

We’d chatted for about twenty minutes, then went into the kitchen and everybody pitched in doing something–I set the table–and sat down to a truly delicious meal. I thought it was restaurant quality, and said so, and my aunt told me that Mrs. Doyle had owned a restaurant, and cooked there, too. I realized that she’d lost it in the divorce, and could begin to understand how hard it had hit her, although she didn’t seem bitter–maybe because there were no men around?

The other interesting thing happened after dinner. After the meal and cleanup, we sat in the living room with a small fire in the fireplace. Cindy was starting to zone out, and the two mothers were chatting about more grown-up things, and I found myself talking with Bonnie. She had to check on Hannah and asked if I wanted to accompany her. We got up–Cindy just yawned and waved us on–and went to Hannah’s bedroom, which would be the little girl’s bedroom of my dreams. It was like a catalog for a children’s furniture store, it was so perfect. Hannah lay sleeping quietly, but had thrown her covers off. Bonnie covered her again, and we sat there looking at the child.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking this,” Bonnie said quietly. “It might be embarrassing for you, and I apologize up front, okay?”

I had a good idea what she wanted to talk about. “Okay,” I said. We moved into the hall and quietly closed Hannah’s door, but Bonnie didn’t start back to the living room. Instead, she leaned against the door.

“I know that you aren’t a genetic female. Right up front, that’s fine with me.”

I was surprised that she used the scientific term. This ‘talk’ might be interesting. I nodded to her. “It’s okay. What do you want to know?”

She chuckled. “Everything! Actually, I do have a bunch of questions, but let me explain why. Okay, you know my folks divorced.”

Confused at the turn of conversation, I nodded.

“It was ...pretty ugly. Really. Anyway, I had just finished my first year at State majoring in psychology, and I’d already decided to specialize in gender studies. I couldn’t help but see that a lot of the problems my mom and dad were having were because of the different ways women and men view the world and interact. Right? Okay. Well, a lot of the literature on gender studies, tied up with a revival of feminism, concerns the nature of ‘femaleness’. Being female is different from being feminine; I think you might know something about that?”

It was my turn to chuckle. “Yes, well, I’m learning about that every day!”

“That’s what I mean. Over the last few months, a lot of things I read got me to thinking about gender roles, societal pressure, nature versus nurture, the whole nine yards.”

I understood her; even though I wasn’t in college–or even high school–I did a lot of reading and had run across these terms. I had a growing interest in what Bonnie might be thinking, so I decided to make it easier for her.

“Bonnie, please. Don’t worry about anything being embarrassing, okay? Ask me anything. Or is there anything you want me to do?”

She let out a ‘whew’ sound and grinned. “Fantastic! Okay, can I ...can we collaborate on a gender study?”

“I’m up for it, but I don’t know what you mean, since I’m not at State.”

“No, no. Here’s the situation: One of my classmates is a male-to-female transsexual. But it’s been pretty rough; she’s got a lot of horror stories about her treatment, and the surgery, and boy troubles. Anyway, she’s attractive enough to pass most of the time, but still gets hassled occasionally because sometimes she looks like a guy in drag. Now, you, on the other hand ...”

I felt a chill clenching my stomach. “What about me?”

“You are a normal, pretty girl …who isn’t. Right? I mean, I’ve spent the evening watching you and talking with you, and I see a pretty neighbor girl. Absolutely no hint of boy. Absolutely no trace of male whatsoever. In fact, if I didn’t know the real situation, I would never believe that you’re a genetic male.”

I was deeply flattered, and relieved that I passed so well. “Thank you. It’s only been a few days, and I wasn’t sure–I mean I’m not sure, moment to moment.”

“That’s what I mean, and I–wait; do you mean that it’s only been a couple of days that you’ve been dressing here at the lake? Or …you can’t mean it’s only been a couple of days that you’ve been dressing as a female?”

“Bonnie, as God is my witness, before last week I had never even thought of dressing like a girl, much less being one.”

“That’s incredible! Actually, you might mess up our study because you’re so well-adjusted!”

We chuckled a bit, then I got serious. “Bonnie, I don’t know if this is a problem. First of all, yes, I’m interested in answering your questions and letting you study me. I think it’ll help me as well as you. But here’s the problem. I don’t know how much you know about all this. I talked to my folks in Paris two days ago, and they know about this but we still don’t know what they’ll decide for me. Whether it’s okay, I mean. They might just say, ‘Young man, you will cut your hair, put on pants and never go near a girl’s closet again’, although I don’t think they will. But the big problem is my uncle and cousins are coming back at the end of the week, and my aunt and I think I’d better be dressing and acting like I was–like a boy, I mean–when they get back. My aunt has some plan or some lever that she thinks might get my uncle to overlook things, but my macho jerk cousins are still a problem.”

She gave a nasty grin. “Ah, yes, Chuck and Larry. The last time I saw Chuck, he was shaping up to be a real shithead–or what did you call him? ‘A macho jerk’. Very true. And very much a female comment about a male, I might add.” Her grin had turned friendly.

I affected a bad W.C. Fields impersonation. “Stick around, my little chickadee, I gotta lotta female comments.”

We burst out laughing and immediately covered our mouths with our hands so we didn’t wake up Hannah. We started down the hall, and Bonnie turned to me.

“Okay, if you’re willing to answer questions–and I’ll have a lot of ‘em–and help me with my studies, what can I do to help you?”

“You mean besides sticking Chuck in a tutu? I don’t know–yes, I do. Okay, Cindy’s been incredibly helpful and supportive. But, she’s my cousin and I love her and there are some questions of my own that I can’t comfortably ask her or Aunt Margaret. You know, about being a girl and stuff.”

“Ask me anything. Total honesty, okay?”

I nodded.

She nodded as well. “On both sides. We can both learn from this. Done. Great! Um ...do you have a question right now? I’ll answer it, free, on the house.”

“Not a question, but some directed research.”

“Ooo, we know the big college terms, do we?” She was laughing. “Gonna play hardball, psych-style?”

I laughed. “No, just some things to look up. I want to know about hormones. If I can get my parents to allow it, God willing, I want to begin developing normally, as a girl my age should. I want my own breasts! And I want to know about the surgery. All the options. Actually, if you can just point me in the right direction, I can do the reading for myself.”

“Whew! I’ve got a tiger by the tail! Well, the easiest way to do that’s on the Net.”

“I don’t want to wait until fall to–”

“What ‘wait until fall’? I’ve got internet access here.”

“You’ve got a computer here?” She nodded. “That’s the one thing missing next door. I thought I’d go insane without one all summer. Oh, please Bonnie, can I spend some time online looking this stuff up? And emailing my folks! Please Bonnie? I promise not to get in your way!”

“Relax; it won’t be a problem. What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

“I don’t know; we haven’t discussed it yet.”

“Well, you’re welcome any time to come over and log on. I’ll show you how tomorrow; the dish network thing’s a little weird. Let’s tell the moms.”

We returned to find Cindy asleep by the fire, and the moms hunched over some legal papers. They looked up at our arrival, and we explained the computer situation. It was fine all around, and we realized the lateness, so we roused Cindy, said our goodbyes–Bonnie and I had a special hug–and gathering our stuff, headed back home.

Cindy walked like a zombie, said ‘good night’ and gave me a weak hug before disappearing into her room. I helped my aunt put the salad things away, and she told me she thought Cindy was coming down with something, so she said to let her sleep in and go over to Bonnie Doyle’s if I wanted. I hugged her good night and went upstairs. I hadn’t realized how sleepy I was until I undressed, got my nightgown on, and remembered I had to wash. So I trudged downstairs to wash my face. I pulled my hair back and studied my face. Now, for the first time, I thought I was beginning to see a girl looking back at me, and not a boy pretending to be a girl. I loved it.

End of Part 4