Auntie owned a Dress-shop

NOTE - The SisterDom is a group of wonderful women who know that it is important to help their men to access and, when they are comfortable with the concept, to release their inner girlhood. These women are willing to train and transition their new-girls using a variety of simple techniques, sometimes with a touch of ‘domination’ and strong encouragement.

Several of the stories in the group involve overlapping characters.

"Aunt Jane preferred that the girls in her shop dressed well. Eventually the whole family accepted a new arrangement for Wendy."


Auntie owned a dress shop.

(c) Alys Prince 2013


My parents called me Peter when I was born. During my teens, it became obvious that changes needed to be made. At sixteen, nearly seventeen, I was near to leaving school and I needed a holiday job. I had done aright at my exams but couldn’t see much of a future. I was small and skinny, uninterested and probably pretty uninteresting.

As Lady Luck would have it, my aunt offered me a job working in the storeroom of her ladies’ boutique in Swanton. This is how I remember it


"Peter Yeats, you just sort out that pile of dresses, when I tell you. You want to have extra pocket-money, then you have to earn it by helping out. I don't care what you think, I'm far too busy at this time of day. As long as you have clean hands, you will sort out those dresses and put them onto the correct hangers. Your sister did her share when she used to work here, and she never with all the fuss you are making. Sometimes you drive me wild. I love you dearly but I do agree with your mum when she says that boys are hard work."

This was not making me happy. Sure, I wanted the extra money and my aunt did have this shop - but really. My plans had been to do some casual do-it-yourself around the house - new bulbs, fuses and simple things like that. With my sister Susie, we went round to auntie's house to see what needed to be done. Then, with no real explanation, the next moment, I'm in the car with Sis on our way to the shop while Aunt Jane babbles about how useful it will be to have us working as a team every day through the winter holidays. This was not what I wanted, not what I expected and not what I felt I deserved. However, as it turned out, this was just the beginning of my new career and my new freedom.

We arrived at the shop and got out of the car. Auntie saw my glum expression and told me to cheer up. 'You'll find that if you begin by pretending that it's fun, all of a sudden you'll find that you are actually enjoying yourself.'

I muttered, 'Can't see that happening. This is just too much'.

Aunt Jane giggled. I couldn't see anything to laugh at.

Nevertheless, with dragging feet I followed them into the back of the shop. I had not been in their often before and never with the intention of staying for long. This time, while Auntie and Sis talked about what she would be doing, I found myself looking around with much more attention. From what Auntie had said, I would be spending a lot of time here. She noticed the change and winked at me. I flushed and tried to pretend that I was more interested in my boots. It got worse when I saw a bright blue ribbon beside my toecap and bent to pick it up. I could have done something more stupid - but this was good enough.

I could feel the alertness in Aunt's voice, 'Found something interesting, have you. Oh, you've found a pretty ribbon have you? Well, pick it up and then I'll show you where it should be put. You're going to learn where every pretty, frilly, fluffy thing in this shop must be stored. In case you haven't guessed, you're the temporary stores manager. The Christmas rush is just beginning and I need every girl working in the front. If I have confidence that the backroom is being run properly then the whole job gets easier. You actually have no idea how important it is that you do a good job. Two Christmases ago, I had your cousin Leo working here and he finished with a very good bonus.'

I realized that I hadn't seen Leo for quite a while. We had never been great pals as he lived two counties away and was, of course, two or three years older than me. I did remember that we were both on the small side as was common in our family. Mum was about 5 foot 3, Sis and Aunt an inch taller - but neither Dad, Leo nor me could say we towered more than an inch or so above that.

I began to ask where was Leo, when Aunt went on with describing the tasks I would be doing. Somehow, the moment passed and it was quite a long time before I remembered to ask about Leo. It was even longer before I found out what he was now doing.

I spent all morning cleaning, tidying, sorting, stacking and getting the backroom ready for The Big Rush. Somehow I could hear Aunt using capital letters whenever she referred to it. Gradually the arrangement of the stockroom began to make sense. I was sorting things I had only vaguely heard of, let alone seen any of my friends wearing - suspenders, corsets, strapless brassieres, garters. It was getting towards lunchtime when I began work on the stockings - every size, colour and pattern you could believe and I had to match them to the delivery note. One of the packets was torn so Aunt Jane said I should put them on the model-legs in the corner. I began doing so when my hands, rough from fifteen years of sports and such, snagged on a thread. Jane was just passing by and saw this.

'Can't have you doing things like that. You must have smooth, clean hands to handle the goods we have here. You'll have to use handcream every day until I say your hands are good enough. Just rub some cream from this bottle in as soon as you arrive every morning, and after lunch too. You'll soon get the habit of doing it.'

I picked up the pot and splashed some on as required. I didn't like the strong perfume smell at all. I saw that Aunt Jane was smiling as she turned away.

The next morning, Sis got confirmation about the permanent job that she had been waiting for. She had told Auntie that she might not be able to work at the shop for long, but this was a bit sudden. Nevertheless, she came to the shop with me. She spent some time with Auntie in the office before coming into the back to say goodbye to me.

Sometimes, I had to deal with the phone. Normally, I could rely on Aunt Jane picking it up. Late one evening, while I was still tidying up from the day's sales - it rang and I was the only one left in the shop. To my amazement, it was cousin Leo. I didn't recognise his voice at first. It was when I answered, "Lady Catherine's Dress Shop, can I help you? This is Peter," that he realized who I was.

"Wow, Peter, are you helping out this Christmas. How exciting for you. I must make sure I'm back in time for the party this year. I've never looked back since I spent the whole winter working at the shop. It was such fun."

I didn't recognise Leo at all except by what he was saying. He sounded different and he had never been so chirpy. I remembered him as quite macho. Despite being so small, he had been good at sports, especially swimming, and popular with the boys and the girls.

"Is there some special party? You talk about it as if it has a Capital letter. Don't you just mean the shop's Christmas party?"

"Of course, I do. If Auntie hasn't talked about it, then she hasn't made up her mind what the theme will be this year. Whatever you do, don't snoop. She really hates that. Just wait until she tells you what's going to happen. You'll love it so much more. I'll ring in the morning, you don't need to bother telling her I called."

I didn't think much more about the call for more than a week. As it turned out Leo didn't get back for the party so his comments slowly faded from my memory.

It was my third Monday morning, Auntie called me into her office which had windows into both the front-room and the store-room. "Peter, dear. I've been very pleased with the effort you’re putting in to your work. I was a bit concerned at first with your attitude, but you're much more willing now and much more helpful. For example, I know that my insistence on the handcream annoyed you, but I couldn't have you damaging the expensive fabrics and so on with your rough hands. Do you find the work easier now, dear?"

"Oh, yes. And I did understand about the handcream. Some of the things are so dainty and flimsy, I still hardly dare touch them. They feel so weak, as if they would tear at a touch. Beats me how those designers dare make clothes out of them."

"Oh, it's really very simple, dear. The best clothes are made to fit properly. I could put a girl into the filmiest, most insubstantial dress, for example, and as long as it fitted properly, it would be fine. It's amazing what you can reveal and conceal in a well-fitted garment. I would be willing to bet you that I could put you in a dress and no one would be able to tell."

"Don't joke about things like that, Auntie."

"Oh, don't be silly dear. As if I would do a thing like that to you. I'm far too fond of you. You're working really hard for me and I don't want to spoil a thing. You get back to sorting out those piles of panties and bras. We need them done as soon as possible for the sale. And, only joking, of course, if you find a pair you want for yourself, then you can have them as a bonus for your first week's efforts."

The effect of Auntie's joke was amazing. Ten minutes before, I was just a helper in the backroom. Now, whenever I picked up a pair of pants or whatever, I found myself wondering whether this was the pair I should try. It was horrid, but fascinating.

By eleven, I had done only 3/4 of the pile and I knew I was working too slowly. Auntie eventually came through to see what was happening.

"Good grief, Peter. What's happened to you. If you had worked this slowly last week, I'd have shown you the door. Come on, get on with it."

I did get a move on - but the sudden fascination with the frilly and lacy underwear which I had to handle and touch and smooth and pack-away was a great change from the previous weeks.

The next day, Auntie made me sort out the tweed skirts and jackets. I hated it. Instead of the lovely smooth lingerie, I could feel my hands roughen minute by minute. When Auntie came by as I was putting on more handcream, I said so. I was quite surprised to see her break into a broad smile as she told me my next task.

"Well, don't worry, darling. As soon as you've done these, you can go back to the underwear section for some last checking. But this afternoon and for the next few days, you'll have to look after the dresses and skirts. You may even have to take delivery of the new spring dresses. They'll need sorting and checking as usual."

I was surprised that Auntie thought there was no more work to do with the undies. I found myself a tiny bit annoyed that I wouldn't be doing a task I had almost begun to enjoy. Auntie's departing line didn't help. "Don't forget my offer, dear. If you want that bonus pair of pants, you should take them now."

Once more, it was exhausting working through the boxes of lingerie. I was almost at the end of the last box of new spring stock when the impulse got too strong for me. One of the last pairs was a delightful pair of thin, almost sheer, white cotton panties with a lovely yellow lace frill and a pretty matching bow at either side. Without thinking, I stuffed them into my pocket.

Several hours later, I was just packing up to leave when I felt Auntie's hand on my sleeve. "Excuse me, Peter, but I just want to know why you have a pair of my most expensive new panties in your pocket. I know I joked with you about a pair for yourself - but you haven't asked me about these, you haven't taken from sales stock, as I expected, but from the very newest spring line. You know the difference, what you've done is almost theft. Well, speak up, I haven't got all day to listen to a silly boy like you think of excuses. I'm really quite cross. You obviously haven't learnt anything while working here. You may not even have taken the right size."

"I'm sorry, Auntie. But you said I could have a pair - and these were just so pretty. I didn't think about the size. I know that was silly, but all of a sudden, I had the impulse and, I dunno, I just stuffed them in my pocket."

"Oh, darling. I shouldn't be so cross. I suppose it's my fault for making you work so long in my shop. But really, you've crumpled them, you haven't checked the size, you've taken new stock - I have every reason to be cross with you. Well, lets get the first thing fixed. You stand here while I get the tape-measure. If these panties don't fit, I'll get another pair. And then you can iron these trouser-crumpled ones. Let's try to rescue something from this situation."

I stood rigid while Auntie measured me - not just my waist and hips. She seemed to go into remote-control, measuring everything else too. I was so stupid, so careless, so unlucky, I thought. Why had I nicked those knickers - like Auntie said, they were the wrong size anyway. However, somehow Auntie seemed quite pleased with what had happened.

After a moment or two, she was back with a fragment of coloured lace in her hand. "Here's a pair from the sales rack, dear. You can have them instead. They're by the same designer so they're just as pretty. It would only be important to you if you were an up-to-the-minute fashionable teenage girl."

I was unable to speak.

"Well, when are you going to try them on, dear. What's wrong with right now. Then we can see what else you might like to have. There is a matching set after all. I've got the panties, suspender-belt and petticoat if you want them. They're really top-range things."

I was still in shock.

Auntie went on. "I run an expensive shop, dear. None of my customers leaves here without clothes that fit properly. In this case, you have taken a pair of panties, expensive ones, so it is important to check them for fit. So, get on with it. Slip into one of the cubicles if you're so silly as to be shy and modest in front of your Aunt, and put on this lovely piece of scanty lace.

I turned without a word and scuttled towards the front of the shop. I didn't need to go in there often. Auntie felt that her customers wouldn't be very keen to display themselves in front of a young boy. There were sometimes occasions where some lovely lady would have to parade and pirouette in some expensive lingerie. Not suitable for a young boy to see, she thought. More realistically, she knew that it would have damaged the atmosphere and style of her shop.

Auntie turned to watch me go out. Unknown to me she brought some extra things from the shelves as she followed me.

I quickly removed my t-shirt and slacks, then more slowly removed my boxers and picked up the frilly blue panties. I eased them over my shoes and socks then called out to Auntie. "Shall I put my trousers back on?" I suppose I knew the answer already.

"Of course not. How can I tell in the underwear fits if it's underneath something. Now step out and let me see."

"Oh, that's not bad at all. Those actually fit rather well. Now what do you think? Just smooth your hands down the sides. Doesn't that feel nice. Soft, satiny and comfortable. Yes? I thought perhaps so. Well, there they are. Your first panties. Now get dressed and go home. You can also take these other pairs for yourself. I've already told you to wear panties from now on every day. So, I've raided the sales stock to get some extra pairs for you - and as a special treat, here's that pair you wanted earlier. They're a design called Wendy. The ones you're wearing now are called Juliette. And just so that you remember what began it all, from now on, I'm going to be calling you Wendy as a private joke between us. I'll keep the suspender-belt and so on to one side, just in case you're a naughty boy again. But remember, I want you wearing panties every day as a reminder not to steal from me."

At work, Aunt Jane never asked whether I was wearing pants or panties, but somehow I didn't dare disobey. I wore panties every day. At first, when they glimpsed the frills of my panties and realised what I was doing, Jess and Judy teased me, but I don't think they cared whether I was a boy-in-panties. I worked in the back of the shop and they worked in the front. As long as we got the work done, everything was fine for them.

We worked really hard every day right up to the night before Christmas Eve when the shop stayed open late for those last-minute purchases — and, more importantly, the last-minute fittings and adjustments. That was also the night of the Shop Party.

There was always a Shop Party for the customers - and the theme this year had been 'Black & White & Red all over'. Auntie had let me help with serving the food and drink. I could sense that she was upset about something but I put it down to stress. The evening before the party, I just overheard her on the telephone. When she came out, she mentioned that it was Leo and he wasn't going to be back in time for the party. She seemed almost pleased about it, I was puzzled.

The party was quite a riot. It soon became clear that I was the only one not dressed up for it. Mother and Sis were both there of course but I felt very much out on the edge. I was almost shocked when one of the customers came up to me and said, "It's a shame you're the only man here. Perhaps you should have dressed up so that you could join in properly instead of having to serve drinks all evening. It can't be much fun for you." I had actually served her in the shop once and knew her name was Mrs Brand. I didn't know what to say as her words seared across my mind. I stammered something about just being helpful and she replied, "That's exactly it, dear. You're being helpful to the shop, why shouldn't the shop be helpful to you."

Towards the end, Auntie came up beside me and said, "I'm sorry about this dear, but everyone knows everybody else and they're just relaxing. But after Christmas, we have the little party for the people in the shop. That's a lot more relaxed. I'll make arrangements so that you can join in instead of having to stand out like tonight. Perhaps I'll do as Mrs Brand suggested." She saw my expression. "Don't worry so, Peter dear. I'll sort out something."

I wondered for a moment exactly what she meant by that. I knew that she was very clever with words and could make a simple sentence mean more than one thing.

That evening, both Mum and Susie teased me about being the only man at the party. Susie actually said that she was quite surprised that Aunt had let me join in at all. She reminded me about Aunt's frequently stated rule that she would only ever have girls working at her shop. I must confess this was the first time that I wondered how Aunt was going to adjust for me working at the shop. Despite the fact that I was now wearing panties everyday, I never thought that the adjustment might involve me rather than her.

Then the Christmas weekend passed and when I went back to the shop it was much quieter than before.

It was in the days between Christmas and New Year that the shop caught its breath, finalised the stocktaking and relaxed a little before the January Sale. It was also the time when we had our own in-house staff Shop Party.

The In-Shop party was, as usual set for the period after Christmas but before the New Year Sales in the High Street. Aunt didn't have sales like that - just a small rack of old stock which she always sold the day of the party. When the day arrived, it was a real rush. The customers just kept piling into the shop. Backstage, it was exhausting. Eventually, it got to just after five o'clock and Auntie managed to close the doors. After tidying up for a while, we had the front-room ready for the evening. This was when Aunt took me aside and asked, "Are you ready for this, dear? Do you want to join the girls out front? You know my rule about only having girls in the shop. Are you coming to the party and will you let me dress you up ?"

I had somehow guessed from what Aunt Jane had said at the big party that she would want me to wear a dress. I grinned at her. "This is the only party on tonight, Auntie. If I have to dress up to go to it, then I'll let you do it. But only for tonight, mind you."

"Of course, dear. Now you just hold still while I measure you and get a couple of things from the shelves. I'm going to make you look just lovely."

She put me into a gorgeous mid-length grey silk dress. It was just right for an anorexic model so the fact that I had no bra and nothing to put in a bra was actually perfectly suitable. I decided that I liked the feel of the smooth slinky cloth against my bare skin. It was warm in the shop, so all I wore was my panties, the dress, tights and a pair of Aunt's lowest-heeled shoes. Jess and Judy both exclaimed at how pretty I looked. Jess even helped put a little make-up on me. As a final item, Aunt let me select a necklace, bracelet and set of clip-on earrings. The necklace felt quite strange but the earrings hurt a lot until my ears went sort of numb. Jess took a photograph of me. I was too surprised to be cross but I asked her not to take any more. My protests were pretty feeble but she did promise only to take one or two more and to give me the copies. She then insisted on a close-up and a couple of poses. Aunt didn't object so I more or less felt that I had to agree. It felt quite odd posing for a photograph while dressed completely as a girl.

The party was wonderful. There were only the few of us who had worked in the shop during the year plus the part-timers and some of the local suppliers. It was somehow exciting to be wearing my first dress. I was introduced as Aunt's niece which surprised me at first. But clearly I should not be her nephew while I was wearing such a lovely feminine dress. We ate, drank, chatted, bopped to one or two of the records. At the end I was even more exhausted than before. I slipped off the dress and changed to go home.

But I made a mistake by being so tired. I didn't look ahead when I dropped the panties in the wash-basket with my other things. I didn't think any more about it until I got back home in the evening to find Mum waiting for me as I went into my room. "Do you know anything about these, Peter dear? They were in the wash but they're the wrong size for me or for Susan."

My face answered for me by going beetroot red. I sat on the bed, weak with the surge of horror that her words triggered.

"Oh, so they are something to do with you. What on earth is going on here. Just because you work in your auntie's shop is no excuse for pilfering. I can't imagine that she knows about this, let alone gave permission. Don't try to lie your way out of it. I'm most displeased. I shall call her at once and discuss the situation. In the meantime, you can think of a suitable punishment for a boy who steals panties." She threw the offending garment at me. I caught it. I saw the strange look on her face as my disobedient fingers instantly smoothed and stroked the soft satin fabric.

Mum was always a bit too keen on the 'right punishment for a crime'. It had always been the case. I remembered when I was much younger and I had still wet the bed occasionally. I must have been about six. Mummy had put a nappy on me when it had happened for the fourth or fifth time in a fortnight. Even worse, it had been impossible to put my pyjamas over the top, so she had put me into a nightdress too. I had stopped that business quite soon after that, so it had never made a great impression on me. It hadn't been one of the major memories of my childhood. But now I realised that she must have been aware of the potential to put me in a dress more often, because she had mentioned it more than once in the next year or so. Usually, she said something like, 'You behaved so much better that one time so I'm tempted to dress you up again whenever you get too dirty.' But I didn't remember any comment of that sort in the last two or three years.

I thought some more - what had actually happened all those years ago? Had that triggered some deep impulse in me to wear dresses or in her to make me wear dresses? I was a boy not a girl, I shouted inside my head. Then, once more, I noticed my hand stroking those lovely panties. I liked the feel of them against my fingers. 'And against your skin', my whirling heart reminded me.

I could hear her voice on the phone, not the words but the tone came across the landing quite well. I sat on my bed. Waiting. Caressing my panties.

Eventually the voices stopped. It could only have been a minute or two but it felt like forever. I had an instant headache from the embarrassment. At last I heard Mum come back into the room. I glanced at her. I couldn't tell from her expression what she was thinking. I stumbled into an explanation, but what could I say, "I ..... It's not ..... How could you think ...," I stuttered to a halt. There was nothing I could say to make the situation better and several things which would make the situation worse. So, I sat on the bed, waiting for her to say something. The panties lay unattended beside me.

After a moment's silence, she spoke, "I don't know what to say either. Just a month ago, you finished term where you spent your time getting dirty and muddy and spending hours playing soccer with the school team. Then the holidays began and you would stay out for hours in the park with Sam and Greg and the others. Now, it's all different. Just a couple of weeks surrounded by pretty frilly clothes and you're stealing panties for yourself. What are you? A girl or a boy? I'm sure I don't know what to think. At the moment, according to Jane, you're a boy in panties. She even says that you wore a dress last night at her party. I'm not going to make you prove whether this is true or not. Your flaming red face tells the truth more than any attempt at innocence. Apparently, you want to wear panties every day now. She says she doesn't know why as she hasn't forced you to. I came upstairs to ask about these extra panties. They're just out of the wash, so normally I would iron them. But as a boy-in-panties you might as well iron your own. Jane says you are quite competent with an iron. There's quite a lot to do. In the meantime, I'll spend some time thinking what sort of a punishment would be suitable for my sixteen-year-old son who steals panties."

She turned back, "Are these your only panties ?"

Numb, I opened my cupboard and she picked through the five other pairs. She frowned and went downstairs without any comment but she left my panties in my cupboard.

There was still nothing to say. I followed downstairs to the workroom with stumbling feet and stumbling brain. Just yesterday, I had accused myself of being stupid, careless and unlucky. Now I had done it again. Horrors. What stupidity could I inflict on myself next?

Mother waited until I came down. I was wearing jeans but Mother made me slip them down far enough to check that I was wearing the telltale panties. I felt terrible. First Mother made me finish the washing-up. Since I was going to get splashed doing that she insisted on putting an apron on me. I felt silly and complained. Wrong option.

When that job was done, Mother made me get the ironing board and the iron and begin on the pile of slightly damp washing. It seemed that there was a ton of it to do. Eventually the pile began to get smaller. Just at that moment, Susan came back. She was annoyed to see that I had her best French knickers under the iron. It seemed that she was already annoyed with the world, and boys in particular - so she really exploded at me. When she finished her tirade - everything got worse. I had been so stunned at her outburst that I hadn't been completely careful and her best knickers had a very faint scorch mark. Now she went completely over the top.

She burst into tears, "Mum, it's impossible. I hate boys, I hate everything and now that rotten brother has ruined my best clothes. He has no idea how to look after pretty things - I mean, he's useless. I suppose he has never had the chance to learn but now he's ruined my best pants. How could you let him do that. I want you to punish him for it." My sister always used to ensure that Mum did punish me for petty little things like this. She hadn't seemed to notice that I was already being punished.

"Mum, if he's going to ruin my panties, then make him pay me for them - or at least get a replacement pair from the shop.

Mother made it worse. She said, "Peter, go and get those new panties from your room and let Susan choose a replacement for herself."

Susan gaped. "What do you mean, Mummy. What's Peter got panties for? He's a boy, isn't he?"

"Don't interrupt, Susan. Just wait. Get on with it, Peter. Run."

We both did as we were told.

When I came back, Mum had obviously told Susan. She was sitting at the table convulsed with laughter, grinning from ear to ear with wicked mirth.

"So, my nasty little brother steals panties, eh. And now he has to wear them every day. Ha, ha, ha. Oh, that makes me really smile. I'm going to keep a close eye on you. If Mummy thinks that giving me a replacement pair of panties is enough of a punishment for ruining mine, I don't any more. I'm going to sort you out, little brother. As far as I'm concerned, if you wear panties, then you're a girl."

Mother stood beside her, looking at me and, to my concern, nodding in agreement. "Yes, I suppose that's fair - at least for now."

Susan grinned more widely still and said, "So, Peter, I have a sister at last."

Mother interrupted, "Jane said that she sometimes calls him Wendy at the shop."

"Oh, so he's got a new name already. Lovely. I'm not sure I would have chosen Wendy, but if that's the case, then Wendy it is. Right, Wendy darling, from now on, it'll be pretty frills and lace for you. I'll let you have one of my nightdresses for now, but I expect you to get your own as soon as possible. Clearly, you have to learn a great deal in order to avoid embarrassing us, my new and special extra sister."

I winced at this but fortunately neither of them noticed. I am sure that would have brought me some extra punishment.

So began a new and much more thorough indoctrination into the ways and wiles of being a girl. I went to bed that night and found Susan waiting for me. She had just placed a nightdress on the bed and was now carrying an armful of my pyjamas and things. I saw no point in asking what was happening. My boyhood was disappearing - I was going to be treated as a girl and I was now expected to behave as a girl. Somehow it was obvious that the punishment inflicted by Mother was going to continue for much more than a day or two. By hindsight, I was surprisingly calm about it.

The next morning, I was about to get up and get dressed when Mother came into the room with fair load of packages. She opened them while I stood open-mouthed at each new surprise. She had been over to the shop to get new clothes for her new daughter Wendy.

So for the first time, I dressed myself as a girl. Head to toe - frilly pink ankle-socks, flat strap sandals, panties, trousers, and on top a vest and blouse. Mother saw me glance at the vest and smiled, "Come on, dear. You don't have anything to fill a bra-cup with. It would be silly and unattractive to make you wear one. If you would prefer a bra, then it just confirms that you are actually even more eager to be a girl than I ever guessed. I did feel that you were rather too willing to work at Jane's shop - but I never suspected that it was because you had such tendencies."

"But I didn't, Mum. I don't. It was just so convenient to have a good job so close. I didn't want to have to go to the industrial estate. I never had any idea of 'being a girl', as you call it. I'm not queer."

"Now don't be like that, dear. I never said anything about you being queer. And that's not a nice word. I'm talking about wanting to be a girl. As far as I'm concerned that's completely different. If you want we'll talk about this later - but right now I want you dressed up and off to work."

I looked in the mirror and saw that I was neither girly nor boyish anymore. But there was no time to change and no time to argue either. After a quick orange juice and toast, I was out of the house and on my way to work. I felt glaringly obvious, certain that everyone would know that I was only a boy-in-panties. I knew that my hair was too short and somehow wrong for a girl - but my costume was also indefinably no longer right for a boy. To my amazement, no one commented, not even a curious glance or a smirk. Even when I caught the bus back from the shop because it was raining. I didn't know whether to be pleased that I was not detected or amazed at how unobservant people must be. I hated the trip to and from the shop. I was always certain that someone would realize and shout out the amazing news.

After a couple of days of this, Auntie called me into her office when I arrived at work. I went in and shut the door. Auntie told me to pull up a chair and sit down. She told me that she was a little upset at how quickly her sister had interfered. She had only meant to tease me a little. The idea of making me wear those panties had been a bit of a joke really, not a deep laid plan to embarrass me and force me to do anything I didn't want. I listened to what she said and sympathised with her predicament. She said that she was quite upset that she was being forced to accept that I was now a full-time girl, at least until my mother said the charade was to stop.

"Please understand, Peter/Wendy, this wasn't my idea but I'm going to have to join in with it. If you have any problems, you just speak to me about them. In the meantime, I'll let you have anything you want from the shelves. If you're going to be forced to dress as a girl, then I want you to be as pretty as we can possibly make you. I think it makes the best of a possibly painful situation - and it gives us the chance to turn the tables on your Mum. We'll teach her if she wants to twist my game into something more serious. What do you say, darling?"

I found myself smiling at her. I hadn't guessed at how upset she would be. Only later have I learnt exactly how much or how little of what she said was true.

Eventually, I said, "Well, Mummy has said I've got to be a girl until I'm forgiven for stealing that pair of panties. In that case, I want to make absolutely sure that I never get mistaken for a dressed-up boy. I was crawling with fright and worry all the way here. I hated the feeling that any moment someone would shout, 'Look at that sissy'. I'm not a sissy. I'm not queer. I'm just being punished by being put into panties. Since that is the case, I accept your offer. I will tell you whenever I want to borrow or buy something and I would love your help to turn the tables on Mum. If she wants me to be a girl, then I want to look my best. Please, Auntie Jane, help me be beautiful."

"Of course, my darling Wendy. As a start, when you're with me, I'll always call you Wendy - unless you are actually doing something boyish. I called you Peter/Wendy earlier to emphasise that I see you as both a girl and a boy. But if you're asking me to help make you beautiful, even as a ploy to turn the tables on your mother, then that's a girl-type thing. That makes you into a Wendy for the moment. As for clothes and things, for this morning, what you've got is fine. But at lunchtime, let's see if we can't make a few improvements. You work with me and I'll make you into a truly gorgeous girl. I'll make everybody proud of Wendy."

That afternoon, I expanded my collection of clothes quite considerably. Auntie helped me choose things that were stylish yet comfortable. I also got a second pair of shoes which were much more comfortable than Susan's cast-offs.

For the rest of the holiday, each day I would get dressed for work at the shop. Mother would sometimes come in and check that I had done a proper job. After Auntie gave me that first matching bracelet and necklace set, Mother would sometimes let me wear them - but not every day.

Susan was not particularly involved in the morning as she would be off to work a good while before me. But in the evening and at weekends, she spent ages with me, showing me how to do simple make-up and how to style my hair which was now in much better condition. It was also quite long but still just about boy-length.

After being there for a month, the two girls at the shop invited me out for a drink. Jess was so excited at the idea of the three of us going out together. Aunt Jane did remind us that I was underage for drinking, but I hadn't started drinking anyway.

For the last evening of the holidays, Mother asked if I wanted to be Peter or Wendy. I had to say that I was so tired from sorting out my things for school and doing last minute homework that I couldn't be bothered to change. So, the traditional last-night dinner party was for Mother, Susan, Aunt and Wendy.

In the morning, my old clothes, not just my school things, were piled up on the fold-up table in my bedroom. Mum came in and said that she would sort things out so that Wendy's clothes were put separately. This was my first inkling that Wendy was only going into temporary storage.

As it happened during the term, there was little mention of skirts and dresses. I did boy things and dressed as a boy. My wardrobe was refilled with my old clothes and all my girl-things were taken away for storage at the shop, except my four panties which were in a different drawer. I hardly ever thought about the horror and the pleasure of dressing up except one time when I passed Aunt's shop with Mum and saw the grey silk dress in the window, the one I had worn at the party. It didn't feel right to have that on display for someone else to wear but I kept my mouth shut even when she said what a lovely dress it was.

At Easter, Jess moved on to a new job so I was asked to I stay on doing another holiday's work at Aunt Jane's emporium. I found I was glad to be back at the shop, doing work which I had found that I was good at. The first day, I wore trousers but Auntie was clearly a little put out by this as this time she wanted me to work in the front of the shop too. She didn't let Judy and Jess wear trousers except when they were backstage all day. She had hardly ever reminded me that I was a boy-in-panties - I was one of her staff. Clearly something was amiss, although Judy was just as kind and helpful as before and quite happy to share the front and back jobs.

As I left, Auntie reminded me that I was to be working in the shop in future and would have to dress properly. So when I got home it was no real surprise to learn from Mother that I was to be wearing skirts again. Somehow, it became clear that I was now expected to be dressed as a daughter almost all the time in the holidays. Later that evening Susan came into my room and took my pyjamas away. I wasn't sure whether to be grateful that she gave me the most gorgeous nightdress as a replacement.

Once or twice, I insisted on going out as a boy and playing with my mates as before - but there was very little time for that. I was spending so much time helping with the housework and other indoctrinating tasks. Mum had me making a lovely red crushed velvet dress for my birthday party. I was in torment with that dress. I loved the material but I also somehow disliked the idea that I was making it for me to wear. My birthday was at the first weekend of term so there was a clear statement that at least sometimes during the term-time I would be expected to become Wendy rather than Peter. I still really wanted to be a boy, but their efforts to soften me were continuous and, well, I never really complained. I liked them liking me and taking an interest in what I was doing. The fact that they liked me more as a girl made me more willing to be a girl to get the extra affection and warmth.

After a few days of wearing dresses every day, I came home to find that there were more changes. Almost all my proper i.e boy clothes had been removed once more and my wardrobe and chest were filled with a huge variety of girl's things. I ran downstairs to confront Mum. When I rushed into the room, I found her already talking with Auntie Jane and Susan.

She pointed to the sofa and made me sit beside Susie.

"Hello, Wendy, dear. As I can guess from your expression, you've already found out about the changes upstairs. Now, you can just sit quiet while you hear about the changes elsewhere."

She paused.

"When this began last winter, I was planning it as a short sharp shock, a punishment for theft. But I have begun to think again. You've been so much more helpful, so much more polite, so much nicer in fact, that I think it is actually good for you to stay in a dress. Jane reminded me of that time when you were younger. I don't think that time makes any difference to my decision though. That was then, this is now. I'm really proud of the way you've made such an effort to join in while we primp and prettify you. But with Jane's help, it's time to make a decision. I love you so much more when you're wearing dresses and looking like another daughter. I would like to help you make the most of yourself as a girl. Will you let me keep you in dresses for the rest of the holiday. It would make me so happy."

I was speechless. My mum wanted her son to wear skirts and dresses.

Susan leant over and kissed me on the cheek. "Please, Wendy. You're so much nicer now. I think you look so pretty too."

Jane joined in this attack on my fading masculinity. "It's so happy in the shop, dear. I'm so pleased to have you working with us - but I have had a few comments about how much more satisfactory it is now that my nephew has gone. Some of my clients think you are my niece. So I must agree with them, I do prefer you to be wearing dresses every day. And you are so beautiful."

I think it was because they said I was beautiful and that they were proud of me that helped me make the decision.

From that day onwards, every evening I would come home and Mother or Susan would give me lessons in what they called 'proper behaviour'. It was exhausting. I learnt about makeup, hairstyles, posture, language as well as all the complications of bras, suspenders, stockings. Every evening, I finished looking in the mirror - amazed because I was looking back at a young girl.

As the prospect of going back to school loomed closer, Mother promised that on the last but one night before school began Wendy could have a proper evening dress-up session so that she got some practice before the birthday party the next weekend. It had already been agreed that both Peter and Wendy would have a birthday party. I was going to put on my best dress and have my hair done. I could have a complete makeover before the nasty business of going back to the drab, dull, colourless existence of a young boy. She did insist that the next day I would have to go back to the hairdresser and have a more boyish style put back. She did hint that she would try to negotiate a unisex approach, well, rather more the girly side if possible, she smiled.

Eventually, it was the last week of those Easter holidays. My pal Sam dropped in to get me out playing kickabout. I hadn't seen him all month as he had gone away to the north with his parents. Because we had been out getting school clothes, I was wearing a sweater so that at least my costume looked boyish for the first time in ages. I was about to run off with him when Susan called me back.

"Peter darling, just hold on a second. I need your help for a moment for something very important."

I came back to her furious whisper. "Are you daft. What if you get too hot and take off your jersey. What if the boys see your pretty blouse and vest instead of your usual t-shirt. Are you ready to share your new hobby with a bunch of dirty boys who will tease you forever. Either run upstairs and change or stay here with me and have another lesson in hairstyles."

I was stuck. I had been pestering her for days about how to do some really fancy looks which I had seen in one of her magazines - but the boy-part of me wanted to go out and run and shout and be a boy again. The holidays were almost over and I knew that I would have to go back to being a schoolboy.

So I sat there for a moment, my eyes bright with pain. I wanted to do boy things just as much as the new me wanted to learn more about how to be a beautiful girl. Susan could see my problem and offered a way out. "Can you come back later, Sam. Say, in about an hour. I need Peter to help me change some things around."

Sam went away quite happily, calling, "I'll come over and we can go over to the park."

Susie and me spent a lovely time working on hairstyles for my birthday party in three day's time. Of course, I changed into a dress and a dab of lipstick - plaits and curls didn't feel right with a boy's clothes. Because it was almost the last opportunity of that holiday to get dressed in my best things, when Susie had finished with me, I put on my new Easter present dress, a rich red corduroy with white piping, my frilled white blouse peeped over the collar. I had on my new white shoes with the 2 inch heel and a fabulous pair of pale pink sheer stockings. I felt wonderful.

Unfortunately, I didn't keep an eye on the time so when the hour was almost up I wasn't nearly ready for the knock on the door. Even more carelessly, I went to open it - to find Sam staring at me with amazement.

"Golly. I was about to say 'Sorry, wrong house, miss' - but it's you, isn't it, Pete? You look smashing. You look prettier than any of the girls at school. How do you do it? I want to change my mind about going to the park to play football. Obviously, you're not dressed for that so would you like to come for a walk with me instead?"

This was a new aspect to my friend Sam. I knew the nasty little rumours that spread through a school. One or two of them had noticed his lack of success with girls and twisted it to mean that he liked boys. I had never believed this - he was my friend and as normal as anyone. I looked at him boldly. I knew I looked good - but this was a boy, my best friend, admiring me.

Nevertheless it gave me a real boost to know that someone else thought I looked so lovely.

Susan was at the door now. She pulled me back in and hustled Sam into following. "Samuel, did I just hear you asking Peter to go for a walk in the park with you. Did I hear you saying how pretty he looked."

"Yes, yes, you did. Pete looks divine. I could never look that good. I don't have anything as pretty as that dress."

If I had been shocked to see Sam at the door, I was, once more, stunned into silence. My best friend was another boy who liked to wear dresses. How many of us were there ?

If I was shocked then Sam was too. We could tell that he had never meant to let those fatal words slip out. His eyes were wide with horror and he was stammering with embarrassment as he tried to cover up.

Susie ushered him into the house and we sat on the sofa together - Sam in the middle. Eventually we all got ourselves a little more composed. I was so excited that I just gushed at him, "What did you say, Sam, I had no idea. Do you mean that you wear dresses at home too. Isn't it fun. I'd never have guessed. What does your mum say?"

"Ah, that's the problem. She doesn't approve so I don't wear them at home except when I'm alone. I've got a little case under my bed crammed full of pretty things. She says that it's not possible for boys to look real in a dress - they just look like they're boys-in-dresses. She did once say that if she ever saw a boy wearing a dress and she couldn't tell, then she'd think again about me. Please, Pete, come over and prove to Mum that it is possible to be a beautiful boy. Please."

Susan and I looked at each other with deep concern. I dressed as a girl almost every day, but I hardly ever went out unaccompanied. Here was my friend, suddenly revealed as another dresser, telling me I looked pretty and wonderful and could I go out and fool his mother. Wow.

Sam was looking shocked too. He obviously hadn't meant anyone to find out about his own fantasies - but seeing me on the doorstep - the real-life proof that it was possible had blown away his concealment. He was looking so horrified that Susan was more concerned about him than about me. Surely I was equally upset. Being found in a dress by one of my soccer pals. Ghastly. But I realized that I wasn't upset, I was excited, pleased in fact - because he loved wearing dresses too. I could sense that his hand was stroking my dress. When he saw that I had noticed, he smiled at me and shrugged as if to say, 'I can't help it.'

We kept on talking about how to arrange things. After a while I could tell that Sam was more excited about the fact that I was encouraged to wear dresses while he was discouraged.

It took a lot of fast planning. Mum would have to be consulted. Sam would have to get his timing right so that it was just his mother, him and me. I was agreeing to all this before I had a chance to protest. When, at last, I did say something, Susan silenced me instantly. "I've been watching you. You have been getting more and more awkward about only dressing-up at home or when we say it's alright. This is a lovely opportunity for two boys who love dresses to do so at each other's houses. When you show Sam's mum that it is possible to look so good in skirts, then she has to let Sam dress-up too. It's all going to work out perfectly and you'll be able to dress up more than before.

The event was fixed for the next evening. I would walk round to Sam's house in the relative concealment of dusk. Sam would let me in and I would spend time just chatting with his mum, Mrs Wickham. At some stage, Sam would accidentally call me Pete. He said that he would introduce me first as one of his friends from school. Sis didn't like that idea. You've got to give Peter a name - your mum knows you don't often have friends come over, and you can't begin with 'This is Peter wearing a dress'. I'm afraid it's over to you, Peter dear. What do you want Sam to call you. We can call you Peter because we know what's been happening - but this is out in the real world where there are very few girls called Peter. Have you got any idea what you want to be called?"

I pretended that I had really never thought about it. My name was Peter or Pete. I was a boy who was lucky enough to be able to dress either as a boy or as a girl and my mum and sis liked me either way. This was different. Sam needed me to be a girl and then to be 'found out' as a boy-in-skirts. Mucho problemo. Clearly, a decision had to be made - and fast. "I dunno," was my contribution.

Susie giggled, "Why not Wendy since that was the design of those infamous first panties back at Christmas."

I saw Sam's eyes light up with interest. He hadn't yet realized that this had been going on for several months.

"I've not thought about it, but that's a lovely suggestion, sis. Yes, I'd love it if you called me Wendy. I still think of those first yellow panties as something special."

Sam was glowing with excitement. "That's a really pretty name. Wendy, it suits you somehow. Will you really do this for me, Wendy. I would so love to be able to dress like you. Can I stay this afternoon and try on some of your things. I'll be so careful with them. Please say yes."

Things were happening so fast. Now I was being asked by my best friend and football pal to help him put on a dress. I decided to push him a bit further. "Do you mean just a dress, or do you want the whole thing, undies, makeup, hairstyle, shoes. What do you want?"

We could see that Sam was bouncing with energy. "Oh, whatever you want. I would just love so much to be a girl and have lovely soft dresses to wear instead of just jeans and workshirts. If you've got anything else that I could try on, I'd be so happy. I'd love whatever you let me do. None of my stuff fits properly. I've managed to get a few things from the charity shops and so on and a few things that Mum was throwing out. I have bought panties and a few other little bits for myself - but it would be so much better to try a few things on in peace and safety."

It was impossible to deny the poor lad. Sis went off to her room to 'get things ready' for Sam. She told me to bring him round, dressed, in about fifteen minutes. Some of Sam's comments did make me think how horrid it must be for him - and indeed how different it was for him. He wanted to wear dresses and look like a girl but couldn't while I had been forced to dress like a girl and had been given every encouragement.

I skipped upstairs taking Sam into my new bedroom. Since Christmas, I hadn't let any of my old friends in there. Well, it would have been a dead giveaway. I had makeup all over my desk and pairs of stockings hanging to dry on the bedside chair. There was stuff everywhere to show that Pete was sharing his room with some sort of girl. Not the image I wanted my old pals to find. But now I was eager to share with Sam.

Sam pounced on the things on the bed, fingering them and stroking them with sheer delight all over his pale face. I scolded him in case he damaged them but I could see that he was trying to be really careful - it was just that he was almost out of control with excitement. "Oh, Pete, this is so wonderful. I'll just sit here while you show me your prettiest frocks."

"Don't be so daft, Sam. You want to be a pretty girl, then there's no time to waste. I'll try to help by letting you borrow as much as you need. I've got quite a few lovely things and you'll look so sweet in some of them. So, stand up and let me measure you, then I'll know what might fit you best. We've got to hurry, Sis is getting things ready for you too." I didn't go into detail.

Sam stood while I hurried with the tape. Fortunately, we were much the same size, Sam just an inch taller but about the same in the waist and hips. It meant that I would indeed be able to lend him some finery. Get him out of those drab, dull denims into a fancy, frilly frock. I realised what fun this was and what I had missed not being able to do things with my friends. I realized I was playing dress-up with a boy. I flinched as the thought hit home - 'playing dress-up with a boy'. What did I mean? Was I no longer a complete boy if I could think of Sam as something different from me. I realized that my role had changed, transformed somehow. Now I was even thinking like a girl.

At the shop I was now allowed sometimes to do the simple measurements so doing the same for Sam wasn't difficult. Mostly I had done it when the shop was quiet and Auntie wasn't worried about the effect a boy, or rather a boyish-girl, would have on her clientele. She had demanded with increasing stress that I dress in a suitably unisex style. I wore t-shirts but in pastel shades, I wore moccasins with a tiny heel, I wore slacks. On one occasion, Jess put a bracelet on my wrist and it felt completely right. After that, I insisted on wearing bracelets every day, except when working on the more fragile and scanty lingerie. Auntie even let me wear a necklace from the accessory section once in a while. I loved the feel of these truly feminine items tinkling and rubbing against my skin. Auntie had said that it was much more convenient now that I looked so much less macho. Jess and Judy hadn't seemed to care. They came to do a job every day and went away with a monthly pay-packet. They didn't bother whether I was a boy, girl or boyish-girl as long as I did my share of the work.

Sam was in heaven. Even when I told him to strip and he blushed as if I had been a real girl instead of one of his football mates. I passed him a pair of my favourite panties and told him to put them on. I then passed a suspender-belt around his waist and began to put on a lovely sheer pair of stockings. Sam groaned with pleasure. To my horror, I saw his prick stiffen. I tried to ignore it. What would a real girl have done?

I concentrated on getting my pal into his first frock. It was a cool day so the choice was quite limited. I still didn't have that big a wardrobe. I looked at the lucky boy, about to get dressed as well as I and Sis could possibly manage. It didn't take long before Sam was done.

After the panties, I had put a vest on him. Well, there's no point in a bra with nothing in it, is there, I thought. He had on a pair of my low-heeled shoes and was teetering all over the place. The shoes only just fitted. As usual it was the extra slipperiness and sleekness of the tights that let his feet slide in. He had on a simple dress with puff-sleeves over one of my prettiest blouses with buttons all the way down the back. Of course, I had had to help him with those the same way Sis had to help me. He also wore my only petticoat. I added that so that he would get an additional sensation of swishing across his nyloned legs. Since that was one of my favourite feelings, it seemed unfair not to let Sam try it as well.

While I helped him dress, I asked what frillies he had hidden away. He blushed a little, then said, "I've taken some things that Mummy was throwing away. A skirt and blouse, but they're not at all pretty really. I've got some tights and things too. Last year, I bought some panties at the supermarket. And at Gillian's house last year for her party, I, er, found a bra and panties which I just had to have. I suppose, really, that I stole it - but she had lots of other stuff. Really pretty things too, I just had to have something for myself. I'm sure she didn't realize that it was me. I've got a cardigan with the sweetest flowers sewn on. And there's some other things, but none of them fit me properly."

"I thought you said you had a dress."

"No, I didn't. I don't have a dress of any sort. I said I didn't have anything as pretty as the dress you're wearing. It's so divine. It makes you look so cute."

I smiled. How could I help smiling when someone said with such emphasis that I looked pretty.

"Do you want to wear a blouse and skirt or a dress?" I asked my friend as he stood there in my spare lingerie.

"Oh, a dress please."

Between us, we looked through my few dresses. Sam wanted to try them all on but there was no time for that. Eventually, we settled on one of my older things from last winter.

I stopped him looking in any of the mirrors by tying a scarf over his eyes before we set off down the corridor. He tried to stop me until I said, "I really don't want you to see anything at a halfway stage. Just wait until Sis has done your pretty green eyes, then you'll be amazed at how gorgeous you look!"

Somehow I found it easy to use these girly phrases when I was properly dressed. They seemed more comfortable, nicer, better. When he was ready, I hugged him tight and said, "You really do look like a pretty girl already. It's going to be so wonderful when Sis has done her magic." It felt right to hug this pretty friend of mine - we were both wearing dresses and that's what girls do - isn't it. For a moment, I did wonder whether to kiss him too. I felt so soft and tender towards my new girlfriend.

As Sam was blindfolded, we walked arm in arm to Susie's room. She had arranged everything so that Sam wouldn't see anything while she worked to make him beautiful. She had practised all those months on me, now it was for my best mate. I took the blindfold off and saw Sam smile with imminent delight. While I sat on the bed, entranced, Susie rushed around, her fingers dipping into pot and potion like humming-birds.

After a little while, Sam quietly said, "This feels so right. I do so want it to continue with me becoming a girl like Wendy. Can you call me Samantha from now on. I don't like being Sam anymore."

Sis leant forward and kissed him on the cheek. "That's your first kiss as a girl. I hereby christen you Samantha."

When I heard that, I jumped up and gave Samantha a kiss. She smelt lovely and as I gave her a hug, I felt her wriggle with pleasure.

Sam spent the whole evening with us. We were in seventh heaven with a new toy, our own doll to dress and makeup. She loved every minute of it too. I used my new camera to take pictures of us and Susie took pictures of Samantha and me. It was such fun that none of us wanted it to end.

Eventually, we had to accept that it was late. Sam sadly took off his pretty dress and washed his face. He smiled a little when I asked him to come back as early as possible tomorrow. "It's a special day - your mum will meet her gorgeous Samantha's friend Wendy. I promise with all my heart that she will never guess and that she will agree to the release of her daughter Samantha."
And I gave my special friend a kiss on the cheek to brand him with my lipstick.

The next day, Sam was knocking on the door before I was up. He scampered upstairs so that he could watch me dress. I felt a real girl as I tried to decide what to wear for our day out. I just knew that I had nothing to wear to give the right impression. In the end, I wore my favourite yellow and cream dress with the orange piping at the collar. I really loved that dress as it was the first one I had chosen and bought by myself.

When I put on my bra, I saw the look of interest from my partner. When I continued and picked up the new pink jelly inserts, I heard a muted gasp of astonishment. I didn't care - I was having so much fun getting dressed while my friend watched. When I had snugged them properly into their pockets, I turned and grinned. "That surprised you didn't it. But they make me feel so much more real that I try to have them all the time. They're jolly expensive, but Mummy eventually allowed Aunt Jane to give them to me so that I would look more ordinary. Auntie said that it wasn't right having a totally flat-chested girl working at a posh dress-shop. Auntie took me to a little shop hidden away at the back of the park."

Sam hesitated for a moment, "I knew you were helping at a shop, but I never knew it was a dress-shop. Was that where you started dressing up or have you been doing it for a long time? Am I going to call you Pete or Wendy from now on?"

"Don't be so silly, when I'm dressed up, I'm Wendy, of course," I said happily. "But we'll both have to be careful in the future."

But I could see how interested he was in my story so I gave him the basic details. He sat with eyes wide-open as he listened. Working at the shop, sorting out the undies, the whole story up to the fatal night when Mummy found my panties in the wash. He interrupted with, "That was a bit of a Freudian slip - did you want her to find out."

"It wasn't a slip, it was a pair of panties," I smiled. "I didn't get any slips until later. And I really didn't want her to find out - I mean look at what has happened since. She has punished me, made me wear dresses every day and nighties every night. In the end, she's made me feel more comfortable in these things. I can't believe you're saying that I wanted that to happen."

"I didn't say that - but look at it from the other point of view. Within a few months of wearing your first panties and having them found by your Mum - you're dressing as a beautiful girl and helping your best friend put on one of your dresses. You're expert at makeup and, well, everything. I couldn't believe that you weren't a girl yesterday afternoon. If you hated it, you couldn't look so happy and so comfortable. Peter, my friend, you do seem to prefer being a girl."

It was my turn to hesitate. "Well, I do love being dressed in pretty frocks and lovely colours, being a butterfly instead of a drab, grey grub. Now that I'm used to it, yes I do love being a girl and I wish it could have happened years ago. I wouldn't have wasted all that time being a quite ordinary boy. Nobody ever said I was anything special as a boy. They said I was too small, too thin, too pale. And now I dress as a girl - those are suddenly the qualities which make me look real and pretty. By hindsight, this is the best thing that has happened to me."

"And it all happened because your Auntie wanted some help in the shop. I can't help but feel that some of the things that happened were a bit too coincidental. Your Aunt noticing you steal those panties, happening to have few spare things for you to wear, putting that silk dress on display where you could see it every time you passed. Sometime, I think you should ask you Auntie if she wanted you to start wearing dresses."

I hadn't thought of that as a possibility. Had I been too naive? Was it possible that some of those early accidents had been deliberate? I knew that I would have to find time to think about my recent past.

Sam tried to help me but spent more time looking at all my lovely clothes and holding them up to himself to see how they would look. I couldn't help but smile. When I was ready I sat at my vanity table and began to put on a tiny touch of makeup. I wanted Sam to see how much I had learnt, how comfortable I was with prettying myself up to look like a young teenage girl. Sam sat open-mouthed as I applied the lipstick and a modest amount of eyeliner.

When I glanced sideways and asked if he had ever done this for himself, I didn't know what answer to expect. Perhaps he had stolen a few moments at this mother's makeup bag, perhaps he had been bold enough to buy a few things at the supermarket, perhaps this would be a first. In fact, he didn't really answer, he just leant forward and asked if I would show him how to do it properly. I felt so pleased. Here was I, a young boy, being asked by my best friend to give him lessons in simple makeup.

I tried to remember the stages - they were so nearly automatic to me after all this time. "First, wash your mouth and dry it off, then I'll put the first coat on, quite hard so that it fills the crevices, but not all the way to the edge in case it smudges." As I spoke, I tried to do exactly what I said. "Then dab it with a tissue, so that the excess comes off. We leave it to dry for a moment, then we do the second coat - a bit more to the edge. Then we tilt the lipstick and use the other angle to fill in and complete the package. There you are, with lips good enough to kiss. But since you're a girl for today and we never want to smudge, just a mid-air mwahh for now. Later, when you see your own lips on the edge of your teacup, then you'll feel that this is real. I remember my first time."

Sam grinned. "I want to know so much about this. I want to know how it all began for you. I want to know about your first panties, those Wendy ones you spoke about. I want to hear all the stories - every first that you can remember. Then I can make plans so that I can have all those firsts as well. My first dress, my first bra, my first stockings - I so want to share your pleasure and excitement of being a proper girl."

While Sam had been picking through all my things, I had decided what s/he was going to wear today. I had told him to put several to one side. When he realized that they were for him, he was so happy. He scampered over to the bedside chair and began to take his own things off as fast as possible. He snatched at the tights - I thought they would be easier than suspenders and stockings. I managed to get him to slow down.

"Sammy, darling. Panties first, then tights. If you have to go to the lav then you have to take the tights down first."

He grimaced, "Sorry, Wendy. There's still a lot to learn."

We continued. Slowly another young teenage girl took form in my frilly bedroom. I put his/her first bra on with due attention to 'this is a first for you - your first bra - remember this moment as it hugs you tight'. Samantha was wearing a bra filled with the old foam inserts rather than the jelly ones I now used. Just for a minute, I put the jelly ones in so that she could feel how much more girly they were. But only for a moment as I felt so unbalanced without them bouncing on my chest. As well as the simple white bra, I had picked out a lovely pair of cream panties. I watched as he slid them up his legs and smoothed them over his hips. Then I also gave him a pair of knickers so that he could feel the soft flick and slither of them against his legs as he walked. On top of these carefully chosen undies, I gave him a straight and simple layered skirt and one of Susan's blouses. Last night, I had seen that Sam was a little broader at the shoulder than me so my blouses would have looked wrong. Susie had been quite reasonable about a swap as she wanted to borrow my knitted jersey-dress.

"That's my first bra, first suspenders - oh, all sorts of firsts. I feel so happy I could burst. This is my first time that I've been able to share being dressed as a girl with anyone. It feels so good. I'm going to make a real effort to be a girl for my Mum. I really don't want to be a boy any more if dressing as a girl is so lovely."

"It's not all wonderful, Sammy. I've had to start doing all sorts of girly things which are just tedious. You've got to realise that there's a lot more to being a girl than just wearing frills."

"I don't care anymore. I really don't. I feel better than I've ever felt before. I like the feel of this bra, the cling of these stockings, the swish of the hem across my legs. I'm just not going back to trousers and jeans."

"Oh, come on, Sammy. Even girls wear jeans and trousers sometimes."

"Not all of them, and I'm not going to be one if I can help it. I've just got to be able to persuade Mummy to let me become a girl."

With some effort, I persuaded Sammy to get back to the more immediately important task of practising to look and behave as much like a girl as possible in the few hours we had. His determination did make it easier for him to learn each lesson.

So the morning passed. Sam was on a complete high with the excitement but Susie and I were getting really tired. At last it was time to go over to Sam's house. Sam glumly changed back into his old uninteresting clothes. His high disappeared the instant he began to take off his pretty clothes. I saw how unhappy he was and tried to encourage him. "Come on, be confident. By this evening, you will have got your mother to agree that you can be a glorious butterfly like me - no more boy - a happy pretty girl instead."

"If only."

"Now we can't do this unless you're on the ball. Your mum has to know how eager you are, how determined, how excited. Will it be better if you're wearing panties under those jeans - will that make you happy."

"Ooh, I hadn't thought of that. Oh, yes. If I can feel them soft and silky. That'll be enough. Oh, thank you for that idea, Wendy. Yes," and in moments he had stripped off and put on a pair of my panties.

When we reached the house, it was my turn to be nervous. "No, I can't, I daren't. Let's go home." But I saw the pleading expression on Sam's face and knew that I had to go through with it. "Sorry, Sam, last minute nerves. For you, for Samantha, I'm okay. Let's go and show her how pretty a boy can be."

As we went through the kitchen, Sam introduced me quickly, "Mum, this is Wendy, she's come over for tea like I said."

His mum was clearly busy so just said, "Hello, dear. Hello, Wendy. I'll come and join you later but I've just got a few urgent things to do first."

We went in and sat in the conservatory. This was beside the kitchen so whenever Sam's mum wanted help she only had to call us. We both helped - Sam because he knew the layout of the house, me because I was taking the part of a young teenage girl who was properly housetrained. After a little while, tea was ready and we moved back to the conservatory.

Sam was in the bright sunshine. This was unfortunate as his mother's bright eyes caught sight a speck of makeup at the corner of one eye. "Sam, dear, have you been playing around again. You know I don't like it when you get these urges for makeup and so on. Is it possible you've been doing things with Wendy. You know I asked you not to. In fact, I can't believe you've actually asked for help from this pretty girl. Have you ?"

Sam hung his head and wiped frantically at his eye with his sleeve. The telltale green speck showed clearly the white sleeve. I didn't know what to say.

His mother went on, "I really don't like it when you do this. I've said time after time, boys are boys and girls are girls. You can't make on look like or behave like the other. Look at your friend, I mean, she's so pretty."

Before I could stop myself, I found I was letting the cat out of the bag. "But when I put that makeup on Sam, he looked so lovely. I was only playing and he never actually said 'stop'. We were just playing about. I didn't know you disapproved so strongly."

She smiled at me, "Oh, don't take on so, dear. I'm just quite firm about this. Sam is very important to me. I'm proud of him at school and I want him to be a strong young man moving onwards to college and a good career. I just feel that small, slight boys like Sam and Peter need encouragement to get to the top. Behind every successful man is a strong woman. I want that for my boy."

When she mentioned my name, I jerked and my mouth dropped open.

"Why did you react so when I mentioned Peter? Do you know him?"

I flinched, horrified at her question. This was enough for her to grab me by the arm and pull me, quite roughly, into the light.

She looked even harder at me. Her hands patted my hair and my soft skin. She stroked my shoulder and her hand detected my bra-strap and moved down to touch my breast. Her expression changed to a look of wonder. "I can't believe this. Are you actually Peter in a dress? Oh, but you look so real. No, you're a girl. What on earth is happening here. I want to know what's been happening with you and my son. Come along, my dear."

I smiled. I felt like I was in control for the moment. Her final words had confirmed to me that she thought I was a girl. So I answered her as a girl, "My name is Wendy. I don't have any friends called Peter, so I don't even know who this Peter is. As regards your son, I'm sorry about playing makeup with Sam, but he did look so lovely. It was yesterday afternoon, we were just playing around because it was too wet to go out. It was just a bit of fun to practise with my makeup box. It's different doing it to someone else. I even took a photograph of him, and there's no trace of boy to show. And I must confess too that after doing his makeup and him looking so pretty that I even made him wear one of my dresses." I heard a gasp from Sam's mum but I went on quickly - it felt like this was the crucial moment. "My sister Susan didn't recognise him. He really did look sweet. Can I dress him up for you - you'll be so surprised."

"Damn right, I'll be surprised. I'll be surprised if I even consider it for a minute. I'm sorry to use language like that, Wendy dear, but the whole idea just upsets me so much. And photographs can lie."

Sam spoke, "Mum, it wasn't so bad. It was all a game with the makeup. I didn't encourage Wendy to do it, honest. And I really wasn't happy when she insisted on putting me in a dress. But you did promise, Mum. You did say that if I could be made to look completely like a girl that you'd let me do it sometimes."

"Don't try and manipulate me, dear. What I said was that if I was truly unable to tell a girl from a boy, then I would think about it."

Despite the fact that the conversation had not gone along the right lines at all so far, this was my moment, "Mrs Wickham, please, but you can't tell whether I'm a boy or a girl."

Her expression as she turned to me was complete shock.

"Yes, I'm Peter - but I prefer to be called Wendy when I'm dressed up."

Her expression didn't change as she flicked her gaze up and down. To rub in the moment, I stood and pirouetted before her - showing my pretty shoes and my stockinged legs to her horrified gaze. I went to the table and took the photographs of myself from my handbag. I passed them to her and waited while she flicked through them, looking more and more surprised as she did so. Then I sat down beside her, smoothing my skirt in the approved manner as I did so.

She finished looking at the first pack. "These are hard to disprove. You do look really cute."

I passed her the ones of Samantha.

She looked through the second pack more slowly, finally she held one up in such a way that she could see the real Sam at the same time. "Once more, I have to say that I can't believe it. Wendy has done a wonderful job and you do look just like any other pretty girl. But that dress isn't really suitable."

I noticed that she was still calling me Wendy rather than Peter. Then I giggled and whispered in her ear, "And I've made him wear a pair of my panties too."

I thought for a moment that I had made a mistake.

Mrs Wickham jumped around and glared at me, but only for a moment. "It is very hard to accept what you've done, either of you. I don't approve of Wendy dressing up my boy after my express disapproval. I don't approve of Sam letting it happen. But, it seems that the facts outweigh my opinions. Sam does look lovely in the picture. And I have noticed how many little things have happened over the years - how often Sam has expressed a desire to learn more of the feminine side instead. How often I've had to force him and push him to be a 'real boy'. I never thought of him as sissy or anything like that, just a bit less boy than I wanted. But I still don't see my Sam as a sissy. Being a boy-in-a-dress is one thing, but looking and acting and being so completely girl is different from being a sissy. But I can't fight forever."

She turned to Sam, who had said very little so far. "Alright, dear. Just as an experiment, I'll let you be the girl you want to be. But I'm going to make strict rules about this. Clearly, the two of you have planned this. So what is the next step. You may have planned a whole series of steps up to Sam being allowed to dress up as often as he wants. That is too much for me. But, today, with the evidence you've just shown me, I'm willing to take this one small step."

"I thought you should see Sam dressed up - I brought a bag full of things in the porch."

"Well, you do have things organised. Do you want me to help or what."

"I don't know. I think it's up to you. If you want we can come downstairs in a little while to introduce you to your daughter or you can come and join in and see how much fun it all is."

"I think I'll wait here and decide what to do next - and what rules I'm going to enforce. Off you go to prepare my daughter. Are you really Peter or Wendy or are you teasing me about this." Clearly, she was still unsure.

I tried to use a deeper voice, "Yes, I'm Peter and Wendy together. At school I'm still Peter, of course. But at home and in the holidays, I try to be Wendy as much of the time as possible. Mummy doesn't mind and my sister Susan actually likes me better now. She says it's like having a brother and a sister."

Mrs Wickham looked both pleased and puzzled at this news. She watched as I came back with my suitcase and Sam with a carrier. I smiled to myself as I felt certain she was watching to see if I would stumble as I went upstairs in my pretty white high-heeled straps. Not long before I would have been so much less confident, but now, somehow the idea that I was putting on a show inspired me.

When we got to Sam's room, we hugged each other, ecstatic at the success so far of our plans. I looked around. This was what my room had been like, messy, full of sports gear and typical mess. It felt familiar but wrong now.

I put the bag down on the bed - but Sam picked it up again and led me into the spare room. "It wouldn't feel right in there. I want to be Samantha for today, and I would be Sam-in-a-dress in there. Let's use this room."

As we moved everything across the corridor, a voice came from below, "If you'd prefer to use the spare room, darling, I don't mind." We smiled at each other, glad that all of us were agreed.

Sam took off his clothes while I unpacked the case. I passed him the bra and falsies first which he put on so smoothly it was difficult to believe that it was for only the second time. Then the suspenders and stockings, he sat on the edge of the bed for this. As I watched from the corner of my eye, it was difficult to accept that this was not a girl. Sam had already picked up a thin satin blouse to go with my dark blue two-piece, but now we were looking at the other dresses, skirts and blouses I had brought, trying to decide which was the most suitable when the door opened. I was amused to see how Sam's hands went to cover his chest in a totally girlish response.

"Oh, darling, I just couldn't wait any longer. Oh, Sam, you look just sweet in those lovely undies. I just had to come and join in. I've tried so hard to prevent Sam wearing pretty things. I bought him tweeds and worsted and proper hard-wearing clothes. But he does look pretty already just in those scanty little undies. Oh, darling, what have I done to you. I don't care any more - you can be just like Wendy, a boy or a girl, my son or my daughter."

Sam flew into his mother's arms, choked with excitement as he realized that his dream was coming true.

"Yes, dear. I've come to accept that you are a girl deep-inside. I've tried to keep it hidden but you've been trying for so long to make me understand. You won't believe it, Wendy, but your friend Sam has been trying on my shoes and my stockings for ages - I can tell because they're constantly re-arranged. And sometimes my makeup gets disturbed. And there's a little suitcase full of things at the back of the cupboard. I don't have a key but I can guess what's in there. I'd guess there's a pair of panties or two hidden away. But now it's all in the open and I've got two children instead of just one."

Sam stayed snuggled against his mother, relaxing more and more as her acceptance became more complete. "Oh, Mummy, I'm so happy. I'll be the best girl ever, you just wait."

"Don't go over the top, dear. If we are going to do this then we need to do some planning and some shopping too. I'm not going to let my girl go short of anything. We've got clothes to buy, dresses, skirts, so much to do. Now that I've made myself accept my lovely daughter - and you look lovely already, my sweet - it's time to catch up and show her the real benefits of being a young girl."

This was a dramatic turnaround. Neither Sam or I were able to say anything. In a few minutes, his Mum had completed the task of dressing her son, putting on a dab of lipstick and sorting out his hair. This was my biggest worry, but a hair-clip and a lovely pink beret made it impossible to see a boy. Sam was astounded, delighted and glowing with excitement.

"Oh, Mummy, you've made me so happy. Do you really mean it when you say that I can be a girl whenever I want. Oh, rapture, rapture."

"One line further in the play, dear, you get to 'modified rapture'. I'm perfectly willing for you to be a girl a great deal of the time - evenings, some weekends, some of the holidays, but not whenever you want exactly. There has to be some time spent as a boy. I want a son and a daughter - not a boy who dresses up or a daughter who has to go to school as a boy. I want you to be comfortable as both. You may not understand yet - but we'll talk about it later. For the moment, I want to take two pretty girls to the shops to spend a little fun-money on silks and satins. For today, I want you to make a total effort to forget being boys-in-dresses."

I squeaked with excitement and giggled too. We were all looking forward to this. I was going out on the town for the first time without my mum or my sister. Sam was going out for the first time ever. As for, Mrs. Wickham, I didn't know what she was wanting to happen but she was taking two pretty boys shopping.

We drove to the shops as they were some distance away, too far to walk and bring shopping back as well. As we drove, I pulled down the sun-visor so that I could check myself in the little mirror. I saw a flicker of amusement on Mrs. Wickham's face as I did such an ordinary thing, well ordinary for a girl, anyway.

Sam was bouncing with the thrill of imminent enjoyment on the back seat. After a moment, she leant forward, "Mummy, can you please call me Samantha when I'm your daughter. It would make me so happy."

There was a short pause, "Alright, dear. I might find myself calling you Sammy all the time. I do think Samantha is a bit obvious, but I don't feel I can refuse you anything today."

Sam and I exchanged glances - was there any limit to what we could get to happen on this magical day.

By the end of the afternoon, it seemed not - there was no limit. Samantha had more clothes than I had collected over the last four months. Both she and her mum had run riot in the shops - buying some heavier clothes from the sales racks for the last of the winter but spending even more time on the new summer stock. Sam had picked a lovely frock in a gorgeous flowery printed-silk pattern. His mum had picked another in blue-green rather than yellow-orange, so, of course, both of them had been put in the pile. I was having fun too, but they tried to make sure I wasn't left out. Like any other girl rummaging and trying on, I had held more than a few dresses up to see how they looked in the floor-length mirror.

To my delight, Mrs Wickham had insisted that I buy myself a dress and a skirt. I hadn't expected her to do this but it made me feel so grateful. As the afternoon sped by, I found that I was building up a collection of bags for myself too. A lovely necklace and matching clip-earrings; a new pair of panties - still my favourite garment; two samples of perfume and so on. I didn't have much money with me but shopping is infectious so I had to join in. I loved it.

By the end, Sam had bags of undies too - panties, knickers, suspenders and lots of stockings. His mum said that since she didn't like tights she didn't see why her daughter should wear them either. They had grinned at each other, happy to be so united. In addition, there were two lovely nightdresses and a glamorous dressing-gown too. I was really envious of them and Sam knew it.

We spent time in the shoe shops as well, so Samantha had a full range of shoes too - high-heeled open-toe for special occasions and two pairs of flatter-heeled daily shoes, a lovely pair of slippers with little pompoms. It was fun seeing Sam totter around on his new heels. The shop assistant smiled too, "I always enjoy seeing a pretty girl get her first high-heels. The inconvenience of squeezed toes and aching ankles versus the extra elegance and posture." She had no idea that Sam was a boy.

Last of all, I led Sam to the special boutique where I had been bought my jelly-boobs. I had been able to tell his mum about this while Sammy was trying on shoes. I realised that she hadn't thought about that particular enhancement. I had let her touch the ones I was wearing and she had been quite stunned at how realistic they had felt.

Sam didn't know what we were doing there until I led him to the showcase and picked up the brochure. His eyes glowed and he stammered for a moment. "Have you really got mum to agree to this. Oh, boy." I saw his anguish as he registered exactly what he had said. It was or had been a perfectly ordinary phrase until today - but not any more. No girl was going to say 'oh boy' when introduced to a packet of jelly-boobs. I smiled anyway and Sam relaxed.

At that moment, the proprietor was suddenly at our side. She waited while we told her what we wanted. She was quite straightforward about it. I think she recognised me. I hadn't told Sam or his mum that he would have to take off his top and let her check for size and fit - I hadn't quite known how to say so.

When she told Sam to take off his blouse, his eyes snapped as they glared at me - but he could see that there was no point in arguing. His mum said nothing either, but I could tell that she was a little displeased with me.

Sam hesitated so the assistant hurried him on, "Come on, dear. You're not the first girl in here wanting an improvement in the bust-line." The blouse came off and my friend stood on display wearing his first bra. His hands crept up in a totally ladylike response to cover his chest.

The lady asked Sam if the bra fitted well. He almost whispered his reply, so she told him to speak up. By now, she grinned, more of a smirk really, "Don't worry so much, dear. You certainly aren't the first boy in here wearing a pretty bra. I've got to make sure everything fits or you might never be comfortable. It's really important that you have a good fit. I tell all the boys and girls so. When I first saw you, I wasn't sure, but you're so pretty that it doesn't matter. It's important that a girl like you is proud of her assets, eager to show them off."

There was silence for a moment. Perhaps this was all moving too fast. Mrs Wickham broke in first. "Excuse me, do I understand that you know of several boys who, er, ...."

"That's right. I'm proud that I can provide a complete service. I offer a beauty treatment service to anyone who can pay. I don't discriminate - I supply beauty. If a boy comes to me then it is my duty to make them beautiful. To me, beauty is being a girl, or a woman. I'm not interested in masculine work, I'm not interested in handsome or smart. I supply gorgeous, pretty, luscious, curvaceous, shapely - all words that can only be applied to the feminine. Sorry, I'm almost quoting from my brochure. But it's true. I try to make all my clients look as feminine as possible. Here we have a lovely looking boy, slender, pale-skinned, potentially exquisite. I can do wonders for him. If he prefers to think of himself as a girl, I can even do wonders for her. I don't fuss about it. I just adore beauty. That's what we sell here at this beauty-parlour."

"My name's Samantha, please," came a whisper from my underclothed friend.

"Oh, that's such a pretty name. Well, Samantha, does the bra fit properly with those inserts."

"They're wonderful. They make me feel so different, they're lovely." Sam smiled at all of us as she slowly turned on her heels. Her silhouette was no longer that of a teenage boy ready to play football - this was a sweet young thing ready to go out on the town.

Sam and I wandered around the smart little shop while his mum paid the woman for her son's new lovely, bouncy teenage-girlish boobs. Nevertheless, I did see a note pass between them at the end of a brief but obviously intense discussion. I wondered what was in the note.

So, we set off back to Sam's house with the car full of frocks and frills. We rushed back into the house giggling and hooting with excitement. To and fro from the car, we carried bags and boxes. Just as we were finishing, the next-door neighbour came to her front-door to see what the noise was about. Sam and I sped into the house, more eager to start unpacking than worried about the neighbour seeing two strange girls rushing into the house. Mrs Wickham was still by the car, locking up, so she found herself making excuses for our noise.

When she came in, she was looking very thoughtful. She sat down and patted the sofa beside her. We sat either side waiting for her to speak. I was very conscious that we might have embarrassed her with the amount of noise we had made. She began, "Wendy, I was quite cross with you at that shop - but I suppose I have to forgive you. I was as excited this afternoon as you. I think it all got a bit over the top. But I made my promises and I will stick by them. I have to agree, Sam darling, that you make a wonderful girl. I'm proud to have you as my daughter and you can stay in your dresses until Monday morning when you go back to school as Samuel. That's the first decision. There will be other rules and conditions for how we fit Samantha and Samuel together during the termtime. But for now, dears, you can help me get dinner ready and then you can get ready for bed and I'll take Wendy home."

I must say I was tired already, but I wanted to see Sam in her new nightie so I agreed. I did ring home to tell Susan that I would be home in a little while. I got the impression that I shouldn't have stayed out on the last but one night before school but that she did understand why and would tell mum.

We had a quick snack and then I went up to say goodnight to Sam. He was back in his own room but already there was evidence of his new persona. The room was much tidier, and his makeup was carefully laid out on the desk. I smiled when I saw this, as it had taken me much longer to get to this stage. It was evident that Sam was much more eager than I had been to be a full-time girl. I wondered what problems were in store.

I said nothing to my new girl-friend but leant over to give her a goodnight kiss. Sam smiled back at me and put his arms round my neck to hold me tight. Anyone watching would have seen two lovely girls. In a quiet voice, I asked him if he was enjoying sleeping in a smooth, satin gown instead of rough, cotton pjs. His smile told me all I needed to now. That, and the flicker as his hand caressed the glossy material beneath the bedclothes.

As we drove home, Mrs Wickham asked me question after question. Was I happy being both a school-boy and a holiday-girl? Did I think she was doing the right thing for Samantha? Since she asked about Samantha rather than Sam, it was obvious which answer I gave. I even told her things that I had kept secret from my family - in particular, that I now found that I was even dreaming as a girl.
I no longer dreamt about scoring a match-winning goal or climbing mountains, now I dreamt of shopping, buying pretty clothes, spending time at the salon.

At this, she smiled and said, "and boys. Do you dream about them too."

I blushed, "No. I don't do that."

"You're blushing, dear. Does that mean you're worried you might start to do so."

"No. Nothing like that."

"What then. Don't tell me you're wondering what it would be like if the boys did start to fancy you."

When I reacted as if a flare had lit my face, she held my hand and patted it with sympathy. "Oh, darling Wendy. Don't worry so. I'm sure you and Samantha will be able to look after yourselves after a bit of advice."

This was not the reaction I wanted. Was it ?

We were almost home before either of us spoke again.

"I'm still unsure about how this thing with Samantha will continue, you know. And I will have to talk with your mother so that we get some sensible rules for you two girls. Oh, I still can't believe I can say girls and mean my son and his best friend. But it does seem easier each time I say it. If I thought this was only a passing phase I would be much less accepting - but Sam has been playing at being a girl for so long that it does seem clear that he has more than a little bit of girl inside his character. I nearly said 'in his makeup' - but that's just too much of a bad pun, isn't it."

"I rather like it. It's true anyway, no one is 100% male or female - there's a bit of both in everybody."

"I know that, Wendy dear. But all that psychological jargon is one thing, seeing my fifteen year old son so happy to wear silks and satins is a different thing altogether. But we're here now, so out you get. Before you arrange to meet Samantha tomorrow, make sure you ring first."

I was bursting with everything as I went in to tell mum and Susan all the exciting things that had happened today. I could see that they wanted to know everything too, so we spent ages talking it all through. Susan was really happy for me and for Sam that we would have each other to do things with in the future.

The last but one evening of the holiday was my first Wendy-party. It was such fun - just the four of us. Mummy, Susan, me and Aunt Jane. I wore the loveliest summer frock with little roses and lace trimming. My bra-straps showed at the shoulder too, which I thought showed me to be much more real than before. Samantha came to see me for a few minutes before the party although she could not stay. She wore an Irish-style dress, green with white edging and frills at the cuff. As a final treat, even though it would be obvious at school, Mum gave in at last when I pestered her to let me have my ears pierced. Although Samantha was not allowed to have hers done.

The very last evening of the holiday I was again given the choice of being Peter or Wendy. I had much less difficulty this time in deciding to stay in my lovely dress. In the middle of the evening I went upstairs to change into my prettiest nightie so that I could curl up in front of the television with the other ladies of the house. Mummy said it was really lovely having such a nice all-girl time.

The first weekend of the term was my real birthday. On the Friday night, I met with some of my Peter-type schoolmates and we went to the films and had burgers afterwards. As soon as I got home I changed into my newest pretty nightie. I always slept as Wendy now. In the morning, I went with Samantha and Susan to have another makeover so that I would look as pretty as possible in my now-finished red velvet dress. Saturday was going to be Wendy's birthday party.

It was so much nicer being able to share my pleasure with a friend of my own age. Parents and relatives are one thing, friends are another. It was very different now that Samantha was sharing girlhood with me. We spent quite some time chatting with the make-up girl about how much effort we girls had to put in to being pretty. We even said that the boys had it too easy.

Carol said that she had tried to show her boyfriend how long it took to get pretty and he had been amazed. Somehow I got the impression that she was actually saying that she had done this to him rather than just making him watch.

Sam was bold enough to ask. "What do you mean, Carol."

"Oh, he was going on and on about how long it took for me to get ready in the evening. So I told him that he just had no idea. We got into a silly argument and eventually he said that it just wasn't possible to do it as slowly as I did. In return I said that it could take even longer. Somehow, we dared each other that if I made him up and he agreed that couldn't have been done any faster and if it took more than two hours, I would win the argument. It was really silly, I suppose. But in the end, we went ahead. I even borrowed some clothes for him - I wasn't going to do his makeup without showing him that it was a proper job. He wanted makeup, well then, he was going to look like a girl or else. It was just so daft that we both joined in. We started that Sunday morning at eight o'clock in the morning, watches synchronised and all. By half past, he had showered and had shaved twice. Then I had to use nearly a whole tube of hair-remover around his neck and wrists. He didn't like that bit. 'All the fellas will notice, etc'. By nine, I had begun on his eyebrows - and he really began to complain. I was in no mood to listen. I kept saying that the makeup part is quite quick, it's all the preparation that takes time. I was explaining every step to my gradually-feminised target and he seemed to be quite interested. I suppose most males never get the opportunity to learn why girls do spend so much time making themselves beautiful. It was nearly ten before I began the actual make-up stuff. By ten forty-five, I was working on his hair with the instant tongs. Not long after eleven, I had him wearing this lovely frilly blouse and skirt. Eventually I passed my man the mirror and said, "Do I win?"

He didn't actually answer the question. He just said, "Golly, I'd never have believed it."

Then to my annoyance, he said, "Alright, you win, now help me get all this stuff off."

I said, "Hold on a minute. What exactly do I win? What was the bet?"

"Er, don't think we ever actually talked about that did we. What do you want?"

"I've just created this gorgeous woman. I think the least you can do is let me enjoy a little while with my new friend. Let's sit down and have a coffee while I think about the penalty for losing."

He scowled but agreed. So, for the next hour and more, we had this huge girl, all 5' 11" of her, walking to and fro as the frilly petticoat swished around her legs. After some minutes I let him sit down but as soon as he slumped into the chair I ticked him off and made him do it again and again until he did it properly - you know, with the flick of the wrist to arrange the skirt so that it wouldn't crumple. He sat for a while. Then I noticed him rubbing his legs together as the slinky nylons did their job. I asked if he was enjoying it as much as it appeared. He went so red. I said, 'if you're that much of a girl that those pretty nylons excite you then I'll have to make you wear them more often.'

Samantha giggled and asked what happened next.

"Oh, nothing really. We never did it again. A few months later he left me and later still he left town. I've got a new fella now. But I've never tried dressing him up. He's far too macho and anyway I like him the way he is."

"Have you ever seen any other boys dressed up," said I daringly.

"Only for silly parties and things like the Rocky Horror Show. No, never. I did have my suspicions once about a mother and child who used to come here regularly - but I don't really believe my suspicions. I think it was just a boyish looking girl. I can't accept that any mother would let her son dress up as a girl."

I was quivering with delight. She really couldn't tell. She had been doing our makeup for over ten minutes now - two boys in dresses talking about how unlikely it was that boys would wear skirts - and she hadn't guessed. I was in heaven. I could tell that Sam was too. Susan was smiling but took the opportunity to change the subject to a less specialist topic.

Soon afterwards, we were both finished - beautiful maids ready to dazzle the boys at any party. Susan was quite cross as we walked home. "That was really silly of both of you. Have you no idea how much trouble you could be in if the wrong person realized that you're actually a boy-in-a-dress. Get some sense, darlings. I'm not going to tell Mum or Aunt this time, but you've got to be more sensible. You can't go round tempting fate like that."

This second Wendy-party was more fun than the first one. Almost the best bit was how jealous Samantha was about my lovely handmade dress. In the end, we had to go upstairs and swap, just so that she could feel it for herself. The party was much bigger than I had expected. As at my first party, at the end of the previous holiday, Mum, Susan and Aunt were there - but now Samantha and his mum were there too. Jess and Judy from the shop were there too, even though Jess had left the shop some months before. She couldn't believe how pretty I looked and how confident I was. She said that she would have to see if her young cousin would improve as much with proper encouragement and training. This led to a long discussion about how much the world would improve if all the boys had to spend some time in frills. Samantha and I tried to say that not all the boys would benefit but it was all very light-hearted stuff. So the whole party was just girls, of course.

I got some lovely new clothes and Mum insisted on having some proper photographs of me. Some were taken of Sam too, then me and Sam, then me and Susan and all the other combinations. We used the whole film up.

It was quite tough at school, even though Sam and I were able to work as a team to deflect criticism and defend ourselves from attack. By the end of the summer, the headmaster had noticed the change in our appearance. We made quite an effort to hide any evidence of girlishness, although the ear-piercing was a very obvious error. Our hair was allowed to grow longer and we did make mistakes. I found myself talking to the art mistress and using words like 'pretty' and 'sweet'. Mistake.

Sam was both unlucky and lucky because his class teacher ran the drama club. Sam was undeniably the prettiest of the boys - so - a shortage of girls in the cast for the annual school play 'Four couples entangled' meant that Sam was asked to help out. He tried to get out of it, well, he told the teacher he didn't want to dress up like a girl. His protests were in vain. In fact, the teacher sent a letter to his mother expressing his disappointment that such a good young actor wasn't able to put real effort into his performance. Would she mind encouraging Sam and giving him some extra tuition. What an unfortunate coincidence.

Eventually, Sam had to 'do his best' and, though I say it myself, he looked every bit as good as the other 'real' girls in the play. Actually, I thought he was a lot prettier than at least two of the other three. To our amazement, so did the reviewer in the school magazine. Needless to say, Sam got a lot of teasing about this but he managed to fool almost all the people that it was 'just one of those things'.

One of the other girls in the play, Jennifer, asked him to come over to her house the weekend after. She had actually let him borrow some of her clothes and had helped him with his stage makeup, so her excuse was so that Sam could take his borrowings back. Jennifer had other plans though. To Sam's concealed delight, she wanted him to be one of her girl-friends. He would be welcome to come over anytime he wanted as long as whenever he was at her place, he wore what she called 'proper' clothes and by this she meant 'hers'. Sam had to pretend shock, dismay, horror. But Jennifer was insistent. She flattered the 'unwilling' Sam about how pretty he had been. She teased him about perhaps going out as a couple of girls, about how much he would learn about girls by being shown how to look like one. It was music to his ears - and he had to keep the pretence of being reluctant.

In the end, he agreed but only after Jennifer had suggested that she would tell all the lads at school that he had asked her to dress him up. Her blatant attempt to blackmail the poor dear was the last straw, of course. Sam gave in. "Alright, Jennifer. You've got me in a fix. If I don't do as you say, you'll tell the boys I want to be dressed up. If I just do exactly as you say, then you'll keep doing it anyway."

"I know, isn't it cruel of me. Aren't I a heartless vixen," she smirked.

So Sam went to Jennifer's for the afternoon. She dressed him in her underwear, in her frocks and blouses, in her sister's shoes. She played with his hair, put makeup on him - in fact, she treated him as a doll. Sam really wasn't enjoying this at all. This wasn't what he wanted.

"Come on. Jen. This isn't fair. I'm not a toy. I don't mind dressing up for a play where there's a complete role but I'm not a piece of entertainment for you. If you want me to be a girl, or to pretend to be a girl, that's one thing. But not all this stuff. If you want me to join in then let's do this fairly.

Are you wanting me to be your friend or to be a plaything ?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sam dear. No, I really enjoyed the play and helping you dress up. It was fun seeing how pretty you were as a girl and I wanted to do it again. I suppose I wasn't thinking. I didn't see the difference between a stage part with a given role and how it would be back here. I'm having fun and it won't continue to be fun unless you join in."

"Well, it's a lovely day, so I suggest we dress up and go out for a walk. Perhaps you can tell me some best-friend secrets and I'll tell you some too. This time, I'll have a go at doing my makeup, 'cos I've been watching you do it for me."

Jennifer watched in amazement as Sam did his own makeup at least as skilfully as she had been able to do. And still she did not guess. They went downstairs through the empty house and out into the sunshine. They walked slowly onwards, sometimes hand in hand, sometimes arm in arm, two girls together.

Onwards to the park, where they played on the swings, their bare legs showing as their skirts flew higher and higher. Their antics attracted a couple of boys but somehow they scampered off. Breathless, they got back to the market square where they sat for a while. Jennifer complimented Sam on how fast he was even in high-heels. She actually said, 'Nobody would ever guess that you'd never worn shoes like that before."

Sam grinned, "I wore them for three nights in the play, didn't I."

Jennifer nodded, "So you did ...... I forgot for a moment. Shall we have a look in the shops while we're here." She didn't wait for an answer but led the way into the nearest teenage boutique.

Sam was nonplussed for a moment. How should he react? Jennifer came back, suddenly aware of what she was doing. "How about it, Sam darling. Do you want to come in and learn all about frills and undies from an expert?"

The boy smiled, and with a practised Victorian curtsey, said, "Oh, my dear, I don't mind if I do." They both giggled and the real-girl took the pretend-girl onto the scented boudoir. Sam said afterwards that it was such fun. Jennifer kept on choosing the frilliest and daintiest things and dragging the completely unwilling Sam into a cubicle to try them on. She even got a pair of foam-rubber falsies. Sam could hardly say they weren't as comfortable as the ones he had in his own bedroom - but for a moment or two he was tempted.

By the end of the afternoon, Sam had been bought a few special things which Jennifer said she would keep at her house for him to wear in the future. When they got home, the two girls curled up on the sofa and chatted away about their afternoon. It didn't matter that they had both been there, both done the same things - just like any other teenage girls, they had to talk about every minute of the time they had spent and every piece of clothing they had looked at or tried on. After a while, Jennifer had commented about this. "Sammy dear, I really do feel that this is two girls talking. I don't get any feeling any more that you're a boy in a dress. Isn't this fun?"

"Jenny, er, do you prefer Jenny or Jennifer?"

"Don't mind at all, you call me whichever you prefer."

"Jenny, I don't know what to say really. Sitting with you like this, I don't feel much like a boy - so I suppose I'll have to do my best to be a girl for the evening."

"Don't say that, Sam dear. Don't say just for this evening. I want to do this more often. I want you to be one of my girlfriends. Please say yes. Please say that you'll let me dress you up whenever possible."

Sam's eyes were alight with excitement. Was this to be his opportunity to get himself a girlfriend who liked him wearing dresses. We had learnt over the last year that there were some girls who did this - but neither Sam nor I had ever met one. Was this going to be Sam's chance? Sam paused then softly nodded his head, smiling as his newly waved hair bounced against the side of his face. "Yes, I think that would be fun. I'd like that too."

"Ooh, thank you darling Sammy. Can I call you Samantha when we're like this?"

"How can I argue - and I don't think I want to. I think I feel more of a girl with a girl's name. Sam and Sammy are okay - but after all .." and here he hesitated realising that he was about to say he was called Samantha at home too - but he managed to stop himself, "I mean, there's that girl in the year above us, the one with the lovely red hair, everybody calls her Sam and it suits her - but for me, I'd prefer it if you called me Samantha."

"Thank you, Samantha dear. And for letting me call you that, I'll lend you one of my nighties too. You can sneak it home and wear it whenever you want. So that you can remember that you can be a girl as well as a boy. I think it will be fun for you to see both sides of the fence. I want to show you how much fun it is being a girl."

Their game went on for the rest of the term. Sam would go over to Jenny's house and play dress-up. At home, he would wear dresses whenever he wanted. At school, he would wear ordinary boy's clothes. As for the two of us, we still spent quite a lot of time together. We even went out with the other lads in our old gang sometimes, just to prove that nothing had changed. But we also spent
time as Samantha and Wendy as well.

There really wasn't much of a uniform - but everyone wore grey skirts or trousers, white shirt, blue tie or scarf and a grey or blue top - jacket, jersey or coat. The overall effect was of a uniform but without the expense or peer-pressure. Gradually, Sam wore more and more a sort of unisex outfit - and so did I. Once Sam wore a blouse instead of a shirt. Of course, the only real difference is that they button up on different sides - but at least a couple of the girls noticed and teased him about it. He got out of it by saying that their washing-machine was broken so he'd borrowed it from his sister Gloria.
This seemed to satisfy the immediate question but Sam did get quite a lot of good-natured teasing over the next few days.

However because he was spending time with Jennifer, we did spend less time together. I didn't like this much. Sam was the only one I could dress up with outside my own family. We talked about this quite a lot. Was there some way to introduce Peter/Wendy into the Sam/Samantha and Jennifer arrangement.

As it happened, we found no solution during the termtime. The second day of the holiday was when it all happened. Sam and I were in the park, or rather Samantha and Wendy were in the park and we met Jennifer. She was amazed, horrified, excited - all at once.

"Oh, Sam. I never guessed that ..., I mean, what are you doing on your own, I mean, who is this with you." It was just so obvious that she believed I was another girl-friend of Sam's. Her eyes flashed jealously, angrily - did I know that Sam was a boy? She was trapped, unable to ask any question and furious at Samantha's apparent double-timing. "I don't believe this. I hate you. You can forget about coming over to my place ever again."

A pure teenage fury. Sam was stunned too, dumb with surprise. I already knew about Jennifer and I couldn't see my friend lose his female guide and mentor. "Jennifer, don't be angry. Sam and I were just talking about you." I chose my words to show that I knew Sam was a boy-in-a-dress.

"What d'y mean?"

"Just what I said. Sam's my friend and I've been lonesome without him. It's been no fun on my own. It's been so lovely knowing that he's found a girl who likes him to wear dresses."

"Wwww, whhat d'y mean. He's found a girl, aren't you a girl? Just who are you?" Her eyes were round with surprise. She was shaking with the emotion of the moment. First, the surprise of finding her friend Samantha outdoors in a frock, then the shock of my words.

"Jennifer dear," said Sam, "This is my friend Wendy. She's another really good friend of mine. She's a girl too, just exactly like I am," and he smiled shyly at her.

"What - exactly like you?", her intonation meant she realised.

"Unhuh. Exactly like me."

"Oh, wow. But who is she?" She turned back to me, "Who are you. Come on, tell me. I feel I ought to know you - but somehow ......, come on, put me out of my misery. I really, really want to know how a girl as pretty as you can be pretending to be a boy."

"I'm Wendy, and I'm not pretending to be a girl or a boy. When I'm wearing lovely frocks and pretty panties, I am a girl. But you might remember that I used to help you with your maths homework." Pause.

"Can't you guess yet. I used to sit behind you on the bus home." Pause.

"I've been Sam's best friend at school for the last year."

Her expression changed to bright wonder, "Oh my, you're Peter. You're not Peter, you can't be Peter. It's not possible - but you look like a girl. I can't see a trace of boy. But you're so lovely. I can't believe it. Samantha, please tell me the truth. Who is this? Is it really Peter Yeats? Why does he dress as a girl? Is this some sort of trick?"

"Yes, yes, it is. I've wanted to tell you for weeks now - and can't you call him Wendy too. Wendy and I have been dressing up every holiday and almost every weekend for over a year now. In fact, now we only spend schooldays as boys. It was so hard keeping it secret - but we didn't dare let anyone know. We all thought it would be the end if the school got to know about it. Then you tricked and teased me into dresses - and well, that's the story."

"What do you mean 'that's the story'. Are you telling me that when I put you into a frock, when I lent you one of my nighties, that this was nothing new to you. That you were just pretending to it all. Were you just pretending to be my friend too."

"Oh, Jenny," Sam was now hugging the frantic girl, trying to hold her while the tears poured and the emotions racked her. "Oh, Jenny. Never, never. I loved every minute of our time together. How could I not love you - you were giving me my sweetest wish. The chance to be a girl with other girls. I wear your nightie every night. But, it wasn't my first time in a dress. You never had to force me to wear panties and stockings. But you made it so much more wonderful for me. Oh, Jenny, my love, don't cry."

It was my turn to be speechless. Here we were, my best friend and myself, confessing all our secrets to an outsider.

"Come on, Jenny. Slow down, take a deep breath. Let's sit down and sort this out - three girls together. Come on, please," Sam took Jenny's arm and led her to a nearby bench. We sat down in a flurry of swishy skirts. Well, they did, but I sat too fast and had to stand up to sweep them properly out of the way before I could sit tidily. I saw Jenny notice me do this and realized that the gesture confirmed to her the details of my female impersonation.

She smiled through her tears, "I have to believe what I see. The camera may lie but this is real, isn't it. I'm sitting here on a bench in the park in the middle of town with two boys from my school wearing dresses just as pretty and feminine as mine."

She leant towards me, "Wendy, are you wearing panties too."

"Of course."

"And what else ?"

"Do you need to ask .."

"Yes, dear. I have to. I can guess what Samantha's got - but not you."

"Well, starting at the bottom, or rather, at the toe, mustn't be vulgar - today Miss Wendy is wearing pale peach stockings attached to a very fetching pale blue suspender belt. Her panties match as does her bra and vest." I heard the soft sigh as she realised that I was wearing a full set of undies. "Her frock is a pale brown shade of soft linen with a self belt. Her scarf is from Italy and her bead necklace from France. Her handbag and matching sandals are in soft brown suede, the sandals have a two inch heel. The range of makeup used today is Boots Number 7, and her lipstick is a subtle colour called Salmon." I tried to copy the way the magazines give a description and she was giggling when I finished.

"What sort of underwear does Miss Wendy prefer ?" she asked with a smirk.

"Like any modern girl, Miss Wendy likes the convenience of tights but prefers the more pleasurable feel of stockings and suspenders."

Jenny waved a hand to stop me. "Oh, that was fun. Oh, you're sweet, Wendy. I love you almost as much as Samantha. And now I've got two girls to be best friends with. I want to know everything. I want to know how this all started, how your parents got to know. Everything. I mean, it's so exciting." She leant towards me once more, "And there's this too," her hand brushed my breast, "This is something extra, isn't it. What have you got here that looks so real, that feels so real."

"Don't do that," I pushed her hand away. I was shocked. No one had ever touched me like that, outdoors, in public. Later, I realised almost with pride that my reaction was exactly that of a girl.

She blushed at what she had done, then she hurried on with an apology, "I'm sorry, Wendy. I'm really sorry. I'd never have done that to a real girl. I'm truly sorry. That was so rude of me. And then I made it even worse by saying that you weren't a real girl. Oh I don't know how to apologise. I feel almost sick, I never meant that to come out the way it did." She was almost in tears again. Sam was blushing beet-red too and I was breathless with shock.

Almost unconsciously, we hugged each other for support. When we recovered, it felt as if minutes had sped by. I was sure we would be the centre of attention - but nobody was noticing three teenage girls having a gossip.

Sam recovered first. "Wow, that was something. I'm exhausted. Can we go and get a drink or an ice or something. I've got to have something or I'll just die."

Jenny answered first, "Okay dear, but I'm not letting you out of my sight until you've told me all. I just have to find out your girlish secrets."

I smiled quietly, very happy at her complete acceptance of us as two more girls. So, once more, the unobservant crowd saw Peter/Wendy, Sam/Samantha and Jennifer stand up, brush invisible dust off their dresses, fluff their hair and walk out of the park in search of refreshment. Two boys and a girl walked out of the park chatting and giggling about hair-styles, bras, makeup and all sorts of other delightful girlish topics.

We spent a long time in the coffee bar. But it was holiday time, we each had pocket-money saved up. It was inevitable that we would begin talking about the pretty clothes in the shops, the shoes, the accessories.

As it happened, the coffee-bar was in a fairly busy corner of the shopping mall so there were plenty of places for us to rummage and scour for pretty things. I think she found it difficult to believe that both Sam and I were as eager as she was to look at panties, bras, makeup and the complete range of female accoutrement. I saw her looking sideways at us more than once as on or other of us made some frantically girly comment.

In the end, I had to point this out to her, "You're almost making it obvious that there's something going on here. That last assistant was quite sure that something odd was happening."

She glared at me. "Oh, and you're suggesting that there's nothing odd about two boys buying dresses for themselves. Oh, stop worrying, Wendy. I'll cool it down a bit - but it's just so amazing seeing how confident, how happy you are about all this. I mean, would you ever have guessed that the boys in this shop outnumbered the girls."

I looked around. She was right. We were the only customers. We hadn't realized how late it was getting.

"Come on, Sammy. It's late. We ought to get back. Mum will be wondering where we've been all day."

"Just let me try on this lovely red velvet bolero first, Then I'll be ready."

Jenny and I waited for our eager shopper. "Jennifer, I think we're going to have to tell our parents tonight. I think you'd better come too. I don't know about Sam's mum, but mine ain't going to be too happy about this unless she's completely confident that you are willing to keep this a secret too. Is that okay with you. I suppose we can delay telling them for a day or so, while we make some plans to cushion the blow - but we've got to tell them soon. They're not stupid - they'll guess that something's been happening."

She looked at me with amusement. "What do you expect to happen? Their sons go out for the day, dressed like butterflies and come back with a third girl. If they're not stupid they will have guessed that you will, or already have met people while out shopping. You think they'd prefer it if you came back with a couple of boyfriends! Don't be silly. Tonight, tomorrow or whenever suits you - I'll come along and meet your folks. They don't scare me - I'm Jennifer Beckett."

I was caught up in her bravado. "Sounds like the gallant knights of old. One for all, and all for one, that sort of thing."

"Wendy dear. I don't think the knights of old all wore dresses. But I agree that we should stick together. We're teenagers, it's our duty to rebel and give our parents a reasonable amount of worry. And having a son who looks as pretty as any of the girls at school must be a sort of a problem."

I had to ask, "You really think I'm pretty?"

"Don't be such a bozo. Of course, you're pretty. You're beautifully dressed, your hairstyle, your makeup, everything says 'gorgeous girl'. Even your figure looks good. You've got to tell me about those boobs, they're just so super. You look like a girl, all your gestures and mannerisms. There isn't a trace of boy left. In fact, honey-pie, whether you know it or not, you're more of a girl than you ever have been a boy."

As she said this, Samantha rejoined us - and she had bought the little red jacket. She did a little pirouette to display her new apparel and we all had a quick hug before we set off.

Nobody actually made a decision but nevertheless we all finished back at Sam's house. His mother was there and clearly not pleased at the delay. We had said we'd be back by mid-afternoon and it was now after six. Jennifer's presence made it difficult for her to say very much.

"Hello, Samantha dear, and Wendy. And, er ...."

"Mum, this is Jennifer. You've heard me speak about her, she was really helpful with the play. She's the girl who lent me some of the clothes. We met in town. I was with Wendy in the park and she recognised me. She was kind of surprised to see me in a dress so we had to go off for a coffee and explain things. She hadn't met Wendy before. We talked and then went shopping all afternoon. I've got a really new good CD. Her parents aren't home until late so I thought it would be sensible if she came home for a while. If dinner's a problem, I'll walk her home and be back in ten minutes."

With less than subtle emphasis, his mother said, "It's not the dinner that's the problem, Samantha dear."

"Well, Jenny already knew about teacher asking you to give me lessons for the play, so she guessed that I had to practice with dresses and stuff. And you know I've been going round to do homework."

"Was it just homework, dear."

"Of course, you didn't think ...., no, mum, of course not. Just homework." But his face was pink with embarrassment.

"I will not stand for lies, white lies or adapted truths. If Jennifer has been helping you dress up, that's one thing. If meeting her in town was a deliberate plan, that's another. I will be told the truth."

"I'm sorry, mum. We were just trying to keep things simple. You're right with the first guess - Yes, I did dress up once or twice at Jenny's. But only after we'd done our homework. But meeting in town, that was a complete accident."

"Jennifer, is that the truth?"

Gulp. "Oh, yes. We had such fun with the play, I just had to see if Sam looked that good in some of my other things. And he did look quite nice. In fact, I did wonder if we'd be able to try again sometime. I really hadn't thought too much about it for the future - but then in town, I was in the shops and I heard this voice I recognised. I was amazed, delighted, excited, everything when I realized that the dainty maiden behind me, pawing through the racks of underwear was my friend Sam. And he didn't look just ‘quite nice’ any more, he looked completely feminine, confident that he was gorgeous. I couldn't believe it. I just had to interfere and find out what was going on. So, we spent all afternoon together, and now I'm here."

"And what about Wendy?"

"Well, it became obvious while we talked this afternoon that Sam and Wendy were at the same school. I know, I absolutely know, that if Wendy was at school with us I would remember and recognise her. Since I didn't, it became the only logical solution that my friend Samantha, my boyfriend-in-a-dress, had another friend who wore dresses. I loved the whole thing. It makes me wonder how many other boys there are who have secret lives."

"Mmmmmmm. Come and sit down all of you. I need to think about this." She pointed to the sofa to tell us where to sit.

"It is not my responsibility to tell other parents how to look after their children. My duty is to Samantha, my son and daughter. She can do almost anything she likes as long as it isn't illegal, immoral or fattening. This activity breaks none of my rules. I'm not keen about boys dressing as girls as a joke, but you look so confident, so happy, so real that it is just obvious that this is more than that. As far as I am concerned you are just a group of three teenage girls. I'm going to treat you as such unless you turn up here as boys. But I'd prefer it if you didn't do that."

Sam and I looked at each other and then at Jennifer with happy smiles. We had never expected such a result from a chance meeting.

So the holidays rolled on. Instead of two of us being girls, there were now three. It was much more fun and all our parents were much happier. A group of three is going to get much less hassle from boys than a single girl or a couple. We went to the cinema and all that sort of thing. It was lovely. When Samantha started driving lessons, he did so as Sam rather than Samantha. Then he decided to try a different school and went as Samantha. He said it was completely different. He'd never been in a Sam/Samantha situation before where it was possible to see how people treated the two people differently. He decided to watch for such situations more closely as a possible project for his Social Studies course.

Later he told us about the journalists who had been transformed by costume and makeup and a lot of training in acting in the right way to ‘become’ black or arab or chinese people so that they could report on the reality of racism. He got us all wondering if we could do something special on sexism.

Jenny was the one who first suggested a party. She would have an all girl's party, a slumber-night. Videos and midnight feasts. She thought of two or three friends who could make up the gang. It was really fun. There were eight of us in the end, Jen, Sam and myself and five more friends of Jen's. Jen had met them over the years and only one of the other five went to our school. Of course, they had no idea that Wendy and Samantha were any different from them. Just like any other sleep-over party, we played around, told stories, made up feeble jokes, and then had a midnight feast. Gradually, one by one, we crept into our sleeping bags and joined the pile of nesting teenagers scattered around the floor.

The next morning things got really complicated. Sam was the last to wake up and one of the other girls was watching too closely when Sam put on her bra. Fortunately, only the three of us were left in the room. I was just coming back from the bathroom on my way to breakfast. All the others were already downstairs squabbling and giggling over their cornflakes.

"What on earth are those, Samantha. Let's have a look," said Jean.

Sam was too horrified to argue and the wretched girl picked the soft bluppy silicon pad out of his bra. She was very interested in it. "I had no idea that you had so little development, dear. I thought only old women who'd had their boobs chopped off had to use things like this."

"Well, now you've had a look, give it back. I need it."

"You'd certainly look odd with only one titty, dear. Or is the other fake as well? Oh, it is too. What a surprise. What a problem you must have to need more than the cotton-wool the rest of us use."

Sam was white with shock and red with embarrassment. He snatched the pink pad back and put it back into its pocket. I watched from across the room - unable to say anything. What could I say? I could just as easily make things worse as sort them out.

Sam finished dressing and moved over to the vanity table to tidy up her makeup. As she did so, Jean, slipped onto the seat beside her. "Do you want any help with that, Sam dear. If you've only been doing it for a short while, you might need some advice."

"Don't be silly. I've been doing this for ages. I'm fine."

"I wouldn't offer advice to an ordinary girl, dear. But in your case, I'm willing to make an exception."

Sam's face turned towards her, as if on a string. His complexion was simultaneously scarlet with shame and white with anxiety. He felt truly alone.

"Yes, dear. If, as I guess, you're only dressed as a girl, then I think we need to have a little chat. Who else here knows that you're a boy?"

Jennifer came back in at this second, and stood horrified as Sam's eyes widened and Jean made the correct guess that she knew of the masquerade. Sam's expression pleaded for us to rescue him from this sudden danger.

"Jen, why didn't you tell me about this. It's so thrilling. You must have known that Samantha was special."

"Jean. Shut up for a moment and let me sort this out. Nobody knows except those of us in this room. I want your promise not to talk about this until we can be absolutely alone and you can get the right end of the stick. And no accidentally clever comments either. I've heard you trying that before. I know some stories about you that I'm sure you want to be kept under wraps. Well, this is just as important. You keep quiet for an hour or so, and I'll keep quiet."

"Bully," Jean said with a sort of a smile. "Just because you know how I work. Alright, Guide's Honour. I'll keep quiet. But I really do want to know more about this. I love the idea that one of my girlfriends is actually a boy. I've always wanted to know how boys think without having to worry about them pawing and poking and leching at me. Talking to a boy-in-a-dress seems to be a wonderful opportunity."

After the other four had left, we got talking. It was surprising how sensible Jean was about the whole thing. Her previously aggressive behaviour wasn't apparent when she was talking with Sam. It quite soon became clear that her first comments were the truth. She really wanted to get to know what boy's thought without their macho, brash attitudes getting in the way. The three of us spent quite a lot of time together. Eventually it all faded away as she met other boys who she could deal with better now that she was better informed. Also, it became more and more difficult for either Samantha or me to think and act as boys.

I got talking with Susan that night. She commented that once more it was Samantha who had expanded the circle of people who knew about us. Perhaps we needed to learn from this and be better prepared for surprises. We recalled the sequence of events - Sam seeing me at the door, Sam persuading us to help him fool his own mother, Sam meeting with Jennifer, Sam being caught at Jennifer's party. I mentioned that Sam was so much prettier than me that I was surprised that it was he who got caught.

"Wendy, perhaps that's the problem. He's so happy as a girl that he actually worries less about making mistakes. You're no plain-jane, but you're more careful, more sensible. In passing, that makes me ask, are you happy as a girl? We've not given you much choice recently, but I ought to ask.

"I hadn't thought about it much recently. I'm certainly comfortable with dressing-up, but I suppose that way of phrasing it means that I still see it as something I do rather than something I am. I don't actually feel that I'm a girl in the same way that Samantha does. It's become very clear that he really does think like a girl. He's much more feminine than me."

"I'm not sure. You've become a different person. As soon as you put on a dress, you become my lovely sister instead of my bratty brother. I'll help you feel more girlish if that's what you want. You've got to decide soon whether this is a long-term thing or not. I'd prefer it if you stayed on as Wendy who I love, rather than as Peter who I put up with."

"I talked about this with Samantha last week. I do enjoy wearing dresses and feeling pretty. So, I do want to stay on as Wendy - but underneath I'm still Peter, aren't I."

"Let me do some thinking about this, darling." and with that the conversation went off onto more ordinary family things.

It was several months later that Jean realized that I was also a boy-girl. It was just super when she realized. Her amazement made us all laugh out loud. I can't remember exactly what was said. I think Sam said something about football and I made a typical boy-type comment. Jean's eyes opened wide and she turned to me and gasped. "But, Wendy. I can't believe that you're the same as Samantha. I guessed about her because of the fake-boobies. But I never had any idea that you weren't a girl. Tell me the truth, come on now. You've seen how sensible I've been. I'm one of your best friends now. I'm going to have to look at everyone of my friends and acquaintances with a microscope. Are there any others?"

I just smiled. I had been asked this before. I had learnt a simple little speech for such occasions. Better still, it came so smoothly off my glossy lips that now I could vary it to suit the situation. "I've learnt from Samantha that one should never agree or deny such a question. Unless some accident has removed all doubt. So, Jean, dear, I shall say nothing. You know the saying, If it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck, smells like a duck and you cook it with orange sauce - then it's a duck. You've known me for ages now. I look like a girl, I talk like a girl, I smell like a girl and I go to a girl's school with you and Sam and lots of other girls. You've seen me in the swimming pool in my swimsuit. I use lipstick, mascara and nail-polish. I wear bra and panties. I wear dresses and skirts. As far as I'm concerned then all these factors make me a girl. It would make me happy if you continued to treat me as Wendy, your fellow school-girl." Now came the bit where I had learnt to adapt. "If there is any doubt, then our efforts have been less successful than I wish." As a final gesture, I tossed my head to make my hair swirl over my shoulders.

"Oh, Wendy. I wouldn't want to make you unhappy. I love you too much for that. But it makes me even happier to be able to share Samantha with you. I love the idea of boys wearing dresses." She paused. "Does Jennifer know? Who else knows? What did your parents think? How did it happen for you?"

We spent ages giggling together as I told the story of how I had begun to dress as a girl. It made the four of us become even better friends.

Now that I was seventeen, Mummy decided to act quickly to ensure that any late-developing puberty did not have too drastic an effect on her daughter-son. We went to London, to Harley Street, where we met a lovely lady doctor who specialised in such assistance. By the time we set an appointment, I had been dressing every available moment for nearly six months. In particular working as a shopgirl at Aunt Jane's had given me complete confidence that I would not be detected. I was no longer a boy-in-a-dress but an eager young girl making her first trip to town. We arrived with some hours to spare so we spent what seemed like hours in Miss Selfridge and the other stores along Oxford Street. By the time we finished I was glowing with the excitement of buying new clothes, mostly underwear. In addition I was bathed in a variety of perfumes and exotic scents. In order not to be too over the top, Mummy had refused me the opportunity of another complete makeover. She didn't want the doctor to think that I was being too eager.

As it was, it was all very easy. The doctor spent a long time asking questions which were clearly to determine whether I thought more as a boy or as a girl. Somehow I guessed and made just that little extra effort to be girlish. As if I had any choice after spending such a wonderful morning in Girl-land. Dresses, underwear and perfume - what a silly boy I would have been to be interested in any of that.

Eventually, she told us her decision. She thought that I was completely comfortable at behaving as a girl, she could find almost no boyishness in my answers. If I could send a two-page letter every day for the next fortnight confirming that I wanted to look like a girl - then she would prescribe the necessary drugs.

Gosh, it was hard work writing those letters. Everybody helped. Mummy kept on buying me the most sumptuous undies, Susan lent me her most expensive perfume and ensured that a good squirt was in the air while I worked away. Aunt Jane made sure that I was only working with the frilliest and most expensive items. The television was almost always off, except to watch suitably girly movies. It was a plot in which I was an eager participant.

Suddenly, the fortnight was over. I received the box of pills and our local doctor made arrangements to give me injections once a week. Amazingly soon there was a result, I had begun to worry about having to shave but the small crop of hair on my face faded away almost as soon as it arrived. My skin, which had begun to get a little zitty, cleared up. Even more to my delight, my breasts got much more sensitive and a very small pudginess became slowly more visible. It was such a wonderful day when Susan told Mummy that I needed to borrow one of her training bras.

Some months after my change of status, I was working at the shop when a glossy young lady came in, rich chestnut hair, long legs and a lovely figure. I was positively excited with the chance to help her choose something from the shop when she stopped me in my tracks by asking to see Aunt Jane. Obviously this was some relation I had never met - otherwise why would she dare address my formidable relation with such casualness. The lady saw my startled response and said, 'Don't look so surprised dear, I just want to have a chat about her plans for this evening'.

I hesitated, 'Who shall I say it is?'

'Leonora, say its Leonora'.

I started to move to the office when I suddenly realized. I stopped and took a step back to the counter. 'Did you say "Leo-nora"', dear cousin.'

It was her turn to look surprised. 'I don't have any cousins your age. At least I don't think so unless you count young Peter. But first of all, he's a boy and secondly you're quite a bit older than him aren't you.'

'I'll leave you to work it out while I get Auntie.' And I scampered off, smirking, as fast as I could in my new 3" heels.

Auntie rushed out of the office as soon as she got my message. It was indeed the former Leo who had come to visit. She looked so good. Auntie insisted that she have some new frocks for the summer. I could only admire her figure when she stood on the little rostrum. She giggled when she saw me watching. 'Does Peter approve? Does Peter want to look as good as lovely Leonie?'

Auntie told her not to be so naughty. Didn't she know that only girls worked in this shop - my name was Wendy. She hadn't seen Peter for some months now. Perhaps he had gone away for good.'

Leonie was such fun to be with. She completely understood my new life as it was now completely obvious that she had gone down the same path not so long before.

By the time I left school at the age of eighteen, every visible speck of masculinity had been removed. So to speak, my makeup was completely feminine. I loved the feel of skirts and soft satin, the glissade of silk, the small exquisite pain of plucked eyebrows and waxed armpits and bikini-line. I loved every aspect of being a girl. As far as appearance showed, I was a girl. And I behaved as a girl in all but the most important areas. I had had several very attentive boyfriends. We had cuddled and kissed and even french-kissed as you would expect of a senior schoolgirl.

And yes, as I described earlier I now had breasts too. Mother had eventually consented to this and I had eagerly begun the course of injections which would give me what I now felt was my proper shape. Eventually I had been so envious of the other girls as they had begun to blossom and grow into the superior female shape. At last, my entreaties, pleadings and complaints had borne fruit. To continue the metaphor, I had grown from a lovely pair of acorns, to plums, apples and then small peaches. Eventually, I had a gorgeous 34-B pair of breasts which I daily enfolded in the daintiest satin and lace.

Samantha had been allowed to see the doctor before me. She now had the sweetest little pair of 34-C breasts and insisted on wearing low-cut dresses, lacy bras and bikinis. She was just that bit more comfortable and therefore more overt than I could manage. Somewhere, deep inside, I was still a boy and she had never been happy that way. It made no real difference to the two of us or to those special friends who knew that we were new-girls.

Samantha, Jennifer and Jean were still my closest friends. As I said before, Jean spent a lot of time with us too which made us a foursome for most of our last two years at school. We didn't do the same courses but we spent almost all our time as a gang. Sometimes other girls joined us but none of them became permanent members of the team. We didn't spend all out time looking at clothes, trying out different makeup and hair-styles. We did girl things. Sometimes this meant going out with boys for milk-shakes, coffees and so on. I can't deny that we went to the occasional party and even to the pub once or twice - but most of the time, we did things as a foursome.

Even at school this was noticed. The headmistress apologised for making only two of us into 'Seniors', what other schools called prefects. We had no real duty apart from helping to keep an eye on the younger pupils and showing prospective parents around the premises. To my amazement, when she announced the names at the last roll-call of the term, both I and Sam won the coveted posts.

Later the headmistress called us in together. "I know that you are both special girls. I believe this makes you particularly skilled in understanding what is best about this school compared, for example, to the nearby boy's and co-ed schools. I expect the best from you two as you spend the next two terms as ambassadresses for this establishment. I congratulate both of you on your complete dedication to your new lives. I expect no more and no less effort in the near future. I am looking forward to sending you into the wide world with my most thorough recommendations. I am confident that you will find opportunities to succeed as women in Life as much as you have been successful girls at my school."

For the second and last time, she spoke to us as the children we had been. "Off you go, my little Sister Wendy and my little Sister Samantha. I shall never refer to this again but I am glad that you have learnt so much in the last few years. Of course, we have had others like you pass through these gates, but you are especially skilled. I speak on behalf of all the teachers when I praise you thus. Now, enough of this, or your heads will swell more than your breasts. Off you go and be good girls in the holidays."

Sam and I looked at each other with a small smile. In unison, we curtsied to our gracious tutor. Then we rose and swirled our skirts to emphasise the importance of swish in our lives.

When I left college, I found it difficult to get a job. I had lived as a girl and as a young woman for nearly six years but I was still not physically or legally a complete woman. I stayed at home for a while before finding a short-term job working for a charity. The job was not very satisfying nor very remunerative.

Auntie Jane had long-term plans which included the opening of a small chain of branches. To my delight, she asked if I wanted to take on the task of running the very first branch. If it went well, she would be quite prepared for me to become the full-time manager. I felt that the faint possibility of partnership was there too. How could I refuse such an opportunity. I would be able to set myself up with a flat, everything - a complete life as a female. The old joke came back to me, 'let joy be unconfined', because in this instance Joy was going to be a lucky girl.


Some months later, Aunt Jane told me about a new customer who was moving to my area. A few days later, this Mrs. James rang, and said that she wanted to have an individual evening session. I was puzzled but agreed. When she arrived with a young boy I was almost annoyed. By hindsight and with my own special upbringing, I should have suspected something when I saw that the young lad was wearing a kilt. I specialised in high quality couture and I found it really unhelpful when clients brought their children. I began to make a mild protest when the wind was completely taken out of my sails. She pointed to the chair beside the vanity table and said, "Now, sit over there, dear. Please don't play with the makeup yet."

She turned to me with a little smile, "I'm sorry to surprise you like this. I've brought my nephew, Antony, with me because I want you to pick out a complete wardrobe for him. I am determined to introduce him to a life in satin and I am told by Jane that you will be able to help."

My flabber was completely gasted. Why had Auntie not given me some warning?

"I spoke with Jane when I learnt that she had opened a branch over here. I met her some years ago when I was buying for myself. But this is something new for me. My nephew came to live with me after the death of my sister, some months ago. I've discovered that I really don't feel comfortable with a dirty little boy rushing around all day, so I've been trying to encourage more refined behaviour. I started with buying him lovely silk pants so that he was less willing to get them soiled playing outdoors. That was so successful that I bought him a kilt, well a skirt really. The combination of kilt and silk panties has made a wonderful difference. Suddenly, the idea came to me - if just those two items can make such an improvement - what would be the result of going the whole way and putting the little dear into dresses all the time."

She went on, "I told the child last week 'if there is no improvement in your behaviour, then I will put you into dresses every day.' I'm not accustomed to uppity young boys and I will not accept it. Last night, I made my decision and rang you to make this appointment. So, can you help me. I'm so looking forward to seeing Antony grow into the demure, sweet girl that I want."

I looked over to the young lad. Antony was about eleven, I guessed. Much younger than I had been when I had been teased and encouraged into girlhood. I wondered what it must feel like to have your whole life changed like this at the whim of a rich aunt. At least, I had been involved in the decision to go through into the world of women. I would have to plan carefully here. Was I willing to do this to another boy? I hesitated.

As I stood there, watching him in the big mirror, I saw his hand stretch out to the lipstick on the counter. With surprise, I saw him open it quietly, like a mouse, secretively and dab the tiniest amount on the tip of his finger. Well, well, well. Perhaps his indoctrination had already been more successful than his aunt believed. My mind was made up for me by that one little gesture.

"Well, I must confess I have never been asked to do anything like this, but let's discuss the project for a little while. What do you suggest we have Antony do while we talk. I don't want to jump the gun, but do you think it would be helpful to let Antony choose his own new panties. It would be a first step and one that was within his control, well, let's let him think so." I didn't really wait for an answer as I saw the gleam in his aunt's eye. Without further ado, I called over to the young child and took his hand to walk him over to the large shelves at the side of the shop. "Come here with me, Antony dear. I'm going to leave you here with this boxful of panties so that you can choose a pair for your very own. If you find more than one pair which you think are extra pretty, then, if you're very lucky you can have them too."

I watched his face as I said this. He tried very hard to keep his sour expression, but I was confident that I saw a glimmer of interest.

The two of us went over to my office-desk at the far side of the salon. "I'm sure you were watching him too, what do you think will happen, Mrs James?"

"I don't take bets, dear, but I do believe the dear boy will either sit there and ignore them, or he'll choose a lot more than the one pair. I think that was a really clever idea. If she chooses anything, then indeed I can make her wear them because she chose them. I think we just keep an eye on her, and give a little encouragement from time to time."

I smiled too.

We kept on talking, not just about how she would encourage, cajole, flatter and beguile her dear little child into the true world of femininity. She took my point that force should be the last option. Subtlety and finesse would be the way forward.

After a little while, I made a little mistake, perhaps it was accidentally on purpose.

"When I was given my first panties, I never dreamed that I would be in this situation."

Mrs. James's eyes sparkled. "I did just speculate about that, my dear. But I wasn't going to bring up the possibility. Something your Aunt Jane said made me just wonder whether you had, um, had a change of circumstance so to speak."

I swallowed nervously. This wasn't something I had ever expected to discuss with a client - I had my reputation to consider.

"Well, what happened to me was rather different, I think. It wasn't planned by anyone, more, it just seemed to happen, a chain of events sort of thing." I forced myself to change the subject, "But I think I'd rather not talk about me at the moment, at the moment Antony is the important issue. Perhaps some other time, when I've come round to the idea that some people are going to guess my secret. At this exact moment, I'm really just a little unhappy about that and so I'm going to ignore it. So, please, let's get back to Antony's situation and your, rather our, plans for him."

"Don't you think you should do as I do and call him 'her' from now on. I have been trying to flatter the dear child. You know, saying 'that's so sweet' when she does something I approve of and 'dirty little boy' at other times."

Once more we smiled at each other, completely in tune as we had been cronies for years instead of minutes.

Mrs. James interrupted this moment of silence, "I've been watching and I do actually think that Antonia has been unable to keep her little hands off those lovely frillies. Shall we go and see." The two of us put down our lipstick-smeared coffee-cups and set off into the front room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting, darling - but we've nearly finished and we came to see how you were getting on. Have you found anything you like, dear."

Antony's face clouded over. "No, I'm a boy - not a girl. I'm a boy - I'm not interested in panties and girl stuff like that. There's nothing here."

I attacked - just a little, "Now, don't say you're not a girl when I've just seen you behave like a girl. I saw you when I last turned round, you were stroking these lovely pink panties. I could see you. Don't bother to deny it, your face is almost as pink as they are. As you so accurately say, boys don't wear panties - they aren't even interested in panties. So - since I saw you with your hands in the box , stroking and feeling the soft satin - I am completely certain what I saw when I say this - which have you chosen as your first panties. The ones you looked at are made from artificial silk rather than the real thing, but I'm sure they're going to feel much more comfortable than the rough things you've worn up to now. Well, pick them up, dear, and try them on."

Antony went red, white, crimson, scarlet. He snatched his hands away from the pile of lingerie.

"No, dear. I said pick up your chosen panties and please try them on."

Slowly his hands unfolded.

"Come on. I saw you with them earlier. There was one particular pair you were looking at. I know which it was. You chose them so get on with it."

Closer, closer, closer. His hand touched them, grasped them and took possession. Then to our pleasure, he snatched at a second pair too.

"Come along. Into the changing room. Now. We all understand that this seems bit sudden and that it's a big step but you've already made the first decision by selecting those panties for yourself - will you please hurry up."

My first transformee began his career. He was just so unwilling to take that giant step into the changing cubicle of a women's boutique. We both stood in the doorway while he stripped off and then slipped his gorgeously frilled panties up each leg. I took his old pants and most of his other things away. He stood there in the bright light, a pretty little sissy in pink panties. His hair was already quite long and his figure was as asexual as most other children of his age.

"That looks lovely, dear. They fit you very well. Here's a vest to go with them," and I passed a matching silk vest to the quivering youth. With no real complaint, he put that on too. Then, the shirt and the soft satin shorts, the short socks and the dainty little slippers - with one inch heels - which came out of Mrs James's bag. In a few minutes, a little girl stood before us.

I took the little darling by the hand and sat her in a chair so that I could arrange her hair in a more suitable style. Fortunately, there was no mirror for our victim to see the quality of the transformation - until - voila - I span the chair to present "And here before your very eyes, the new Antonia."

Mrs James was speechless with delight, she clapped her hands and glowed with pleasure.

Ex-Antony was also speechless. Before his eyes was a girl - and it was him. I detected the faintest gasp before s/he whispered, "I don't believe it."

I heard this with undeniable excitement and crouched daintily beside the new-girl, "Yes, darling - and look how pretty you are." And I smiled into the eyes of the girl on the chair, for truly, it was hard to see that it was really a boy anymore.

To my continued amazement, the child's behaviour was quite different when she climbed down from the chair. Gone was the sullen, quiet boy who had arrived. Instead was a dancing, dazzling, chirruping maiden, looking into every rack of clothes, stroking the dresses and saying, 'ooh, pretty'.

Was it really possible to convert a boy into a girl so easily? I felt sure that it had not been so easy with me. I needed to talk with my sister, my mother and my aunt - urgently.

There are further stories of how the SisterHood grew and began to encourage a number of boys and men into a, let’s say, a review of their day to day habits.


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