I am in my room, contemplating whether to put my theories to the test. So far, I have completely avoided my computer. I look at the clock; it is nearly midnight. I can sleep in, since tomorrow is Sunday, so I am not worried about the hour. I am more worried that my theory will prove itself to be right.

I think about today. On the one hand, I am ecstatic that I am ‘forced’ to do some of the things that I have longed to do for so long. I have dreamed about wearing makeup for as long as I can remember. I have never been into the typical ‘boy’ things, which has driven Dad crazy over the years. Mom has never minded, though… Come to think of it, she has been as shocked about some of this as *I* have, but she has been supportive… I shudder to think how Dad will react, though.

Don’t get me wrong, Dad loves me. There is no doubt about that. He just wants the stereotypical ‘son’. You know, all macho and stuff… I have done the best I can; to appease him. I am actually even really good at sports, especially the less aggressive team sports. I just can’t get into some of the fiercely competitive spirit that he wants me to… I just want to get along and have fun…

I look back at the blank screen on my computer. I ask myself, “What I can do to test this out?” I sigh and say quietly to myself, “Well, if I have beautiful feet…why not the legs to go with them?” I turn on my computer and open my browser. I type “Images of Women in Garter Belts and Stockings” into the search bar, thinking that would give me the best choices for leg models. I scroll down through the images looking for absolute beauty and not slutty and find one image that particularly appeals to me.

I look at the image and let it sink into my mind. I soak in the long, smooth legs. The garter holds up the stocking around the perfectly shaped thighs; the heels she is wearing are showing off her perfect calves. If I were thinking like a guy, I would probably be panting (or more) right now. I, however, am only thinking like a girl; desperately wanting that look for myself.

I fall asleep looking at the image. The last thing I remember is looking at the garter belt and the really pretty panties she has on…and the sheer stockings. Almost subconsciously, I switch back to my favorite picture of Christy and wish her a goodnight as I dreamily smile…and fall asleep.
 

I wake up and see the computer next to me on the bed; the image of Christy still on the screen. I rub my eyes, stick a leg out from under the covers, and pull up my pajama leg. My foot is still tiny and cute. My leg is now smooth and shapely and just begging to be clad in silky stockings.

I groan to myself, “You stupid idiot! What have you done?” I sit up in bed, throw back the covers, and pull up both pajama legs. I have AWESOME legs…for a GIRL. I shiver at the thought; but then reality hits me. Dad is going to be back next weekend and there is NO way I can explain any of this to him. Something is making me act out my innermost desires; desires that he will not understand…nor the majority of the people around me in this town; especially in school.

I subconsciously finger the chain, not even realizing that it is not quite as heavy; somewhat finer than it was yesterday.

At any rate, it seems it is too late to change it now; I do, however, resolve myself not to look at anything on the internet that could even remotely trigger a change anymore. It will be hard to not look and dream, but I have to stop this… I shake my head and ask myself, “Right?”

I get up and go into the bathroom to wash up for the day. I slip on my wedges as I get up to make walking more comfortable and glide into the bathroom. I check out my legs in the mirror attached to the back of my opened closet door. I can’t really tell anything with my pajama pants on. I think, “Well, that is a good sign. At least I can hide them.” I go to my sink and turn on the water. I look up into the mirror and gasp again. I groan to myself, “But, I won’t be able to hide THOSE as easily!” I have full, sensuous, pouty lips that look just like those that made Christy so famous. And they are a bright, light pink that can’t be ignored. They look like they have been perfectly outlined and plumped. They are also really soft and moist looking…like they have heavy gloss on them…and are just waiting to be kissed…

I take my washcloth and try to wash the color off. Of course, as expected, there is no way it is coming off. I groan again. They look AWESOME! But, well, you know…NOT for a boy… It is getting harder and harder for me to deny that I LIKE this look, though. It is also getting harder and harder to figure out what to do. Pretty soon, I am going to have to wear full makeup just to make me look normal… Well, what other people think of as normal for me…

I go back to my closet and pull of my pajama pants. I stand there and look at my perfect legs. They are silky smooth and supermodel-beautiful. There is not a hair or blemish in sight and the skin has a shiny glow to it.

I sigh. It is a shame to have to cover them up. I have this urge to put on a garter and stockings and proudly show them off to the world. I shake my head to clear it and grab a pair of underwear and pull them on. They are my regular white cotton briefs, the ones I wear every day but they feel like steel wool on me. They itch and feel rough and I don’t know why. They are driving me nuts and I have only just put them on. I try on a different pair, thinking Mom forgot the fabric softener, or something. I sigh and resolve myself to endure it when there is no difference. I don’t have a choice, right?

I put on a pair of the thin, girl’s socks that I now own a drawer full of and pull on a pair of my new pants. I marvel at the luxurious feel of them as they slide up my now smooth, hairless legs. I struggle a bit and get them buttoned and zipped, then put on a belt and a polo shirt. Finally, I tie my wedges and check myself in the mirror. I look…different…but OK, I guess. The polo disguises the pants and the pants disguise the heels. Of, course, my face really screams weirdo, since my eyebrows are still in full fem-mode, along with my lashes; and my ‘new’ lips are all glisteny-pink and pouty. That mixed in with my strongly masculine features and sprouting dark beard stubble.

I hang my head and shake it. I groan, “I am SO doomed!”

I slip downstairs, dreading what Mom will say when she sees my lips. She smiles when she sees me. I expect her to make a big deal of how I look. She doesn’t say a word; only asks what I want for breakfast. I eat some frozen waffles in a confused daze. I squirm the whole time at my uncomfortable undies and the urge to ask her why she is not SAYING anything. Finally, I tell her that I am going over to Bethany’s to meet up with her and Lewis.

I quickly walk the three blocks to Bethany’s house, expecting to be ridiculed at any time. I make it, unscathed, and Bethany answers the door. She exclaims, “Landon! Awesome lips!” She blushes and says, “Well, you know what I mean…”

I nod and follow her in. I look around and ask, “Where is Lewis?” The house appears to be totally empty except for the two of us.

Bethany smiles and says, “He can’t make it today. I thought the two of us could talk, though. Is that alright?”

I nod and say, “I…I suppose so. About what?” I feel a bit uncomfortable being here without Lewis—only because I am afraid of what he may say, or think, about me being alone with his girlfriend. The fact that no one else seems to be here, either, only compounds that feeling.

She notices my discomfort and says, “Don’t worry, Landon. Lewis is completely fine with this being her alone. I told him that I needed to talk to you. After I explained, he was totally fine with it. My parents are out, so we are alone and it is safe for you to be honest. I won’t tell anyone that you don’t want me to… Well, except, we will have to be honest with Lewis.”

I give her a funny look and say, “OK, I am not following… What in the world are you talking about?”

She smiles and takes my hands and looks in my eyes. She says, “Landon, I know that YOU are driving this change. I don’t know how…but I DO know why… You really want to be a girl, don’t you? No, that is wrong…you ARE a girl, aren’t you?”

I pale…then blush… I try and come up with a plausible denial. I try and come up with anything… Finally, I ask in defeat and shame, “How did you know?”

She squeezes my hands and says, “I could just feel it… Especially as this has happened. I also think your Mom knows…or, at least, strongly suspects. You are going to have to talk to her, you know? And your Dad…”

I shiver and say, “No… I…can’t… Not my Dad… Mom…maybe…” I shrug.

She shakes her head and says, “OK. One step at a time… So, are there any other changes that I should know about? Other than the lips, I mean?”

I sigh and nod. I don’t tell her about my experiment, just yet. I do tell her about my legs…then, hesitantly, about my gnawing desire to show them off in garters and stockings… And, finally, my extreme discomfort with my underwear.

She giggles and says, “So, THAT is why you are squirming like that! I wondered what was up. So, tell me; if looking at certain things on the internet drove the previous changes, what do you think drove the change in your legs?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I tell her about my experiment.

She looks at me in deep thought for a minute, then asks, “So, you specifically searched for models that were wearing garters? Why?”

I shrug and say, “I was just looking for images of great legs. That seemed like a good search parameter…”

She thoughtfully nods and says, “OK, I guess that makes some sense. So, can you show me the picture you settled on?” She slides her laptop over to me.

I quickly enter in my search term and scroll through the images until I find the one that spoke to me so strongly last night.

She looks at it and giggles. I give her a ‘what-the-hell’ look and she says, “Well, it is obvious that this image is supposed to be provocative…but that the girl LIKES that…that she ENJOYS wearing the pretty garters, and stockings, … AND pretty panties…”

She lets that sink in…until the light bulb goes off in my head. I blush and say, “You mean that somehow, the desire portrayed by the model in the image has been transferred to ME? That is why I want to wear garters… AND that I really want to wear PANTIES and THAT is why my undies are chaffing me?”

She smiles smugly and nods. She says, “There is one easy way to find out…”

I am staring at myself in her mirror. Dumbfounded.

She had taken me to her room and convinced me to put on a pair of her ‘pretty’ panties. The heavily-laced, satiny-microfiber, thongs had felt like HEAVEN sliding up my legs. The ‘floss’ snugly hidden in my butt-crack did not bother me in the least. She had then helped my put on the garter belt and shown me how to make sure the straps went INSIDE the panties. She helped roll on the stockings and clip them to the belt. I had then put on a pair of her sisters old heels and stood in front of the mirror.

I look at her and ask, “Do ALL girls have garters and stockings?”

She giggles and says, “No. I am sure not. But many do for special occasions. They make you feel sexy…and special. They are really for YOU, never for anyone else—although, most guys think they are for them.”

I sigh and say, “This feels so RIGHT. But, is that me? Or is it whatever is driving me to do this?”

Bethany looks at me and says, “YOU are driving you to do this. I am fully convinced of that. And it is not turning you on… So, THAT means you ARE a girl. Let’s complete the outfit, shall we?”

She helps me put on a mid-calf length dress that shows off my legs. Then, she helps me do a full makeover…fixing what has NOT been already changed… I look in the mirror and see perfect legs. I see the beginnings of a beautiful face. I also see a flat chest, disproportionally large hands, and hairy arms. I see the overly masculine features of my face… I see all that is WRONG and it completely ruins what has started to be right.

I sob and cover my face.

Bethany comes over and drapes her arms around me. She asks, “What is wrong, Landon? Is this not what you want?”

I shake my head and sniffle. I say, “Yes, but look at me. I went into puberty at an early age. I was barely thirteen. I am already too masculine to ever be pretty… And…even if I could be…nobody would ever accept me…”

Bethany just quietly says, “I would…”