Special thanks to Angharad, John in Wauwatossa, and PB for their quick and valuable assistance in getting this story ready to post.

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“See anything you like?”

I couldn’t believe it, this was my wildest fantasy came true! Here I was, standing in the house of the hottest girl I’d ever met. Ruth was a graduate assistant in the Theater Arts class I was taking, and I was a lowly freshman. She was everything I imagined in the theater. Long straight dark hair, with razor-straight bangs right at eyebrow level. One day a cool medium brown, she looked like she was on her way to a sorority function in a skirt and flats, sweater draped on her shoulders. The next time she would have a beautiful deep auburn color, dressed right out of an issue of Vogue. Fridays she generally had glossy black hair and was dressed like a twenty-something cross between Elvira and Morticia Adams.

She changed her hair color like most girls changed clothes, but always that straight, long hair and perfectly straight bangs, and always brown or darker. I heard her say one day that blonde was too common, and there was nothing common about her. No matter how she looked, she always looked right, and you could hear the necks popping as heads swiveled to follow her. It never fazed her, the attention or the comments; it was as if she had an invisible shield around her that rendered her untouchable.

And she wanted to see me! During class one day she dropped a folded slip of paper on my desk. “See me after class”. The handwriting was just as I would have expected, perfect. No fancy embellishments, no big swoops or swirls. Neat and perfect, like a page out of a textbook on writing.

I waited at the rear of the line of students waiting to talk to her, most wanting to make some impression on her, gain some sign of approval. Finally the rest were gone and I walked up to her.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” she replied in her smooth as satin voice. “You know that the Beaux Arts Ball is next month.”

“Uh, yeah, uh . . . you want me to help or something?”

“Or something. I want to take you to the ball.”

“You, uh, uh . . . me?”

“Yes,” she laughed. Not a malicious laugh, but one that was totally understanding of my confusion.

“Well yeah . . . Sure!”

“You do know it’s a costume ball.” Again she more stated than asked me.

“Yes.” I was reduced to simple answers, my mind trying to come to grips with the idea that she wanted to go out with me!

“Good.” She handed me a slip of paper with an address, “My house at three Friday afternoon.” Then she leaned forward and softly kissed me on the cheek before walking away.

Three o’clock Friday found me standing on her front porch, not early, not late; in spite of having dithered for hours over what to wear. Finally I settled on a simple knit shirt and jeans, the defacto underclassman uniform at college. I rang the bell and after a moment she opened the door.

“Right on time. Come in.” She took my hand and pulled me in the door.

“What do you want . . .?” I wasn’t quite sure why I was there.

She picked up two glasses of wine and handed one to me. “I need to sort out your clothes.” Taking my hand she pulled me down a short hall and into her bedroom. Opening the door to a large walk-in closet she waved her hand inside, “See anything you like?”

I walked inside the closet and looked at all the clothes jamming both sides. There were dresses, skirts, blouses, jackets, in a wild confusion of colors, and not a pair of pants in sight. Across the end was a floor to ceiling rack of women’s shoes, boots, sandals, heels, you name the style, there was at least one pair represented.

“But these are all women’s clothes?”

She playfully patted my cheek, “Of course dear.”

“But, I, I, don’t . . . .”

She stopped my lips with her fingers. “I’ve been watching you for awhile. You are very careful, but waterproof mascara is hard to totally remove. And you keep your nails much neater than boys usually do, but you don’t always get all the polish off.”

I glanced at my nails in panic, and she laughed, kindly not maliciously.

“Gotcha!” She smiled, “Now, do you still want to waste time arguing; or shall we find you something to wear?”

I raised my hands in surrender. “Guess I’d be stupid to argue with you.”

“Yes you would. Now, shall I pick for you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

She walked down the line of clothes, stopping occasionally to look at one or another. Finally she pulled out a black full skirt and held it against my waist. The skirt came down just below my knees. “Uh-huh.”

She handed the skirt to me and continued down, pulling out a full petticoat that looked to be the same length and handed it to me. This was followed by a white ruffled blouse and a long-sleeved short black jacket. Then she pushed me ahead of her back into the bedroom.

“Go take a shower. There’s Nair and a razor and gel on the counter, get rid of any body hair you have. Need me to do your back?”

“Uh, no, thanks.”

She patted me on the cheek again. “You’re cute when you blush; now go, dear.”

When I emerged thirty minutes later I was wrapped in a towel. There was a pair of white panties on the bed along with several other items and a box.

Ruth called from outside the bedroom, “Put the panties on and be sure and tuck yourself. Let me know when you are decent.”

When I had everything tucked away and called her back in, she told me to sit on the bed. Picking up the box she opened it to reveal a pair of realistic breast forms. She held one against my chest, “I thought so, perfect! Now lie back.”

She glued each form in place and using some makeup that was in the box blended in the edges until they were invisible.

Next came the corset, made of black silk and leather. I couldn’t believe it could be tightened down so far, or that I’d be able to breath afterward, but it gave me a respectable figure as well as pushing the breast forms up, making them look even more impressive.

The white blouse had a high collar trimmed with ruffled lace, with a large diamond cutout just below that exposed the tops of my breasts as well as showing a hint of the black corset underneath.

She then led me over to the vanity where she applied my makeup. She started with a light-colored foundation that made my fair complexion look even paler; then did my eyes with heavy black mascara and eyeliner both over and under the eye. She then finished off with a dark eye shadow and deep red lipstick. The piece d’resistance was a tattoo transfer of a celtic cross on the right side of my neck below the ear. “Don’t worry, a little baby oil and it comes right off.”

Next she brought over a huge jewelry box, from which she selected several earrings and some other items. “That’s something else that gave you away, lots of boys have both ears pierced but very few have them triple-pierced.” Large gold hoops were placed in my first two holes; in the third a pair of gold chains dropped down and attached to the hoops. She attached a small gold hoop in my left nostril that was tight enough to pinch a bit; and another to the top of my left ear.

“Those look good, maybe we should make them permanent?” I must have looked panicked at the idea, because she patted my hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry hon, I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

After that she selected a bottle of nail polish to match the lipstick and did my nails, hands and feet. “Now you just sit there and let those dry while I clean up.”

When she came back a bit later she was wearing a black lace up bustier and a deep burgundy long skirt with spike-heeled boots. Her assortment of earrings made my three each look paltry by comparison. In her hand was a pair of platform heels with long wide straps. “I believe we are close to the same size, you’ll wear these.”

After inspecting my nails and pronouncing them dry, black stockings in a small net weave were rolled up my legs and secured to the garters hanging from the bottom of the corset. Then she had me stand up and step into the petticoat, pulling it up to my waist. Next came the skirt, which was just the same length as the petticoat underneath, showing a flash of ruffles when I moved or sat down.

Seated back at the vanity, she helped me into the heels and wrapped the strap around my ankles. Another foray into the jewelry box and she came back with some small heart-shaped locks with which she secured the straps. Lace trimmed leather bands were fastened around my wrists and similarly secured. She finished by fastening the high collar of the blouse and wrapped a larger lace-trimmed black leather choker around the white lace collar and snapped a larger heart-shaped lock through it.

“Uh, where’s the key to these?” I asked with a bit of quaver in my voice.

In reply she pulled out a large gold chain that was hanging around her neck and I could see a key was a part of the locket on the end. She dropped it back around her neck and the key disappeared between her breasts. “Be a good girl and I’ll let you retrieve that later.”

The idea of pluming the space there was exciting, and I quickly dismissed my nervousness. I started to turn to look at myself in the mirror but she stopped me.

“One more thing.” A tall case next to the vanity proved to be the storage place of a long straight black wig with bangs cut like her hair.

“Is that how you change hair color so often?” In truth I was a bit disappointed, I’d been fascinated by her constantly changing hair.

“No, you silly goof. Temporary rinses work very well these days, and I always keep my hair well-conditioned. Now tilt your head forward a bit.” She pulled my hair up and tucked it under a wig cap, which she secured with styling tape. Then she pulled the wig on. Some tugging and twisting, and a few more pieces of tape, and the wig was securely placed.

“Now look straight at me.” She wielded a brush and comb like an artist. I could feel the bangs settle in place on my forehead and felt the unfamiliar tickle of hair on my eyebrows. It was a strange but intoxicating feeling, and I vowed to myself that I would let my hair grow.

She took my chin in her hand and turned my head from side to side, then looked me straight in the eyes. “You’re beautiful, you know.” Then she kissed me softly on the lips.

I leaned into the kiss and moaned just a bit, before she pulled away. “Not now, darling, you’ll smear your lipstick. Later, after we get home.”

I pulled back in alarm. “After we get home? I can’t go out looking like this!”

“Of course you can! You can’t go back to your dorm looking this way, and the key is going to the club with me. You don’t think I spent all this time making you beautiful to sit home all evening do you? I want to show you off! The goth club I always go to has a lot of lesbians, the locks show you are spoken for. Besides, we’ll get to do a lot of dancing. I think you’ll enjoy that!”

“Why?”

I was wavering a bit, the idea of dancing close with her was nearly irresistible and quite arousing. She took my hand and turned me around to a full length mirror.

“I like girls, especially ones with a little something extra. Look in the mirror and tell me truthfully. Do you see a boy in a dress or a girl ready to party with her girlfriend?”

I looked in the mirror at the goth girl who looked back at me. No, an elegant goth girl! Nothing too over the top, she was nearly as beautiful as the girl who stood next to her holding her hand. I was lost in fascination with my looks.

A hand shook my shoulder, “Come on, wake up.” I started as my shoulder was shaken more forcefully.

“Come on, boy, sun’s up. Cows ain’t gonna feed themselves.”

My dream fled like the morning mist as I opened my eyes and looked out at the farmland surrounding the house. I grabbed at the memory of the dream but the pieces slipped through my fingers and were gone. All I knew was I’d been happy.

“Coming, Pa.”