Sometimes, Tommy hated his sister. She was such a tease and he should have ignored her. At eleven years old, she was the younger of the two by just about a year and he should have been “man” about it and just walked away from her, but he didn’t. Tonya knew the teasing bothered him badly; so, she kept it up.

“Mom,” he wailed one autumn afternoon after school. “She’s teasing me again.”

“Oh, you two,” their mother said, her tone exasperated as she charged out of her bedroom and into the living room where the two were having their back-and-forth confrontations. “You know I have to get ready for work and I don’t have time for this now.”

“But mom,” Tommy whined.

“Oh, Christ, Tonya,” she turned toward the girl. “You know you shouldn’t bug your brother. He just gets all upset. Why do you do it?”

Tonya looked at her mother, feigning both ignorance and outrage at being accused of teasing. “I was just modeling my new dress for our middle school dance, mom. I don’t know why he calls that teasing.”

“You know full well you were bugging him Tonya. Now both of you behave, or I’ll be late for the supper shift.”

Tonya stuck her tongue out at Tommy as their mother returned to the bedroom. “You squealer,” she hissed at him. When Tommy turned twelve, his mother felt he was responsible enough so that she no longer had to take the two children to her mother while she worked at Maurice’s, a first class restaurant where she had long waitressed and was well-rewarded with tips. Both kids agreed to the arrangement, with the further caveat that “You, Tonya, must obey your brother, even if you don’t like it.”

“But mom . . .” Tonya had begun to argue.

“No buts, Tonya Marie,” their mother had said, using Tonya’s full name to press home the point that she meant business. “Do what he says, and if you think he’s being unfair, we can talk about it when I get home.”

“OK, but he can be such a priss,” Tonya said.

“I am not,” Tommy quickly argued.

“You are, too, a prissy little girl.”

“He’s not a girl, Tonya. Quit teasing your brother.”

Tommy blushed as his sister again called him a “girl,” knowing it was said only to bug him. He knew she used the term to fuss about the firm rules he placed on her when their mother was gone. No boy should want to be called a “girl,” he knew, but while it embarrassed him, he also was excited by the idea of being a girl.

“Don’t call me a girl, Tonya,” Tommy said to his sister, once their mother had gone.

“I’m sorry Tommy, but you make me so mad with all your rules. And you are prissy, Tommy.”

“I’m just doing what mom tell us to do. I’m not prissy, either.”

Tonya smiled at him, a mischievous smile that Tommy recognized only too well. His sister’s behavior always raised suspicions that she was about to do something that would bother him.

“You liked my dress, didn’t you, Tommy?” she asked suddenly.

Tommy’s face flushed. “Ah, yeah. It was OK, I guess. I hardly noticed,” he lied.

Tonya responded with a big laugh, “Hah, like you didn’t notice.”

“What’s so funny? I’m going to heat up the spaghetti mom left for us,” he said, turning his back on his sister and leaving for the kitchen.

“Liar,” Tonya said, heading off for her room. “You loved the dress and you were just jealous. You wanted to wear it, didn’t you?”

Tommy didn’t reply. As he opened the refrigerator to get the spaghetti dish, he knew his sister was correct. He loved the dress; he knew he’d look lovely in it, maybe even prettier than Tonya. The dress had been on sale on a previous Saturday when the two youngsters were shopping with their mother, trying to find a dress for Tonya to wear to the middle school dance. Tommy saw a dress almost like it on a mannequin in the teen department at Garfield’s Store in the mall.

“How about this, Tonya?” he asked, drawing her attention to it.

The girl looked at it and smiled, “Mom, here’s one.”

Emily Lundstrom turned to look at the dress, and then to her daughter, shaking her head, “No way. You’re too young for that. Skirt’s too short.”

“But mom,” Tonya pleaded.

“No, that dress is for a senior in high school, not a sixth grader in middle school.”

As the two argued over the dress, Tommy scoured the racks and found a dress that had a slightly longer skirt, but was styled similarly to the sample shown on the mannequin. He pulled it out and held the dress still on its hanger in front of him. “Here’s one that should fit Tonya,” he said.

Spying it, Tonya exclaimed. “I love it, mom. Can I?”

“I said no. It’s too old for you.”

“Mom, that’s the way girls in middle school dress now,” Tommy pleaded, supporting his sister’s pleas.

In the end, Emily Lundstrom succumbed to her children’s pleas and purchased the dress. “After all, it’s on sale today,” she said justifying the purchase.

The dress was sleeveless, had a high bodice and a flared skirt that ended at mid-thigh. It was in a lush burgundy color that would stand out. Tommy thought it was such a sparkling dress that would make his sister stand out at the dance.

*****

That night, Tommy began to feel jealous, wishing that he was a girl who had just gotten a lovely dress like the one their mother purchased for Tonya earlier in the day. He was becoming alarmed that his thoughts about being a girl kept recurring with greater frequency in recent months. He kept picturing himself in dresses, girly shorts or even in a lovely swimming suit. Often, too, he’d recall one muggy summer day when he was eight, and his sister seven and the two found themselves in Tonya’s bedroom stuck in the house as a steady rain poured outside. They had become bored having watched a lot of Nickelodeon and the PBS kid shows while their mother was busy doing her accounts.

“I’m bored,” Tonya said. “Maybe mom could take us to the Bounce Palace? I feel like jumping around.”

The girl began bouncing around on her bed.

“Don’t do that, Tonya, Mom will get mad and besides she said not to bother her. I’m bored, too.”

“How about we play house? Remember, how much fun that was,” Tonya asked bringing back to memory their preschool years when they played “mommy” and “daddy,” often changing roles.

Tommy smiled. He had been the mommy more often than the daddy, remembering how he clogged about in his mother’s heels and his sister’s dresses. Even though he was a year older than Tonya, the two were about the same height and often they wore each others clothes. Those were fun times, but Tommy now was eight and headed in September to the 4th grade.

“Nah,” he said. “We’re too old for that.”

“Come on,” Tonya pleaded. “You can be the mommy.”

“No,” he objected.

“Come on,” she repeated, reaching across the bed upon which the two were lying and grabbing his arm, twisting it.

“Ow, quit it.” She had caught him unawares and began to twist his arm.

“Say yes,” she said applying more pressure.

Tommy couldn’t believe how strong his little sister was; she had him in an arm lock that began to hurt. “You’re hurting me.”

“Say yes, Tommy,” she continued, easing up on the pressure a bit, but not releasing him. He felt powerless. He wanted desperately to call for his mother, but knew she’d get mad if she was interrupted in her work.

Eventually Tommy gave up. Tonya, he realized, was quite a tomboy and likely had more strength in her arms than he did. Tonya was always rough-housing it with the boys in the neighborhood, while Tommy often was content with staying indoors, reading or even helping his mother out. A few days earlier, he had even baked some oatmeal cookies with only minimal supervision from his mother. He was proud of the accomplishment and he would have liked to boast about the achievement but knew it was not something a boy should be advertising.

Soon, Tommy was dressed in his sister’s yellow and teal-colored play dress. It had cap sleeves and a low bodice, ending just above the knees. Tonya brushed Tommy’s longish dark hair so that it hung loosely. Tommy liked his hair long, even if he was sometimes mistaken for a little girl. His sister affixed two barrettes then to give the flowing hair some form.

“You’re so cute, Tommy,” Tonya said. “We could be sisters.”

He nodded. “Tonya put on a dress, too, so we can be like twins,” he said.

The girl found a pink, sleeveless play dress and Tommy brushed her brown hair that was only slightly longer than Tommy’s. Soon the two were dressed, both wearing ankle socks to match their dresses and girlish play shoes.

The two looked at each other in the mirror and began giggling. “We’re both girls,” Tommy said excitedly and began prancing about. Tonya joined him and they did a jig together.

“Let’s go show mommy,” Tonya said.

“No,” Tommy objected. “She’ll get mad. Me in a dress.”

“We used to put on dresses together,” she argued.

“But that was when we were small.”

“Aww, come on. We’re just playing. Let’s show how cute we are. Besides mom will be happy we’re playing together and not fighting.”

Tonya always won these arguments, it seemed, and she won this one. Soon they skipped into the kitchen to interrupt their mother.

“Mommy, we’re sisters,” Tonya announced.

Emily Lundstrom looked up from her work, at first giving the two youngsters a blank stare, apparently not sure what she was seeing.

“Sisters?” she said, still trying to reconcile the sight of the two girls in front of her.

“Yes, mommy,” Tonya said. “Just like when we were little when Tommy dressed up like a girl.”

Their mother’s face got a stern look as she finally realized what she was seeing. “Oh, I don’t know if you should dress like that, Tommy. You’re older now.”

“We’re just playing,” Tonya said.

“And we were bored,” Tommy added.

“Are you OK dressed like that, Tommy?” his mother asked.

“I guess.”

Tonya poked him hard in the ribs but did it so that their mother could not see the action. “It’s OK mom,” he added.

Emily thought for a minute and then said, “OK, if that’s what you want, you’ll have to be dressed like that for the rest of the day, Tommy.”

“But,” he began to object. “I’m a boy. We’re just doing this for fun.”

“You’re stuck, my dear, and both of you will have to do the dishes tonight and clean your rooms,” she said.

“In these dresses, mom?” Tonya asked.

“Yes, in those dresses. But we can’t call this cute little girl by the name of ‘Tommy?’ What’s her name?”

Tommy and Tonya looked at each other. “I don’t know,” Tommy said.

“Why not Tammy?” Tonya offered.

“Yes, yes, Tammy. I’m Tammy,” Tommy shouted, clapping his hands together a beginning to prance about the kitchen.

*****

Now, four years after his play-acting as a girl, Tommy was again wondering what it would be like to have been a girl. The thoughts cropped up often at bedtime and he found himself thinking it might be fun to be a girl. Whenever these thoughts cropped into his head, Tommy realized that he should banish such girlish desires from his mind. He was a boy, wasn’t he? Yet, he couldn’t quit thinking about how he would feel if he had been born a girl. He was constantly bombarded with images of looking soft and feminine and lovely. A look in the mirror when he stood naked after his shower seemed to confirm his girlish physique. He had been painfully thin in the first ten years of his life, but recently had become to put on weight and it made his body look fleshy and without muscle tone. During the summer he refused to go to the local swimming pool, knowing he’d have to disrobe and show his upper body, where breasts had begun to blossom.

He couldn’t imagine himself as a handsome, strong boy. Instead, he figured he’d be much better off as a girl; he’d be lovely, wouldn’t he?

No, no, no. He had to stop thinking about that. He was a boy, right?

*****

Tonya had been correct. Tommy was intrigued by the dress he’d found for Tonya, the one she wore in teasing him about being girly and wanting to wear. He remembered trying to ignore the question Tonya asked as she was taunting, “You loved the dress and you were just jealous. You wanted to wear it, didn’t you?” He knew he wanted to wear it; he even thought about stealing into her room and trying it on while she was gone one day, even though he knew the dress would hardly fit his chubby body. Tonya was slender, wiry and athletic.

After their mother had left for the job, Tommy began to put on the spaghetti dinner for Tonya and himself when his sister entered the kitchen.

“Can I help, Tommy?” she asked.

“Help?” he replied, puzzled. His sister never helped in putting on supper and each night had to be cajoled into doing her assigned chore of washing the dishes afterward.

“Can I help you, Tommy?” she repeated, a bit insistently.

“Oh . . . ah . . . ah . . . yes. You can set the table.”

Once they sat down to eat, Tonya began to talk about her friend, Melanie, and the dress she was going to wear for the middle-school dance.

“Melanie will look real pretty and she hopes that Hampton will notice her,” Tonya said.

“Is she hot for Hampton Fielding?” Tommy asked, surprised since the Fielding boy who lived down the street was already in high school and likely too old for a middle-schooler like Melanie.

“Yeah, and she’ll look so pretty. I love her new dress. She modeled it for me yesterday, and it’s an orange red color. She looks really hot in it.”

“It sounds lovely,” Tommy agreed.

Tonya smiled at her brother. “Tommy, it’s not as nice as the one you found for me. You really know girl clothes.”

Tommy didn’t answer, but began to worry that he was blushing.

Tonya didn’t seem to notice and continued to prattle on, “Thank you so much Tommy for finding that dress and convincing mom that it’d be OK for me to wear it.”

The girl got up from her chair and came over to hug Tommy, shocking him. He couldn’t remember the last time she had been affectionate with him; the two always seemed to be fighting.

“I love you, bro,” she said, smacking a kiss on his cheek.

Tommy wondered why his normally surly sister was acting so nice; it wasn’t in her nature to show affection for him. He was certain she must be softening him up so that he might be more open to letting her do something she shouldn’t be doing.

Tonya’s cell phone rang and before answering she looked at the phone’s screen. “It’s Melanie,” she said, fleeing the kitchen. Soon, Tommy heard her bedroom door slam and he pictured his sister, lying on her bed, flat on her stomach, propped on her arms, her phone next her ear, legs waving in the air. Even though she was just eleven years old, Tommy could see she was quickly blossoming into becoming an attractive pre-teen girl. Tonya also had tons of friends; Tommy lamented that he had only few, and most of them never called him.

Tommy retired to his room, intent upon completing a school project he was developing for one of his middle school classes, an exhibit entitled “Clothing in History.” His goal was to link changes in clothing styles to historic events and he originally sought to use male clothing, but found female outfits far more intriguing. He knew he’d be teased and ridiculed once he’d unveil it before the class, but he had become fascinated with women’s clothes, particularly the full fashions of the Victorian area. He was determined to carry on and finish the project.

There was a knock on his door. “Tommy can I come it?” Tonya asked.

“Huh,” he said, startled out of his musings over a picture of a large woman, fully garbed in the trappings of a voluminous Victorian gown.

“Tommy?”

“Oh yes,” he said, roused from his imaginative ruminations that had him happily posing in such a marvelous gown. He quickly changed the picture on his monitor and yelled back at Tonya to enter.

“You busy?” she asked.

“Just finished my homework,” he lied and changed the subject. “What did Melanie want?”

“Nothin’, we just talked.”

“Oh, what d’ya want then,” Tommy asked, suspicious of his sister’s reasons for wanting to enter his room. Usually the two stayed in their rooms ignoring each other, Tonya busying herself with Facebook comments with her friends and Tommy day-dreaming about his own sorry life, his unhappiness of being virtually friendless, likely due to his own chubby body and ugliness (at least that was the way he thought of himself).

Recently, he had been thinking that he’d be more popular if he were a girl; even the chubby girls he knew in school like Amy Whitehead and Lula Cortez seemed to be popular. His mind had carried him into full-fledged girlhood and he began examining what dresses, skirts and blouses he’d be wearing as a pre-teen girl. Through the magic of Google, he found pages and pages of teen girl clothing and was pleased to find many selections for chubby, or “plus,” girls.

“I just wanted to talk to my nice brother,” she said.

“OK, what about?”

Tonya plopped herself flat on his bed, much to his dislike knowing she’d muss it up. He meticulously made his bed upon rising every morning, and his room was always neat, never a stray sock or piece of underclothing cluttering the floor. In contrast, Tonya’s room was always a mess, her clothing lying all around on the floor.

“Melanie and her older sister have so much fun together, Tommy,” she said.

Melanie’s older sister, Kerianne, was in Tommy’s class; she was a trim, pert girl who was always mischievous but also truly smart, causing her teachers to be alternatingly charmed or frustrated about her. She also was one of the few classmates who seemed to like Tommy and even talk to him.

“Kerianne’s nice,” he agreed.

“I sometimes wish you were my big sister,” Tonya said quickly.

“What? Why?”

“We could be good ‘best friends forever,’ like Melanie and Kerianne.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m a boy.”

“Yeah, but I think you like being a girl.”

“Shut up,” he said, his voice harsh, denying the truth.

“You know all about girl stuff,” Tonya pressed. “Like my new dress. I know you’d like to wear it.”

“It’s not my size.”

Tonya giggled. “No, but I bet they sell it in a chubby girl’s size.”

“Get out.”

His sister, however, persisted, continuing to lay on the bed, her eyes sparkling as they did when she was in one of her mischievous, teasing cycles.

“Remember the fun we had when we played house and you always wanted to be the mom?” she continued.

“Not always,” her protested.

“But you liked being the mom, I know you did.”

“I guess,” he reluctantly admitted.

*****

Fifteen minutes later, the two children were in their mother’s room, rummaging through her closet to find an outfit that might look good on Tommy. Her persistence had worn him down and he at length agreed to try on one of his mother’s outfits.

“I’m not doing this because I want to,” he lied to his sister, “but just to shut you up.”

“Thank you, Tommy,” she had said, leaping from the bed to hug him.

They both agreed that none of his sister’s clothes would fit him; his soft body was just too thick. It had been Tommy who pointed out that he was almost as tall as his mother and that both seemed to have the similarly shaped bodies, a bit chunky.

“You promise not to tell mom?” he asked, they agreed to venture into her room.

She nodded, knowing that their mother would correctly figure out that it was Tonya who likely egged her brother into the escapade. Her punishment: the month-long embargo of her cell phone. Tommy might be grounded, but he’d hardly care since he rarely had anywhere to go anyway.

“You’d look so cute in this, Tommy,” his sister said, pulling out a multi-colored blouse.

“I can’t wear that,” he protested. “That’s one of mom’s favorites.”

It was a peasant top that helped accentuate their mother’s ample breasts, exposing a bit of cleavage at the bodice. It had capped sleeves and embroidered hems. “Mom always wore that dark blue skirt with iy,” Tommy added.

“Tommy, this is perfect for you. I’ll find you a bra to wear and you’d have breasts, just like a real girl,” she added.

He reddened at the thought. As he had grown chubby when he turned ten, he had indeed developed breasts. Other kids had noticed and one girl even told him she envied him because his breasts were bigger than hers; in fact, in those years, most girls were only beginning to blossom and Tommy had observed his mammary glands may have been bigger than most of the girls in his classes at school. While his fleshy chest had become an embarrassment for him, he had also been fascinated by them and loved to play with them when he was alone, cupping them and pushing them together creating a cleavage. When he did that, he began picturing himself as a real girl.

“No bra,” he said, even as he yearned to try one on.

“You gotta, Tommy, to show off your breasts.”

“Mom’s bras are too big,” he protested.

“I know, but mom got me a training bra, and I’ve never worn it. I’ll get it.”

As he opened his mouth to object, Tonya shot out of the bedroom, returning a few moments later, holding up a pink bra, showing it to her brother.

“It won’t fit me,” he argued.

“Let’s try. Take off your shirt.”

Tommy hated to show his body to anyone; in truth, he was ashamed that he was so soft and fleshy. Most of all, he hated that his breasts would show and he’d be a laughingstock. Finally, his curiosity of how he’d look in a bra and a woman’s blouse overwhelmed his shame and he took off his shirt, even though he was afraid his sister would tease him.

To his surprise, she neither laughed or teased him. Tonya smiled and said, “Thank you, Tommy.”

“You want to try to put the bra on yourself, Tommy?” she asked.

“I don’t think I could hook it in the back. Maybe you better help.”

Tonya stood behind him, brought put his arms through the shoulder straps, drawing the bra around his chest and cupping each mound of soft flesh into the small bra cups. She hooked the bra in the back without much difficulty.

Tommy was surprised the bra fit him, thinking he was too broad around the chest to fit into a bra made for his younger sister. Apparently, his body frame was more delicate than was apparent from his chunky appearance.

“Wow, you have real girl breasts, now,” she exclaimed.

He blushed. A boy shouldn’t have “girl breasts,” as she described; yet, the thought excited him.

“Is it too tight, Tommy?”

“No, it feels OK, I guess.”

The fact was he felt great, though he wouldn’t admit it to Tonya. The bra was comfortable. He looked down to see his chest protruding and the pink softness of his two breasts pushed together into a fetching cleavage.

“You should have panties,” Tonya said.

“No, we can’t take mom’s.”

They argued briefly whether he should wear his mother’s panties, but finally Tonya conceded that it wouldn’t hurt to have him continue to wear his boy briefs. She helped Tommy step into the dark blue skirt and then slipped the peasant blouse over his head.

“Let me see how I look, Tonya,” he said.

“Not yet, not until I finish with you.”

“What are you doing now?”

“A girl has to have her hair fixed, doesn’t she? Just wait ‘til I get my hair brush.”

She was gone but a minute, returning with her hair brush, beginning to brush down his dark brown hair, which was long, reaching to his neck.

“You have such nice thick hair, Tommy, perfect for a pretty girl.”

“Quit saying that I’m a girl.”

“OK, but you’re going to be real pretty, anyway,” she giggled.

Tommy smiled.

*****

“I look just like a girl, don’t I?” Tommy asked, when Tonya finally completed her ministrations and led him to see himself in the full-length mirror in their mother’s bedroom.

“You do, Tommy,” his sister said, hugging him.

Tommy turned right and left, seeing himself as a comely, cute pre-teen girl. His chubbiness that caused him much humiliation as a boy seemed to be transformed into creating a pretty and attractive girl. His breasts had been captured in the bra, with a bit of cleavage showing above the peasant top. The skirt ending just above the knees, exposing just a bit of tantalizing thigh flesh. On his feet he wore a pair of pink flats, borrowed from his mother’s closet.

“You have a pretty face, too,” Tonya said.

He smiled at the thought. She was right; his face could easily be that of a girl’s. Tonya had done little in making him up, using a natural lip gloss, some light color to his cheeks and a few dark highlights around his eyes.

“I do, don’t I?” he asked.

Tonya smiled at her brother. “You should have a girl’s name now,” she said.

He brightened at the thought.

“How about Tammy?” she offered.

He thought about it a moment, taking time to look at himself in the mirror, viewing a cherubic young girl. Yes, she deserved a lovely, feminine name, he thought.

“No, Tammy’s too close to Tommy,” he said.

“Why not Terry?”

“Yes, maybe that’s it,” he replied, quickly adding: “No, that could be a boy’s name.”

“You’re right.”

The two rattled off various names, but none of them seemed to fit the girl in the mirror.

“I got it,” screeched his sister. “Zoey.”

“Yeah, that’s it, little sister,” he said, grabbing her into a hug.

“Yes,” she replied. “Zoey is a perfect name for my big sister.”

Tommy suddenly felt gratitude toward his little sister; she had engineered his transformation as if it was a natural process; she had not laughed at him or teased him. He wondered how she could have sensed that he had such feelings of femininity.

The two hugged, holding each other tightly.

“Thank you, Tonya. I love being your big sister.”

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