It was 1965, and tomorrow was the last day of fifth grade. After supper I tooled off on my bike down the sidewalk, in a hurry to get over to me friend Gary’s. Near the end of the block a lady was backing out of her driveway … and nearly killed me! I swerved, lost control, and went sprawling. I jumped up, and took off pedaling down the street as I heard her yelling. What a bitch! She almost runs over me, and SHE’S yelling at me! If I hadn’t been in a hurry, I would have gone back to set her straight.

There were several of my friends there when I rode up. After a while, I told them what happened; and they suggested I do something to get back at the old biddy. It was forgotten for a while as we played; but then Dick came across a can of red spray paint. There were several suggestions about what I should do with it; and they insisted I take it when I headed home.

It was nearly nine-thirty, and dark, when I started past the woman’s house. Her car was in the driveway; and there was a hedge on one side. I looked around. There was no one out, just lights on in the houses. I sneaked over between the car and bushes. I wrote "stupid bitch" on the side of her car she almost ran me over with. That will teach her, I thought, as I pedaled home. I threw the paint can over by the garage. When I walked in I realized I had some red paint on my fingertips. Mom was in the kitchen as I went for a glass of milk. She asked where I had been. Before I could answer and retreat with my milk, she noticed the red paint. I told her there was red paint over at Gary’s.

The next day, after dinner, I was about to run out the door over to Gary’s when the phone rang.

"Charley, do you know a Miss Marcy?" she asked

"No," I replied.

"Well, she seems to think you may know something about her car being vandalized."

Terror shot through me like an icy shower. I shrugged, and shook my head.

"Well, she wants us to come over and see if you can clear this up."

Oh NO! I was about to shit my pants as we walked down the street. I tried to hide my fear, and trembling hands. My hands… I had scrubbed them last night; but there was still some red paint around my nails. My legs were rubbery as we went approached her house. The car was parked on the street, and the red message on the side of the blue and white Chevy was hard to miss. We had nearly turned into her sidewalk before mom noticed.

"Who would do such a vile thing?" she gasped.

She looked at me; and I shrugged.

"You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?" she questioned.

I shook my head.

Mom looked upset as she knocked; and I was filled with dread and doom.

"Come in," she said.

"Hi, my name is Mrs. Collins, and this is my son Charley."

"Hi, I’m Miss Sharon Marcy."

"I saw what… what… someone did to your car. It’s horrible! Who could do such a thing?"

"Well, I’m hoping Charley could shed some light on that."

"Charley!" Mom said in an accusatory tone.

I shrugged.

"Do you know anything about this?" Mom asked.

I shrugged, and shook my head.

"When did this happen?" Mom asked.

"Well, a neighbor said she saw a small boy on a bike near my car about nine-thirty last night."

Mom shrieked! "Charles! You came home last night shortly after that … and with red paint on your fingers! …. You better tell me the truth … and right now!"

I started crying. I couldn’t lie my way out of this. Mom would make me show her the non-existent red paint at Gary’s. I might just as well get it over now.

"You what?" Mom screamed.

WHACK! She struck me across the face.

"How could you? What could you have possibly been thinking? Why?"

Between sobs I told them about her nearly running me over, and then yelling at me. I tried blaming the other kids for goading me into it. Mom was incredulous.

"You shouldn’t have been on the sidewalk. It wasn’t this lady’s fault! Charley… how could you!"

Mom wailed into my backside as hard as she could.

"I’m terribly sorry Miss Marcy. Of course we will pay for the damages… although I don’t know how. …Charles, you apologize this instant! You are going to be so sorry young man!"

"I’m… sorry … Miss Marcy," I stammered amongst tears.

"How … much damage … what is it going to cost to fix his vandalism?"

"The body shop said it will cost three hundred and twenty seven dollars."

"Oh my!" Mom sighed. "I don’t … I don’t…. Where are we going to get that much … I suppose I could get a loan. … Oh dear! Charley, I could kill you!"

"I’m so sorry Mrs. Collins," Miss Marcy remarked sympathetically.

"I don’t suppose… I don’t suppose Charley could work some of this off?

The lady thought for a second.

"No … I can’t think how. I don’t need…"

She paused, lost in thought for a moment.

"It’s too bad he’s not a girl. I could use a little help at my shop," she mused.

"Can’t Charley help? I know he’d be happy to do anything."

"No … I’m afraid not. It’s a dress and lingerie boutique. I’m afraid he wouldn’t fit in. … too bad."

"Yes," echoed mom.

"But then if he was a girl I don’t think we, … he’d, be in such a fix,” she said. "Boys can be so much trouble."

Mom nodded in agreement.

"Well, let’s have a cup of coffee and talk. Maybe we can work something out."

They left for the kitchen.

"Stand right there young man, and don’t touch anything! You’re really in for it when we get home! How COULD you?"

I stood for twenty minutes before I sat timidly on the edge of the couch. It was a few minutes later when mom called from the kitchen.

I stood in the doorway as they looked me up and down.

"Maybe…. What do you think?" Mom asked.

"Well… there’s only one way to find out!" Miss Marcy exclaimed.

They got up from the table and marched me upstairs. Mom had a firm grip on my bicep. The lady went over to a rack of dresses. She came back over to us, and held up a frilly blue and white dress up … to me!

"Yes … maybe," she mused.

I shuddered. They can’t be thinking of making me wear that!

She went over to a pile of boxes, rummaged through them, and handed some things to mom.

"Have him put these on. You’ll find a wash cloth and soap …and dusting powder in the bath."

A cold chill went through me. I wanted to run; but mom was right there, with a vise-tight grip on my shoulder, and pulled me into the bathroom.

"Take your clothes off!" she barked.

I looked at her in horror. I wasn’t afraid of much… but GIRL clothes?

I slowly unbuttoned my shirt. I didn’t dare refuse. I was in enough trouble. I often disobeyed, but not now! I wouldn’t have dreamed of allowing her to do what I thought they were going to do; but these were dire circumstances. Mom was really ticked! I got down to my shorts and stopped.

"Those too!" she yelled.

I was no sooner naked, when she began running a soapy wash cloth over me. I was a little too old for mom to be washing me all over; but I wasn’t about to reproach her. I was shaking as she toweled me dry, and then patted me all over with a sissy powder puff with a ribbon on it. The powder had a faint girlie smell.

"Mom…!"

I tried to get out my plea of protest; but the icy rage in her eyes stopped me cold.

She picked up a pair of white, lace trimmed panties! My heart raced, and yet I felt the blood drain from my face. Soon, my whole body was cold. … I shook my head; but mom wasn’t paying any attention. She slapped my legs as a signal to lift my feet. I felt her tugging at the waistband as the nylon things covered my bottom. My brain was turning to Jell-O as I tried to come to grips with what was happening. I was wearing girl’s PANTIES! Mom pushed me onto the toilet; … and the next thing I knew, she was working something thin and white up my legs. They were girl’s white tights! I felt all yucky … and cold. My lower lip trembled.

"Mom… no… I can’t!" I stammered. …But she ignored me …until she had finished. She pulled me to my feet with a strong grip around my bicep. It hurt! I hadn’t realized mom could be that strong!

"You will do whatever it takes to make up for what you did! WHATEVER it takes!" she hissed.

She marched me back to stand in front of Miss Marcy. She was waiting with a white slip dangling from her hand. Mom told me to raise my arms. I started to shake my head no, when mom raised them for me; and I felt the cool, slippery nylon slip down over my body. I looked down to see the hem settle just above my knees. There was lace… and ribbons! I felt sick! She picked up the dress, and fussed with it, preparing it to go over my head. Mom raised my arms again; and everything went dark for a few seconds. When I could see again, I looked down at shiny blue, with ruffles and lace down the front. My legs buckled.

"STAND UP!" Mom yelled.

I felt totally humiliated. My eyes were watery; and I brushed away a tear. I didn't want to cry. My own mother zipped it up in back, while the lady lifted my chin.

"Hmmm yes, I think he will do. We'll have to do something about his hair though. It is awfully short."

This CAN'T be happening!

They studied me for a few moments. Miss Marcy lifted my chin again.

"Look up!" she commanded. "We want to look at you. …. You don't like this much, do you?"

I shook my head. What was her first clue? Could it be the tears in my eyes, or the completely terrified look? I was in a frilly blue dress with a wide, white lace ruffles!

"Yes… well, it serves you right, doesn't it?"

"Isn't this a pretty pinafore dress?" she asked, turning to my mom.

"Oh, it's adorable. Even Charley looks so pretty in it. He CAN pass for a little girl!"

My legs were wobbly.

"STAND UP! For goodness sakes, don't be such a baby!" Mom yelled again.

"But the hair!” the Lady exclaimed. "We need a wig. You wouldn't have one?"

Mom shook her head. … I was thankful for that.

"I know! The Lady called out.

She left for a few seconds, and returned with a brush, comb, and scissors. She brushed my hair forward, and clipped away with the scissors. What was she doing… shortening it? Mom watched. When she finished, she lifted my chin, and looked at mom. Mom smiled.

"You'll have to shampoo it, and use conditioner to relax his part; but I think it's kind of cute," Miss Marcy commented.

Oh no! Whatever she did seemed to have worked! Mom looked me over, smiling, with an occasional giggle. I turned to find a mirror. I saw. She had shagged my hair so that it framed my face. It looked like… a girl's "pixie." I was going to get a butch cut when school got out, just as I had the last couple of years, but hadn't made it to the barber's.

They led me over to stand me in front of the mirror.

"We can't call you Charlie. …I think we'll call you… Chrissy. Well, Chrissy, do you think you can come to work for me in my store? You'll have to be on your very best behavior … girl like behavior … and manners."

"You better believe he will! He'll be happy to jump at everything you tell him to do … even if it means walking down the street in his frilly girl's underwear!"

Miss Marcy laughed.

"Oh, we won't make him do anything so crude as that. No, I'll try to be good to him. I think he's going to have enough to cope with, being in public in a dress, and working around dresses and ladies' lingerie."

The dam burst! I bawled my eyes out. She rushed over with a box of tissues to wipe my tears.

"Oh, I know! This is going to be difficult at first; but I think you know you really deserve it! Now get this all out of your system. We can't have you looking all red-eyed and puffy, and getting tears on your pretty clothes. You have to be looking pretty for tomorrow."

Pretty for tomorrow! The words echoed through me, vibrating my very being. I can't go out wearing girl clothes! … And especially these frilly things!

"Shoes … we'll need some shoes," she sighed. …. I'll see what I can do. What size does he wear?"

"Oh, he's a size five. He has small feet for a boy."

They talked to each other as they had me parade around for them. I was slow to react to their instructions. I wasn't trying to resist; I was just in mortified risk. It seemed like forever before mom finally let me out of the dress; and we stood by the door to leave.

"Say thank you to Sharon for being so gracious, and allowing you to work this off. I think she's being very nice.

"Thank you so much. I'll be sure to have Charl… I mean Chrissy here by eight."

It seemed so ridiculous to be thanking her for doing this to me.

"Thank you," I got out timidly before we walked home, silently. This was going to be a terrible summer vacation.

"Mom … I can't … you can't make me wear those sissy things tomorrow," I begged as soon as we entered the front door.

Mom looked at me enraged.

"You will do exactly what we tell you young man! That was the most despicable stunt I've ever seen! You deserve a far worse punishment! If it were up to me, I'd make you lick every last bit of paint off her car with your tongue! It's lucky for you Miss Marcy is going to let you work off the damages! You are going to wear a pretty little dress… and LIKE it! Do you understand me! I've never been so embarrassed in all my life! You better behave well, and make a proper little girl for her … or else! … Why, I'll just borrow some of those pretty girl clothes myself, and make you parade up and down the street in them! You'll wear them day in and day out if it embarrasses you so much!"

I had never seen mom so mad! I wish I had never said anything. Mom sent me directly to bed; and it was a relief to get away from her … and to fall asleep.

Mom woke me at six-thirty the next morning.

"Come on, you have to take a nice hot bath, and have breakfast before you go," Mom called.

I didn't like baths, but considering the trouble I was in, it seemed a minor inconvenience. Mom came in as the tub filled. She dumped some of her bubble bath and oil in the water. It was nice and hot, and yet I broke into a cold sweat and began shaking at what they were going to make me do. Mom came in a little while later and shampooed my hair, and then messaged in hair conditioner. She let it stay on a couple of minutes before rinsing. She stayed in the bath, and helped dry me off. I was embarrassed. I was too old for mom to see me naked; but she acted like it was an everyday occurrence. She powdered me all over, and then combed my hair. I looked in the mirror. It looked just like a girl's "pixie" again.

Little was said as we ate. I was nervous, like waiting to go in to see the doctor, only worse. My heart beat faster as we put the dishes in the sink; and then we were going out the door. I was a bit apprehensive about how my hair looked, and looked around for any kids who might see me; but it was too early for kids to be out.

Mom looked over at the spray-painted car; and I felt her tense and her hand tighten over my own. … There was no way I was going to get out of this.

My hands were shaking as we walked up to Miss Marcy’s door. She greeted us with a warm smile. We were five minutes early.

"Well, we look all fresh and bright this morning. Come on Chrissy, let's get you dressed."

It took all my strength to keep my legs from buckling as we went up the stairs. Miss Marcy led the way, with mom right behind me. I felt sick to my stomach at what lay ahead. She handed mom some under things. I looked past her at the blue dress laid out… waiting.

Mom took me into the bath, where she told me to undress. My heart was pounding so loud, I thought it was someone at the front door. Mom dressed me in a pair of white, lace trimmed panties, the white tights, and the lace trimmed slip with the ribbon bow. I was breathing heavily, and too weak in the knees to either protest, or help dress myself. They were going to make me go out dressed as a frilly girl! Mom ushered me back to the bedroom. She had to push, as I didn't want her seeing me in the sissy underwear. The frilly pinafore dress looked even frillier and girlish than I remembered. I struggled to hold my tears as they pulled it over my head. Their voices sounded pleased, but muffled, as I struggled with my embarrassment, squirming helplessly in the fancy dress. The next thing I knew I was looking down at pair of girl's white shoes with a strap over the instep. They both smiled and cooed at how I looked, to my mortification.

Miss Marcy took me over in front of the mirror. I didn't want to look, but I did. The white lace stood out next to the shiny blue of the dress. The lace around the gathered short sleeves seemed to be particularly prominent, as was the ruffled lace on the white, rounded collar. As I turned, I noticed the large, perfect bow she had tied in back, with the ends trailing down the back of the dress. I was paying a very high price for my behavior.

My heart pounded, and my hands began to sweat on the way downstairs. Mom warned me to be on my best behavior, and follow Miss Marcy's instructions.

I sat on the couch, as they had coffee in the kitchen. It was like waiting for my execution. I was going to have to go outside … like this! I looked at the shiny blue skirt over my lap, and cursed myself for getting into such a predicament. They came out a little while later, and, surprisingly, mom came over to hug me.

"You just look SO cute! You do make a pretty girl," she trilled, before going out the door.

"Mom…" she stopped and turned to face me. "How long do I have to do this?"

She looked at Miss Marcy, then back at me. "If you’re good and do a good job for Sharon, I think that till the end of August should do it. Isn't that about right, Sharon?" she asked looking back a Miss Marcy.

"Yes, I think so," Miss Marcy agreed. Mom nodded and left.

Miss Marcy went upstairs, and then returned shortly.

"Well, Chrissy, let's be going."

I stopped at the front door.

"Problem?" she asked.

"I just don't want the other kids seeing me like this."

"I see. Would a scarf help? ... Just in case, that is. It would help hide your face."

I nodded. She produced a silky white scarf with a flower print, and tied it under my chin, then pulled it forward so you couldn't see my face from the side. We walked out to her car. The red paint scrawled over the side made me feel ashamed. She really wasn't so bad, despite what was happening to me.

As we drove into town, she proceeded to explain what my duties would be. I kept my chin buried, not wanting to see if there was someone outside who could recognize me. All I saw was ruffles and lace. I was wearing a pretty dress!

"I want you to check the display counters and racks so that everything is kept straight and neat. You can keep things swept, and the counters wiped clean of fingerprints. I may want you to bring some merchandise from the back to add to them, as well as assisting the customers. You must be especially polite to everyone that comes in, and welcome them with a good morning or good afternoon, and answer any questions with yes or no Ma'am. Do you think you can do that?"

"Uh … yes Ma'am," I replied.

"Very good … we are going to get along just fine, Chrissy."

"Miss Marcy … do I really … is it really … why do I have to dress this way?"

"It wouldn't be right at all to have a young male roaming about my shop. You'll know I'm right when you see. You are stuck I'm afraid … but don't fret. I think you make a cute girl."

We arrived at her store… the window read.

I cringed.

There were just a few passing cars and a couple of people across the street; but they took little notice of us as we approached and went into the shop.

It was somewhat small looking, but once inside, it seemed much larger, with lots of racks of frilly dresses, and counters filled with all sorts of women's intimate garments. One glass case held nothing but stockings and garter belts; another was all bras. I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I didn't know where to divert my eyes. Mom could never have dragged me into a sissy store like this; and now I was stuck here for the whole day … and tomorrow … and…

Miss Marcy called me over to the girls' accessories, where she picked up a blue ribbon and white lace barrette. She clipped it to my hair on the right side!

"Yes… quite pretty, don't you think? You make a most acceptable girl. You're so cute!"

I was trembling. I felt so weak… and fearful. Here I was surrounded by women's dresses and frilly under things, dressed like such a sissy girl, in a frilly dress with ribbons in my hair. Was there anything worse than this? This was AWFUL! What would my friends or any of the other kids say if they saw me like this?

She had me return some items left in the dressing rooms to the proper rack. It was something to take my mind off where I was, and how I looked. I was careful to avoid the window. I didn't know how I was going to cope with the customers seeing me. There had been a couple of bras to return too, but Miss Marcy took care of those, thank goodness.

She then had me bring out a box of panties, to add to the display table. They were folded so the ribbon and lace trim was prominently displayed. She watched as I added to the neat rows. I hesitantly, gingerly, handled each pair. This was severe punishment for a boy … to wear a frilly dress and forced to handle such girlie things! It was most humiliating.

She didn't sell any leisure things, only one small rack of fancy jeans. Everything else was dressy. About a third of her shop was women's dresses, a third girls', and the remaining was undergarments.

I was scared to death when the first women customers came in. They looked around, and then approached the counters. I stood beside Miss Marcy, behind the counter.

"What a cute little girl! And what a darling dress! Isn't she adorable?" the women remarked.

I was crimson.

"What do you say?" Miss Marcy prompted.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I responded, red faced.

Their laughter filled the store.

Their attention shifted to shopping, and I relaxed. At least I was being accepted as a girl. They hadn't seen I was really a boy. … That would be so much more humiliating.

The day crept along. Every time someone came in I panicked a little. It occurred to me; what if one of the girls from school came in with their mother? I crept meekly around the store. I felt so helpless in this bastion of femininity, stuck in a frilly dress.

At lunchtime she sat me in the back, where I had a sandwich, milk, and a piece of cake. She kept an eye on the store and just grabbed bites.

Nearly all the women who came in complimented me on the dress, and some remarked what a shy, pretty girl I was. I was getting pretty adept at my "thank you Ma'ams." Miss Marcy was quick to point out that she carried the dress in all girls' sizes. Early in the afternoon, this technique made her a sale. In fact, she sold three dresses like the one I wore.

Miss Marcy was right. I could never be in here as a boy. I hadn't seen one male face all day. That is except for one, and he was three years old. A boy would definitely be out of place here. I would be almost as embarrassed to be stuck in here as a boy. At least being accepted as a girl, I didn't appear to be so out of place.

I was quite exhausted by closing time. I didn't think the day would ever end. I was quick to draw the scarf over my head for the trip back, and felt only slightly strange tying the silky scarf under my chin … like a girl.

I had had a slight feeling of rebellion as we drove to her shop, but not now. Somehow I had lost it. I would follow her instructions with few compunctions. I wasn't sure why or how I had lost the last bit of boyish resistance, just that I had. I felt like a shy, skittish girl, like the ones I used to tease.

I was anxious as I made the trip from the car into her house.

"I called your mother, and told her you would be staying for supper, and would be getting home later this evening. I want you to help me prepare dinner, and then I want to have a talk with you."

She tied an apron around me, and we fixed dinner, and set the table. I was a little uncomfortable eating. She watched, as I was forced to sit up straight, and watch my manners.

"I think it would be nice if you learned how to curtsy. It wouldn't hurt to curtsy to the ladies who complement you, especially the ones that gush over you. Stand up for me. Put one foot slightly behind the other, and lower yourself. Hold the sides of your skirt as you do. … Yes, that is right. You make a fine, pretty little girl. … Everyone at the shop thought so."

I was crimson. It was a moment or two before I realized a thank you was in order. I curtsied, as I thanked Miss Marcy. She smiled pleasantly, and chuckled. … And suddenly, out of nowhere, she seemed attractive. She was younger than my mom, and sort of pretty herself.

"I noticed how timid you were around the shop, especially around the frillier, intimate things. I understand, what with you being a boy and all. Even some of my women customers are a bit embarrassed sometimes with intimate garments. We will have to help you get over that. It doesn't help to make my customers uncomfortable discussing intimates; and I'm afraid your blushing, and skittishness doesn't make them feel less uncomfortable."

She took me upstairs, where she helped me out of the dress. She brought in a box and dumped the contents on the bed. There were dozens of panties. I stood with my arms folded, feeling vulnerable and exposed in the slip.

"I want you to sort these according to style, size, and color. Examine them closely, as I want you to pick out the prettiest."

She was drowning me in girl things. Here I was in a slip, folding more pairs of frilly panties. The ribbon bow in the middle of my chest was inescapable; and the ribbon straps over my shoulders were so daintily girlish. I was doing as she instructed when she came in with yet another box. This one held an assortment of things: bras, slips, girdles, garter belts. I was to sort these too, taking note of their sizes.

"How old are you?" She questioned.

"Uh … I'm ten." I replied.

"Hmmmm … well, I think that's old enough. Here…,” she said, pulling the slip straps off my shoulders. "Little girls wear training bras in anticipation of the bras they will soon have to wear. So let's try one on you."

I went white.

She showed me the white cotton bra with the little flower in the middle. I felt my face burning, as she then showed me how the clasp worked. She had me stretch out my arms while she slid the bra up them and fastened it in back. My insides felt like they were full of worms!

"Now, I want you to unhook it, take it off, and then put it on again. When you can do it with ease you come show me."

The first several times were surprisingly difficult. Imagine, a boy practicing putting on a bra! I examined the hooks carefully. In about twenty minutes I could put it on and take it off pretty well. I made my way out into the hall. I could hear her … downstairs! I pulled the slip top up over the bra, and walked to the top of the stairs.

"Miss Marcy!" I can get it on and off now! I called.

I couldn't believe I was being so cooperative, but then being in a frilly dress all day, in a women's boutique, had its effect.

"Come here and show me!" She called back.

My face was ablaze. Go downstairs in this frilly underwear? …. I crept slowly down the steps. I looked down to see my hand over my chest. I nervously made my way into the kitchen with my arms folded in front of me. I peered in to see two people! I went white … before I recognized my mother. They turned and giggled at me standing there.

"OK, show us! Show us how good you are with your new bra."

I wanted to die! I was crimson.

"Yes dear, show us what a good little girl you are," Mom giggled, "Come on!"

I unhooked the bra, slid it down my arms, and then replaced it, hooking it again, with only slight difficulty.

"That's very good honey," Mom cooed.

Mom had a sappy grin on her face as I pulled the dainty slip straps back in place. She whipped out a camera, and snapped a picture.

"Oh yes, you make a splendid girl. Sharon told me what a dear you were today and how everyone thought you looked so pretty! I couldn't believe you had been that good. It looks like you are going to work out just fine. Maybe you should have been a girl. … I kind of like the idea of having a daughter, and so pretty too."

I was red clean to my toes.

"Remember what I taught you earlier," Miss Marcy prompted.

I stammered, not knowing what she meant, and then it came to me.

"Uh, thank you mother," I mumbled … adding a shaky curtsy.

"Oh honey! That's darling! …. I was afraid that you might make some trouble for her at the shop, but I see my fears were unfounded. You definitely should have been a girl! You look so cute … and it's certainly improved your attitude."

Mom took another picture; and then she held out her arms. I went over, and she hugged me. I struggled to keep from crying. She held me at arms length, and then fussed and cooed over the dainty girl's underwear I was wearing. …. I brushed a tear from my cheek.

"Oh honey, it's all right. Things are going to be OK. You make a fine looking girl."

I was sent back upstairs to finish sorting the intimates; and moments later they were standing at the door, watching me. They asked me questions. What size is that? Isn't that a lovely color? What size bra was I wearing? I didn't know, and had to remove it to see. It was a size thirty AAA. The tag read "Little Ingénue." Handling the intimates was embarrassing, even though I was dressed in them. I stared at a girdle with ribbon covered garters dangling from the bottom. I hoped I would never have to wear anything like that! I didn't think I'd ever be comfortable around these silly, feminine things.

"You know Mrs. Collins, I think it would be nice if Chrissy would paint her fingernails. They should be red … like the paint on my car, as a reminder."

"I think that is a great idea. I'll take care of it."

"Now Chrissy, did you pick out the prettiest panties?" she questioned.

"Yes." I replied. I blushed as I held them up. They were pink with white lace and ribbon bows. They were very girlie.

"And what size are they?" She asked.

"Uh … size five," I replied.

"Good… put them on."

"What?"

"You heard me. Put them on over your tights."

My face burned as I slid them up my legs. They were just a little big.

"Now, show us… show us your pretty panties."

I faced them, holding the hem of my slip up. They smiled at me standing there in the pink lace trimmed panties with the little ribbon bows. They tittered. I was beside myself with embarrassment.

"Yes, they are very pretty; … and you look so pretty in your pink panties," Mom giggled.

I knew my face was as red as my fingernails were going to be.

It was dusk when mom and I left. I was allowed to put on a shirt and pants over my sissy underwear. Mom carried a bag home. I didn't ask what was in it.

I was so tired as we got home; but mom marched me to her room where she painted my nails. She had me sit at her vanity in the slip with the bra underneath as she filed, buffed, and turned my fingernails red.

"Mom … how am I … how can I go out anywhere…"

"Oh, you are grounded for the summer. If you go anywhere, you can just go as a girl!" Mom stated emphatically. "Now, let's look at you."

She lifted my slip, smiling at the lacy pink panties. She had me curtsy for her. She giggled. I felt so helplessly weak. I had lost all my boyish pride and independence. I had allowed myself to be dressed like a sissy girl. I was unworthy. I meekly complied to her instructions, holding the thin nylon slip in my pink tipped fingers as I curtsied for her. What had happened to the headstrong boy?

The following morning I had to take another bubble bath; and mom lotioned and powdered me. She held the pink panties as I stepped into them; and then dressed me in the bra and lacy anklets. The larger women's panties went over the other pair. I was then allowed to put on a shirt and pants.

We arrived at Miss Marcy's at a quarter past eight. We went upstairs, and my shirt and pants were removed. Miss Marcy slipped a girls vest or camisole over my head. It was white with a little pink flower design. It had lace across the top with a little flower over a ribbon bow in the middle, and there were small bows at the straps. It was terribly sissified. I had to step into a circle of ruffles and lace, and pulled it up around my waist. The petticoat was smooth on top, then a circle of lace, and then three rows of lace trimmed ruffles. There was a large bow at the lace circle, and the ends draped down over the ruffles. They were such frilly, girlie under things! They smiled and cooed at me in the sissy, ribbon covered and lacy underwear.

"You will wear this today." Miss Marcy stayed, holding up a pink dress.

It had short, puffy, lace trimmed short sleeves, lacy collar, rows of lace down the front, and shiny pink sash. It was a sissy, party dress, and she pulled it over my head. The dress felt smooth and rustled as it slipped down over me. She buttoned it in back and tied the sash. I knew just how the bow was going to look in back. I had seen many girls with bows in the back of their dresses. I slipped into the white shoes, and she fastened the strap. She then clipped a pink ribbon in my hair. Mom took pictures as Miss Marcy fussed with the dress.

"Isn't she a pretty little miss?" Miss Marcy asked.

Mom giggled in agreement, cupping her hand over her mouth.

They tittered with amusement as we made our way downstairs.

The full pink skirt swished and bobbed as I descended the stairs, causing my insides to squirm with embarrassment.

Miss Marcy pulled a silky scarf over my head, and tied it under my chin. I was scared and mortified as we walked to her car. Climbing in and sitting in the dress and petticoat wasn't easy. I struggled to straighten the dress. My red tipped fingers fidgeted nervously in my smooth lap as we drove away.

Her exercise with the undergarments helped a little as I helped around the shop that morning. It was odd, but the way I was dressed in pink and lace, seemed to make it easier around the other feminine clothes. I felt better buried in a rack of dresses than standing fully exposed in the pink, sissy dress. The women that came in instantly fussed over me and the dress. I was deluged with complements, as the women coming in gushed over me and my dress. Oh! They would say, “How SWEET” … “SO PRETTY” …. “What an ADORABLE girl and dress” … “aren't you a precious little girl?” I spent the day a bright crimson.

It was around noon when it got a little slow; and I was finding some interest in the unfamiliar clothes. I was swinging the skirt back and forth, when Miss Marcy called.

"Quit playing with your dress, and come here." And she giggled at my behavior.

That afternoon a woman asked if I would try on a dress, so she could get a better idea how it would look on her daughter.

"She's just your size and color."

I had to oblige.

"Oh, and what pretty under things! Isn't that an adorable petticoat? You are just so sweet!"

"Thank you Ma'am," I replied with a dutiful little curtsy, red-faced.

"And such lovely manners," the lady chuckled. "You are such an adorable little girl … just like my baby," she commented.

I twirled for her in the dress. She bought two dresses and the petticoat.

Another woman remarked she wished her daughter was like me. She couldn't get her daughter in a pretty dress, unless she absolutely had to wear one, like for church.

Miss Marcy sold two more dresses like the one I wore that afternoon. It occurred to me I was her living mannequin, and her idea was working.

When I got home, I quickly got out of the dress and underwear, but was still embarrassed to eat supper with polished fingernails. Mom asked about my day. I didn't want to talk about it … or think about it. I had to help with the dishes. She had had a lot of trouble getting me to help with housework; and she smiled triumphantly as she tied a frilly apron around my waist. The last time she tried to make me wear an apron I was five or six, and I threw a fit! We spent a quiet evening.

Miss Marcy put me in white blouse with a large rounded, lace trimmed collar the next day. It had puffy, banded, short sleeves, trimmed in ruffled lace. My skirt was a red and black plaid with yards of shiny, smooth, stiff material. I had to wear the petticoat under it again.

I looked in the mirror. The thin white blouse left little doubt I was wearing a bra.

The blouse and skirt attracted as much praise as the dresses.

The store was going to stay open later as it was Friday, so mom was picking me up after work. She came in around five-thirty, and her face lit up when she saw me. The customers cooed as mom hugged me.

"Hi Chrissy!" she greeted.

The women all gushed over mom about how lucky she was to have such a pretty daughter. It kind of took her back; but she looked quite happy with the praise.

Mom gossiped with the other women about their girls, and they talked and talked. I didn't think we were ever going to go home. …. And then she started looking about the boutique. My toes curled when she picked up three pair of panties, and then … she asked to see training bras! OH! This was embarrassing! Mom and Miss Marcy enjoyed drawing it out, glancing over at me; and then mom called me over to ask which style I wanted! Everyone could see how mortified I was. And they seemed to find it amusing. They stood around, watching my embarrassment. Mom bought the panties, two bras, and a pretty slip, which she held up against me.

It wasn't until we got to the car, that I noticed the other packages she carried.

We were half way home, before I realized we would be going straight home! How was I going to get from the car to the house, dressed like this? Someone might see me! Mom told me to skootch down as we approached. Mrs. James, the neighbor lady, was outside. We circled the block, and five minutes later we pulled into the driveway. I ran into the house.

Mom found me upstairs, getting out of the clothes.

"What do you think you are doing?" she asked.

"Getting out of these clothes," I responded.

"Oh no you're not! Sharon and I have decided it's best if you stay in skirts and dresses. You will manage your skirts better if you wear them all the time. You said yourself you can't go out as a boy with your nails and hair, so you will be a girl this summer. Besides, I told Gary when he called that you were grounded for the summer. He said he'd tell the rest of the kids. So they won't be looking for you until school starts."

I looked at her. There wasn't much to say. I disheartedly buttoned my blouse again. Mom produced the packages. Besides the underwear items, she had bought two blouses, two skirts, and a dress. They weren't as dressy as what I had worn to the store.

"Mom … I thought you said we didn't have any extra money?" I whined.

"We don't have three hundred, but an extra forty I can always find," she smiled.

I didn't like the direction this was going, spending money on girl clothes for me. We returned downstairs to prepare dinner together. Mom put me in the frilly apron again. She smiled over at me a lot as we ate, and did the dishes together.

She cheerily asked what I wanted to watch on TV that evening. Mom looked happy. She seemed to have gotten over my costly prank.

Relaxing in front of the TV wasn't the same… not in a skirt. I was forced to mind how I sat, with my knees together.

I was quick to agree when she suggested getting ready for bed. I could get out of the sissy things. Mom watched, and coaxed me to be careful removing the delicate girl things, and hang them up. I was carefully placing the petticoat over a chair, when mom handed me a flower print nightgown and matching robe.

"What's this?" I questioned.

"It's your new nightgown and robe. Put it on."

"What?"

"Yes … you are going to be my daughter this summer. Just get used to it. I like having a little girl. I had so much fun shopping today … and you make such a pretty girl."

"Mom!"

What was the use? I had been a frilly girl for three days now. It made mom happy, and got her over her anger. I could go along for a few days. She was radiant as I slipped into the silky nightie and robe. The nightie had a flounce at the hem and across the chest, with a large ribbon bow with long ribbons that came to my waist. The robe had a ribbon belt which mom tied in a neat bow. I was to be dressed in girlie frills night and day. Mom hugged me, several times. We returned to the living room, as mother and daughter. The nylon over nylon of the nightie and robe felt so strange, but slippery, silky, and nice. I felt so sissified sitting there in the flowered film and ribbons. Mom kept looking at me with a radiant smile. It wasn't long before she sat next to me, put her arm around me, and cuddled me. It had been a number of years since I let mom cuddle me. Now, dressed as I was, it felt kind of nice.

I jumped in bed, and discovered you can't do that in a nightie; and it got all twisted. I stood, straightened the nightie, and sat, then swung my feet into bed. Silly girl clothes! Mom came in to tuck me in. It had been a while since she had done that. I was her little girl now. I was trapped for the summer.

I had to take yet another bath in the morning. It was Saturday, and I wasn't going to be leaving the house I protested.

"You are a girl now, and you will keep yourself dainty, clean and fresh," Mom explained.

I wore one of the new blouses and a skirts mom had bought.

We returned to my room after breakfast, and we both wore aprons. We started in cleaning, and she began pulling my clothes from my dresser and closet.

"We have to make room for Chrissy's things," she stated.

But she removed ALL my clothes. The sheets, bed linen, and curtains were all removed, to be replaced by softer, more feminine ones. I had a girl's room by dinnertime, and mom stored my boy things in the attic.

We baked cookies that evening. Mom seemed very pleased. I was silent. I let her enjoy herself.

Sunday, mom fussed over me as she helped me dress in frilly underwear and dress. I helped with breakfast and lunch, and we hand-washed OUR dainty under things that afternoon. Mom then had to go to the Laundromat to do wash. She couldn't take me, and was a bit disappointed I had to stay behind.

I was alone in girl clothes, and watched TV. I made no attempt to remove them for a while. I might just as well get used to it, I reasoned. There I sat, in bra, panties, slip, and a dress, with no one to stop me from taking them off….

When she came home I helped refold the clothes, and put them away. She gave me sewing and crocheting lessons that evening. I was truly going to be her daughter this summer.

I left the house Monday in a girl's blouse and slacks. From a distance you couldn't tell. They were merely intended to get me to Miss Marcy's and back. I wasn't going to be allowed boy clothes of any description.

When we got to Miss Marcy's, I noticed the paint from the side of her car was gone. I was glad.

She had me wear a multicolored floral print dress with a large, white, lace trimmed, square collar.

Tuesday, I wore a pink print sundress, with large bows on the shoulders, and it tied in back.

Wednesday, I wore another sundress, a yellow daisy print, with ruffled lace in front in a square. It gave the illusion of a bib. It too tied in back.

The sundresses were cooler, but they flashed glimpses of the bra I was wearing underneath when I reached forward to arrange the displays. A young girl my age noticed, and I heard her begging her mother for her own training bra.

"Mom. … See, she's wearing one, and she's no bigger than me! Can I have one … please?"

Her mother looked over at me, smiled and nodded … to the squeals from her little girl.

Sometime during that week Miss Marcy and I became good friends. Mom hugged me even more and she smiled more than any time I could remember. She was very enthused about having a daughter.

This was turning out very well for mom. She worked during the day, and summers were a problem. She had to scramble to get someone to look after me during the day. Not only was I completely supervised, Miss Marcy even saw to my lunch.

I began to get used to the constant day to day fussing over me as a girl in frills. I kind of even liked it at times. My "prank" was never brought up. It was like I was Chrissy now, not the boy that did that awful thing.

It was three weeks later, when a girl from school came in with her mother. I froze … then melted into the back room. A few minutes later Miss Marcy called for me. I came out to confront Trisha and her mom standing at the counter. Trisha smiled at me.

"Hi," she called.

I wanted to crawl under the floor.

"You look familiar. Do I know you?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"What's your name?"

"Chrissy," I replied.

"Chrissy what?"

"Uh … Chrissy Smith," I lied, glancing furtively over at Miss Marcy.

"What school do you go to?"

"Mapledale," I lied again. It was across town.

"I've seen you … somewhere then…." she pondered.

"Maybe … but you don't look familiar."

Her mom was buying her some new under things, including a couple training bras… the same as mine!

I breathed a sigh of relief when they left. I couldn't believe she hadn't recognized me. Some of my friends and I had teased her and her friends a little over a month ago.

I was just getting comfortable with this masquerading as a girl and now Trisha showed up. For the whole of next week, I lived in fear that she would come back or some other girls from school would come in. Every time the bell on the door rang, I'd step behind something and peek out to see if it was someone I knew. It never was. I guess it was a fluke.

After two weeks more, I calmed down and almost forgot about it. One Friday Mom showed up as usual but said that she had some shopping to do and would I mind working a little longer.

"No," I told her. "I think Miss Marcy could use the help. We're busy tonight." With that, Mom kissed my on the forehead and smiled as she walked out the door.

We had a ton of customers in the next two hours. Miss Marcy had me hopping bringing out new stock and showing off my dress for the day. She must have made a thousand dollars in sales. Just as it began to slow down, Mom showed up again. I was in the back bringing out some more stock and came out to see her talking with Miss Marcy.

"I'm sorry to be so late. I hadn't realized it was really that late until I noticed I was hungry."

"Yes, I know what you mean. Fridays are always tough on me. I just can't wait 'til I get home to eat. I always treat myself dinner a restaurant."

"What a great idea. Where were you going tonight?"

"I was thinking of Georgio's. I feel like Italian. You guys could come with me if you like. My treat."

"Chrissy likes Italian. We'd love to."

I couldn't believe it. It was one thing to spend the day here in the boutique, but quite another to go someplace else. My mother practically invited us into Miss Marcy's plans. I knew that there was no sense resisting. These two had already demonstrated that once they got an idea, there was no stopping them. I just prayed that Georgio's was a really class restaurant where none of my friend would be likely to show up. Before I knew it we were on the way to Georgio's in Miss Marcy's car.

"I've got to tell you, having Chrissy stay late tonight really helped. After 5:00 on Fridays is my busiest time. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like her to stay all the time," Miss Marcy intoned.

"That would be fine with me," Mom smiled.

"Thanks Mom," I thought grimly.

There must be a God, because Georgio's turned out to be really fancy. We were greeted at the door by a knockout blonde who could hardly have been out of high school. She was wearing a dress that must have cost $ 200.00 and her jewelry spoke of money. This was the hostess. Just hired help. The wait staff was all in formal wear. The cheapest thing on the menu was spaghetti with Marinara sauce at $ 17.95 a plate.

Needless to say I was a bundle of nerves. But everyone treated us as if we were royalty. Soon I was relaxed and enjoy my shrimp Alfredo. Somehow the experience liberated me. I began to enjoy the idea that no one could tell I was a boy in girl's clothes, that is until I had to go to the bathroom.

"Ah, Mom… I have to go," I whispered.

"What did you say Chrissy?" she asked.

"The bathroom?" I said just a little louder.

"Oh, you mean you have to powder your nose," she smiled.

I gave her one of those looks and nodded my head.

"Come along sweetheart."

She led me right to the ladies room. In we went. Imagine, me, a boy in the ladies room. Thankfully there wasn't anyone in there. Mom pushed me toward a stall and said, "Don't forget to sit." I looked at her funny because I only had to go number one. "Girls do you know."

I went into the stall and closed the door. I dutifully turned my back on the toilet, lifted my dress and pulled down my panties and sat. As I sat there, I studied my blue nylon panties in detail. They had white lace around the leg openings and darker blue rose sewn on a patch of lace on the left side of the front. The waist band was some kind of elastic lace about an inch wide. There just above the panties, sticking out from under the hem of my dress was another band of the most delicate lace that matched the panties. I was struck with the oddity of it. I'm a boy, but from the skin out, I was strictly female. I couldn't imagine anything more girly then the lingerie I was wearing. Another thing that really seemed odd was I realized my Mom was in the next stall.

I was soon finished and pulled the odd underwear back in place and smoothed the dress and slip back down. I went out to wash my hands and nearly fainted. Just as I stepped up to the sink, the door opened. A lady about my Mom's age came in. She glanced at me, smiled and went into the stall I just exited. I turned and watched as she closed the door. I was still staring at the closed stall door when Mom joined me at the sink. She nudged me. I looked up.

"There's a woman in that stall," I mouthed.

Mom just smiled. "Wash your hands Chrissy."

I turned and quickly washed and split as fast as I could. I couldn't believe that I was in the ladies room when woman came in.

"Chrissy, you’re white as a sheet," Miss Marcy said as I slid into my chair.

Mom chuckled. "A woman came into the restroom while we were there."

"What happened," Miss Marcy asked with a grin.

"Nothing. She just went into the stall."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Chrissy?"

"She looked at me. I… I was afraid she'd know."

"Did she act like she knew?"

"She just smiled and went into the stall."

"Well there you go," smiled Miss Marcy. "You are such a sweet looking child Chrissy; I don't know what you were worried about."

Just than the waiter came and took our order for desert.

As we were leaving we walked past the lady's table, the one from the bathroom. She looked up and smiled. It was a warm smile that covered her whole face. I couldn't be sure that it wasn't a conspiratorial smile. But she didn't give any indication that she knew anything.

Our Fridays out for dinner became a regular thing. Mom came along most of the time. The only good thing was, we got home after dark and no one could see me go into the house.

The summer passed uneventfully. It became routine to get up, take my bubble bath and dust with the dusting powder. I really came to like the scent. By the middle of August I was picking out my own girls lingerie for the day. I was taken by how all the girls underwear could, and should, be coordinated. Of course, Miss Marcy chose the dress. I always wore whatever dress she wanted to sell most that day. Some times it was a little boring. I'd wear the same dress only in different colors for days at a time.

Summer finally did come to an end. It was kind of exciting. When Mom brought my boy's clothes back down and had me try on them on to see just what I'd need for school. My pants would have been fine, if I hadn't grown nearly an inch. I just hadn't noticed. Who really pays attention to just where the hem of a dress hits. Certainly not me. An inch one way or another is no big deal. Most of my shirts would do. Mom promised to have some new jeans and shoes for me by the first of September. She also promised some new boxers and socks as well.

Tuesday the last day in August was a great day. It was my last day as Chrissy. I couldn't wait. Mom could though. She showed up to take me home, only she didn't take me home. We went to dinner. I was used to it by now, but I really wanted to get home. Mom had promised that as soon as we got home I could put on some boys clothes.

I pealed out of my girly duds as soon as I hit the house. I was unbuttoning my blouse on the way upstairs. By the time I closed my door, I had it untucked and was pulling it off. I carefully hung it and the skirt followed. Again, I hung it carefully. No sense not taking care of the clothes after all they were nice.

I put on my new boxers and a pair of my new jeans and a T-shirt. I went bare foot. I was allowed to wear boy's clothes, but I couldn't go outside until after Labor Day when school started. I went down stairs and watched television. The first thing I noticed was that my boy's clothes seemed really rough. I had always thought of cotton as being a soft fabric. But when contrasted to the nylon that had been next to my skin for the last three months, it was positively rough.

Friday morning, when I got up, I went straight to the bathroom and drew my morning bath. Without thinking, I put in the bubble bath and after I dusted myself with the perfumed dusting powder. Then I went to get dressed. I had on a pair of panties and my bra and I was pulling my slip over my head before remembered that I didn't have to go to Miss Marcy's today. I let the slip settle and sat on the bed. I began to shake a little. I had gotten so used to wearing girl's clothes it had become second nature. Just then, I heard Mom on the stairs.

"Charley," she called out.

"Yeah, Mom?" I called back quickly jumping up and running to my closet. I grabbed my boy's robe and threw it on. Just then she knocked on my door and opened it.

"I thought I heard you in the bathroom earlier. I was wondering why you were up so early."

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it was just habit. I just woke up and went to take a bath."

"Well, come on down and have breakfast with me before I go to work."

"I'll be right down, as soon as I'm dressed," I told her.

"Oh, come on down now. I've already cooked your eggs. You can get dressed after I leave."

I followed her downstairs. For the first time in months, I felt nervous about my slip rubbing on my legs. As I ate, I was self-conscious about my robe pulling apart, so I kept my left hand in my lap pulling the opening together. I silently wished that boy's robes buttoned down the front like my girl's robe.

"You'll be all right here alone today, won't you?" Mom asked. "I mean, I can trust you not to go anywhere, can't I? You are still grounded, you know."

"Sure Mom. I know. I'm not going to go anywhere. I wouldn't have any idea where the guys would be anyway. It would take all day to find them."

"Good." She smiled as she got up and kissed me on the forehead just has she had done every morning before sending me off to Miss Marcy's. "Clean up for me, will you? I've got to get going before I'm late for work."

"OK Mom."

"Be good," she called as she went out the door.

I cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then I went up to get dressed. I took off my robe and hung it back on the hook behind my closet. That was a change from my summer as girl. Last spring, I would have just thrown it on the bed. Then I notice that I had made up the bed without thinking. Another change. I started to take off my slip, but stopped as soon as I began to pull it up. Then without really deciding to, I went to my closet and got out one of my weekend dresses and put it on. I pulled a pair of knee socks out of my drawer and put them on. I put my patent leather flats on. In the bathroom, I brushed out my hair and put a barrette in the left side, just like Mom liked it.

"Oh well," I thought. "I've been wearing this kind of stuff all summer, what's one more day."

I stayed dressed like that until quarter to five. I changed back into my jeans and a T-shirt. I left the panties and knee socks on. They were white. If figured that under my sneakers, they'd look the same as sweat socks. I was sitting on the couch when Mom came in.

"Hi sweetheart," she said, kissing my on the forehead. That was a habit she had developed when she put me in dresses for the summer. Last year I'd have complained loudly. But now, it felt… natural. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah," I said.

"What did you do all day?"

"I just hung out and watched television."

"You didn't go anywhere did you?"

"No, Mom. I couldn't." If only she knew.

On Thursday, I really intended to wear jeans all day. I got up about 9:00 and put on my boxers and jeans. I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and put on some crew socks and my sneakers. I went down and got some cereal for breakfast. By the time I had cleaned up the kitchen and watched the morning cartoons. I couldn't keep still I was overly conscious of every fold in my boxers. About noon, I decided that I had to get out of my boxers.

I went up and took off my jeans and boxers. After I pulled on the panties I got out a pair of anklets and put them on. After all, they were nicer then my crew socks any day. I looked down at my legs. There were red marks on them from the coarseness of my boxers and jeans. I really didn't want to put on my jeans again. I got out a half-slip and a skirt. I had them on and saw myself in the mirror. Now that was a sorry sight. That sweatshirt just didn't go with the skirt. I took off the sweatshirt and got a knit top. After putting on my bra, I pulled the top on. I went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. I changed back again just before Mom was due home.

Friday, I lay in bed looking at the ceiling for a long time after waking up. I had, for some reason, decided to wear the nightgown to bed. I just liked it. What could I say? But what was troubling me now was what to wear when I got up. I had tried to wear boy's clothes. They were just uncomfortable. I got up and put on panties, slip and a dress. I was going to be Chrissy again today.

Saturday, I had to be careful of how I dressed. I nearly put on my girls clothes again. Mom and I spent the day cleaning out the garage. During dinner we were talking about things in general when Mom brought up my behavior.

"You know, you haven't done one thing I had to punish you for since you spray painted Sharon's car. It's been a really enjoyable summer for me." After a short pause, she continued. "Maybe I should put you in dresses every summer," she teased. "I know Miss Marcy would like it. She told me that if you wanted to do it some more she'd be glad to pay you to work at the store. With you modeling the dresses she sells, her sales took a big jump. She said that over the summer the made about six times what it cost to repaint her car. That's over and above what her normal sales would have accounted for."

Looking at her, I think she was about half serious.

It wasn't until lunch on Sunday that I realized that I still had my nails polished. Mom and I had a good laugh about how it would have been if I had gone to school with it on. I also had to clip my nails. They were quite almond shaped by now.

Monday was my last day of confinement. I did want to make sure that everything was A-OK. I had a perfect record and I didn't want blow it and end up in trouble now. I got up late and put on my boxers, my new jeans and T-shirt. Some sweat socks and my sneakers completed my outfit. Somehow, I felt strange all day. I really didn't feel comfortable. My shorts rode up and my jeans were rough. Even my cotton T-shirt seemed out of place. I was eating lunch that realized I felt naked without my bra. I was devastated. How could I, a boy, feel that way? I didn't have anything to put in a bra and I never would.

Mom got home a little after 5:00. "Hi, Charley. Did you enjoy your final day of summer vacation?" She asked.

"I guess. I just hung out and watched TV some." Then, out of the blue, I asked. "Did you get me the right size boxers?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"I don't know. They just seem to bunch up. They are really uncomfortable."

"You're just not used to them. After all, you just spent three months wearing something a lot lighter," she smiled. Then she looked at me with her head turned sideways. I'm not sure I liked what she was thinking. I was sure I didn't want to know what she was thinking.

The next morning, I got dressed and headed out for school. Gary and the rest of the guys were all glad to see me. Of course, they all had a million questions about what I did all summer. I told them that I had to work for Miss Marcy to pay to have her car repainted. Of course I didn't tell them just what I had to do. I just told them she really made a believer out of me when it came to respecting other people's property.

School fell into a routine. Up every morning off to school. After, hang out on the school grounds for an hour to play baseball. Then home to do homework until Mom got home. It was good to hang out with the guys again. By the end of the week, I ended up with a rash, like an abrasion, where my boxers rode up and rubbed between my legs.

I finally told Mom about it on Sunday she laughed and said. "You could always go back to panties."

In the morning I seriously considered it, but decided not to because I was afraid that the guys might notice. But I have to tell you come Saturday mornings I took the chance. It felt great to be back in panties. That very thought, "It felt great" sent chills up my spine. I didn't bother to tell Mom. By Monday morning, my irritation was getting better but was not gone. After about 20 minutes' deliberation, I decided to chance panties at school. I combined it with my football jersey. It was long enough that I didn't have to worry about the guys seeing my underwear.

I wore panties all that week. After that, I did an every other day thing, alternating between panties and boxers. I hoped to toughen up to the skin on my inner thighs. I kept it up all the month of September. I just couldn't get to like the boxers. I guess the summer in dresses had made me a little bit of a sissy. I did panties on the weekend. I had to hand wash my delicates. Mom never noticed them hanging in the shower. At least if she did, she never said anything.

On Monday in the second week of October, I stayed late to get some help from the teacher on an assignment. When I left the room, Trisha was waiting in the hall. She was looking at me really strangely.

As I passed her she said, "Hi Charley, I heard you had to work for Miss Marcy all summer. Isn't she the one who owns The Princess Shoppe?"

"Ah, yeah … I guess."

"Are you related to anyone named Smith?"

"No, why do you ask?" I'd forgotten that was the name I told her when she was at the store.

"I have a cousin that goes to Mapledale. She says there's no Chrissy Smith there at all. In fact, there is no one named Smith or Chrissy at all."

My heart stopped. All I could do is play dumb. "Huh? Chrissy Smith?"

"My mother shops at The Princess Shoppe sometimes."

"So? That a girls store. Why wouldn't she?" I said, affecting a tone.

"I even go with her some times."

"Goody for you." I started to walk away. It was everything I could do to keep from running.

"She bought me some things there this summer." I just kept walking. "It's raining and you can't play baseball, why don't come to my house instead, Chrissy." She called after me.

I stopped in my tracks. All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. Forcing air into my lungs, I turned slowly around. Panic must have been showing in my face. I looked at her. She had a funny look on her face, like she was trying not grin, but not being successful.

"I know it was you," she said.

"Me?" I squeaked. "Whe… what, me?"

"In The Princess Shoppe that day?"

"Uh unh," I said trying to regain my composure.

"Yes it was. Why else would you stop when I called you Chrissy? Answer that one, Chrissy."

"I… I…" My mouth continued to move but nothing came out.

"Don't worry I haven't told anyone and I won't. I think you make a cute girl. Besides, I want to get to know Chrissy. I'm dying to hear how they made you into Chrissy. Why don't you come over to my house? We can talk there without worrying if anyone will hear us."

I was beat. I knew it. "Well OK, but I can't stay long. I have to be home before my mother gets off work."

She smiled and led the way outside. "Don't worry, if anyone sees us they'll just think that we're boyfriend, girlfriend. Susan and John are and so are Mike and Linda.

On the way to her house she kept up a steady stream of chatter. I guess girls are that way. "When I first heard that you had to work for Miss Marcy all summer. I couldn't imagine how that could be or what you could have done, since I already knew she owned The Princess Shoppe. My mother has one of her business cards, so I know her name. Then I remembered that I had met Chrissy there and how she looked familiar. Then it clicked. Without telling her why, I asked my Mom if she had ever heard of anyone punishing their sons by making them wear girl's clothes. She told me that in England, they call that petticoat punishment. It's supposed to make good girls out of bad boys. Is that what it did for you?"

"I guess, my Mom said she didn't have to punish me for anything after I went to work for Miss Marcy."

"I really want to see Chrissy again," she smiled. "I'll have to work out just how we can do that. My Mom says that some boys get to like wearing dresses. Did you?"

"Ah, I… not really. I mean, I got used to it, but I don't think I liked it."

"I like wearing dresses. Pants are too confining. I'll wear them if it's really cold outside, but give me a skirt or a dress any day," she confided in me. She was talking to me just like I was a girl. "Did you wear lots of dresses?"

"A different one every day. Well sometimes I'd wear a skirt and blouse."

"Let's see five outfits a week, for eleven weeks, that's fifty-five different outfits."

"I had to wear them on the weekend too," I blurted out.

"Really? You didn't get to wear pants on the weekend?" she said in disbelief.

"No and that's not all they made me wear girls panties," I regretted saying it as soon as it came out. I could feel the color rise up my neck.

"Really? I never thought about that. You had to wear panties too? I knew you had on a bra, I noticed it when you reached across the counter. Oh wow. So you didn't wear any boy's clothes all summer huh?"

"Nope."

"What about at night?"

"I wore a nightgown. It was really strange. I'd always slept in pajamas before."

"Have you worn any dresses since you got through working for Miss Marcy?"

"The first morning I didn't have to work there was the first of September. It was a Wednesday, you remember? Well, I just got up and forgot that I didn't have to wear dresses that day. I was putting on my slip when I realized what I was doing."

"What'd you do?"

"Well when my Mom came up, I didn't want her to know that I had forgotten, so I threw on my robe. She would have really teased me and made a big deal out of how I chose to wear girl's clothes when I didn't need to. I think she would like me to keep wearing them. She sure went on and on about how nice it was to have a daughter for the summer."

"Is that all?"

"Well, no. She wanted me to come have breakfast with her before she left. She insisted that I come down right away, because she had already cooked my eggs. So I just went down and ate dressed like I was."

"Did you run up to your room and change as soon as she left."

"Well, not exactly. I started to, but I was closer to being dressed then undressed. All I had to do was put on a dress and shoes and socks. So that's what I did. I was still grounded and couldn't go anywhere anyway. I gave Chrissy a day when no one was there to expect her to do anything. She could be herself." Suddenly if felt good to just talk about it. I'd spent so much time being careful not to say anything that just having someone who knew to talk about it was intoxicating.

Soon we reach her house. Trisha's Mom met us as we came in the front door. "Hi Mom, this is Charley from school. We're in the same math class. Teacher asked him to help me in math and I'm supposed to help him in spelling."

"Hi Charley. Good, I'm glad the teacher found her some one to help in her math. If it weren't for the math, she'd be a straight A student."

"I know," I told her. "I'm afraid that math is the only one I'm really good at. Everything else, I'm sort of average." That was an understatement. Frankly, I was a little surprised that I was assigned to sixth grade. Mom had been after me to get serious with my studies for a long time.

"Can we go down to the family room and study Mom?" Trisha asked.

"Sure go ahead. I'll bring down some fresh chocolate chip cookies in a few minutes."

"Thanks Mom. Come on Charley."

Once in the basement Trisha spread out her books on the table and invited me to do the same. We really did work on her math. And true to her word, her mother brought us some chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven and some milk for each of us. After I'd explained just how to do the problems in her math, she insisted that I work on my spelling.

"I never really lie to my mother. If I tell her that I'm going to do something, I do it."

"What about that story you made up about teacher ‘asking’ me to help you?’

"Well, that was mostly true. Teacher did suggest that I get someone like you to help me. She even suggested that I could pay you back by helping with your spelling."

We went over and over the spelling words. I think I learned the order the words were in even if I didn't learn to spell them all. Finally it was time for me to go home. Trisha asked if she could walk me part way home. It was only three blocks. Since it had quit raining, her mother agreed. Out on the street she got talkative again.

"So when can I see Chrissy again?"

"What?"

"When… can… I… see… Chrissy… again?"

"Ah… I… I…up… How could we do that?"

"Tomorrow, we could go to your house to study."

"I'm not allowed to have any one in the house when my Mom isn't there."

"Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed.

"I can have people in the backyard or the back porch."

"Is it a big back porch?"

"Yeah, we sometimes play board games when it's raining and we don't want to watch television."

"There's a table then?"

"We have a card table I can take out there."

"We can study out there then," she smiled. "See you at school tomorrow."

I don't really know how it happened, but I just agreed to be Chrissy again. This time with a girl from school!

Well it happened. Trisha told her Mom that to be fair, she was coming to my house the next day to study. So we walked over there. We went into the backyard and mounted the steps to the back porch.

"Wait here. I'll get the card table and be right back."

"Why don't you let Chrissy bring it back? I don't mind waiting,” she said plopping down on one of the plastic chairs.

I looked around and decided that the way the porch was situated that no one could see us so long as we stayed on the porch. I went upstairs and nervously put on the rest of Chrissy's clothes. I striped to the panties I was already wearing. I got out the bra that matched them and deftly put it on. Next came the slip that went with the set. I picked out one of my dresses that looked like something the girls at school wore to school. As I was slipping it on, I wondered why Mom hadn't taken Chrissy's clothes out of my closet. After all when she put them in, she said she needed to take my boy clothes out to make room. Now here they were, side by side.

I pulled on a pair of knee socks and put on my patent leather flats. In the bathroom I fluffed up my hair and put a barrette in it that complimented my dress. My hair was quite long now. All the other guys were jealous because their parents wouldn't let them grow out their hair like a lot of the high school kids did. I went to the garage and got the card table. Nervously I carried it to the kitchen. I stood inside the door working up my courage for a few minutes. Finally, I opened the door and stepped out.

"Oh Chrissy, I wondered if you'd chicken out. I'm glad you didn't. Are you wearing everything?" I shook me head yes. "Turn around and let me see you." I turned slowly. She giggled. "I love it. This is the greatest secret I've ever known."

"You won't tell anyone will you? You promised you wouldn't."

"Oh, no. I won't tell. I need the help with my math. You're the first person to explain it so that it makes sense. Besides, I've never told anyone's secrets. I know secrets people have told me from five years ago that I haven't told," she said proudly.

We sat up the card table and began studying. About a half an hour before Mom would be home, I went up and changed back and then walked Trisha home. I ran back and was in the house before Mom came in.

Trisha and I studied all that week. To my surprise on Friday I got a 100% on my spelling and my social studies paper got a B. The spelling, though surprising, I could kind of understand. Trisha had really drilled me on it. But the social studies paper was something else.

I don't know how that happened. I had always just done my homework before. The only thing that was different was that Trisha and I talked about it as I wrote it.

On the way home I showed Trisha. She was thrilled. She showed me her math homework for the week. She had B's and mostly A's on the homework and a B on the quiz for the week. She was happy. I knew she would do OK on the homework. She had done it just like I told her.

"I can't believe I got a B on the quiz," she beamed. "I've never done better then a C before."

When we got through studying at her house I went home and laid my work on the kitchen table. I got some soda out of the frig and turned on the Television. A few minutes later Mom came home.

"Hi sweetheart, did you have a good day?"

"Yeah sure," I said absently. She went on into the kitchen to start dinner. A few minutes later she came back in.

"Charley… this school work is great. What happened?" she asked with wonder in her voice.

"Oh, I got a study partner. She helps me with spelling and such and I help her with math. She did good this week too."

"She?"

"Ah… Yeah, a girl from school."

"Do I know her?"

"I don't think so. Her name's Trisha Wilson."

"Where do you study?"

"Sometimes in her family room. I like it there, her mother gives us home made cookies."

"Sometimes? Where else do you study?"

"On our back porch."

"Well, she's certainly done a miracle with you. I hope you've helped her as much."

"I think so, she has a hard time with math, but this week she got B's and A's on her homework and a B on her weekly quiz. She's never done better than a C before."

"I'd like to meet her some time. Are you sure it's OK with her mother for her to come over here when I'm not home?"

"We never come inside. I take the card table out on the porch and we study there."

"What are you going to do when the snow flies? It'll get really cold out there, especially if the wind blows."

"I don't know. We just started. I really haven't thought about it."

"Well, you may just need to do all your studying there in a few weeks."

Author's note:
When I first posted this story, I did so on my own web site (now defunct) with the apology
to Julie and an offer to take it down if she objected to it. She merely asked that I that denote
where her original story left off and I took over the ending to suit my personal bent. I did as
she asked. Unfortunately the only copy with that note was only saved on my web site and not
on my computer. I am unable to locate her original story anywhere to compare and I'm
likewise unable to locate her. I know that my version starts somewhere around here. Hence
this note in keeping with her wishes. Having had permission to post it with this disclaimer on
my site I'm posting it here