When I was about 12 years old, my mum told me, maybe it was time to go and visit a hairdresser. Not because my hair was too long or in a style she hated nor because I was rebellious or such. No, up to that time, she was the one cutting my hair and I was okay with it. I thought, so was she. However, she winked at me conspiratorially and told me: "You know, to attract the ladies!"

Yeah, my mum is pretty cool! Although sometimes a bit embarrassing. But then whose mum isn't sometimes when you are a teen?

At that time, I was your average boy. Okay, maybe not really average, but not extreme in any direction either. Mid-class origin, white, medium build, ash blond hair, not too ugly, but no chick-magnet either. More the boy next door - loved and trusted by all the mums, grannies and aunts in the neighbourhood - on the other side no girl magnet, because too boring, tame and average. Further, a bit on the short side of the average maybe. 1.40 meter at that time. 45 kilo, but then mainly muscles and no fat.

I was in the athletics and gymnastic team. I started gymnastics when I was five, because my doc said so. My spine was as straight as a viper's - meaning not at all - and he advised to take gymnastics lessons to build up my back's muscles. Thus after more than 6 years training 2 to 3 hours a day and 3 to 5 days a week and a lot of competitions on the weekends I became a hard body and as straight as a rod.

Gymnastics and later athletics, too, did not only develop my back's muscles, but my whole body's quite nicely. I had wide, round shoulders and strong arms, 'six-pack' abs and strong legs. Muscular thighs, since above all, I loved to ride my bicycle, too (although I shouldn't - due to my spine). I drove it as often and as far and as fast as I dared and I went everywhere on it.

Some would call it a swimmer's build and since I like swimming, too, maybe they are right.

Oh, and by the way - name is Steve, but most call me Stevie.

Sorry, I guess, I got a bit sidetracked. Okay, so as I said, my mum proposed a professional haircut to me and as chances were, she had already a hair salon in mind. It was not too far from the city centre and right next to our biggest swimming bath in town. It is not such a stylish new one with slides and tropical oasis somewhere, but one for swimming and competition from before WWII with that special flair. Same for the salon. It is kind of glued to the side of the swimming bath and lacked in style, but had its old-fashioned charms.

There were five seats - three to the left and two to the right and a reception counter and waiting area in between. The chairs were more like the ones at a dentist's - big ones with foot and neck rest. Although the later one was rather small and low. I guess to have better access when cutting and styling the hair. Further, you could turn them in any direction, adjust the back and so forth.

It was the same salon my mum went to and that mainly because an old friend of hers was working there. She liked to meet her once in a while to talk to her a bit. When I went there, it was no issue, that Karen did my hair as well.

I can almost hear your thoughts! But no! I was not there to get feminized or such!

You see the salon was for men and women and nobody thought much of it at that time. It was quite practical for me, too. During the summer, I could go there by bicycle and in winter or when it was rainy, I could jump on a bus or tram and get almost from door to door while staying dry.

Everything went on like this for some years. I grew up and became 15. My interest in girls became a bit more intensive and I was glad to have a professional haircut and styling. When you are 15 even boys get obsessed with their hair sometimes. I wasn't really obsessed, but everybody kept styling their hair. This were the eighties and styling meant lots of hair spray and mousse and wet gel. I wasn't one to carry a comb in my pocket, but I checked if the hair was still set correct occasionally.

The hair at the sides and the back of my head was rather short, but the upper half was a bit longer and styled in a wave. Think early Depeche Mode, Billy Idol, Bros or (a shame to say nowadays) Rick Astley. I think you get the picture. I didn't dare styles like Limahl or Bon Jovi. I would neither have gotten away with such a look anyway nor was I cool enough for it. I didn't want it, too. Instead, I was quite happy with my style, thought I looked good and hoped some chicks thought so, too.

On the other hand, I felt I lacked a bit in the 'look department'. Not the 'bad boy'. Too much 'nice guy'. Looking younger than I actually was. Sometimes people commented, I resampled my mum a lot. I didn't think so and couldn't see any resemblance, but I heard it a lot and naturally hated it. *I am a guy, dammit. How can I look like my mum?!*

I tried to grow a beard but by then it was just some fuzz on my upper lip and not very visible since light and blond, sparse and no thick hairs.

Anyway, Karen was really a kind woman and tried many styles to help improve my manly image. Even some 'rock star styles' I didn't think were too 'over the top'. Unfortunately, it was no big help regarding the girls. Most still saw me only as a friend or too nice a guy ('Aww, you are such a teddy bear!'), but I felt better and more confident, nevertheless.

Thus, it was a no-brainer when one day Karen asked me, if I would help her. You see, at that time you had to be a master to open your own handcraft business and she wanted to open a salon of her own. Therefore, she needed to become a master hairdresser first. She was almost done with her degree but the practical exam was coming up and she would have to find three models to work her skills on. Two women and a man to present a casual feminine look and an evening look for women as well as a sportive or business look for men. She would like to have me as her male model there. She said, since I had such soft hair with no swirls or whirls or how she called it, it would just be so easy to set. Moreover, it would be just the right length, volume and such.

Of course, I said yes. She explained to me, we still had almost three months left to prepare and I would get some cuts for free to get the 'preset' trimming. Further, she would bleach some of my hair then to dye it back some the day of the exam. That should get me some nice highlights and shine. In addition, I would have to let my hair grow a bit. You can hardly get there with hair already cut and tell it was her skill make you look like that.

Bleached and a bit longer? I saw myself with a style like Billy Idol on the Rebel Yell cover already. Mind you, I was no punk, but that would suit me just fine and best of all my parents would have to agree to it. As I was only helping THEIR friend here. *Teen logic!*

Long story short. I became a lighter shade of dirty blonde and my hair got maybe 2 inch longer. I styled it like Billy for a while and the girls said it looked 'so cool'. But beside that, it didn't score me any points in their 'manly-man friend' book or got me out of the 'you're such a nice guy and good friend' drawer. To them I was still the guy you could pour your heart out to when your boyfriend treated you like rubbish or two-timed or you know what else.

Anyway, the day of the exam came and I went to that big red brick building you can hardly describe if the other doesn't know it already. It looks like an industrial building, a big old school gym, some strange textile mill or even a theatre and to tell the truth, it had been all that and more during the last 150 years or so. On that day, it housed a big hall with a stage on one side and on the other side, some floors with office-like rooms. They had been converted into dressing rooms, hairdresser and cosmetics rooms, storage rooms and else, but I was too nervous to really look around or take anything in.

Originally, I thought, I would just sit there for a while. Someone would come by and check my look, then Karen would start to work on me and finally that someone would come by again and grade Karen's skills. Then I would be released and be freshly styled on my way home. Wham - bang - thank you, man!

Now I learnt, it was more like a fashion show. There were hairdressers and cosmeticians, tailors and designers, shoemakers and what else. Basically all the crafts their school was educating. Further, the models - that included me too (!) - were to do a catwalk in front of the jury!

Before I could process this new piece of information a guy with a SLR jumped in front of me, pointed the camera at me and 'FLASH' shoot a picture of me. The flash light was such a big professional one with a diffuser lens the size of a saucer and a battery pack the size of those early 'mobile' phones which would only halfway fit between the front seats of your car. *I can really see the confused looks of the kiddies of 'generation iPhone' 'what is this old man talking about?' But if you lived in the eighties I think you got it*

Anyway, I stood there even more confused now, almost blind and with, I am sure, a not-too-intelligent look on my face. I was dressed for comfort - black Oxford slippers, white tennis socks, light-blue stone-washed jeans (*look them up, kiddies! That's what we found cool!*) and a white RUN-DMC shirt. *So I guess, now you can pinpoint the year down to 1986. It's tricky, tricky, tricky! NOT!*

Karen took me by the hand and guided me over to her vanity mirror and sat me in that 'dentist's chair'. I still couldn't see much. That flash must have burned away my retina. Therefore, I closed my eyes and had her do her magic. First, she draped a cape over me and washed my hair with lukewarm water and a sweet smelling shampoo. Then she gave the skin underneath my hair a gentle massage while rubbing in something cooling and smelling of menthol. She explained each steps to me, maybe to settle her nerves, too, before she stated, since I had to 'model' on stage the hair alone might not be enough for a successful presentation.

I guessed, that surely related to my puberty-driven teenager skin because mere moments later she arranged a rather hot, damp cloth on my face, before she started the preparations to dye my hair later. After that, she told me she would get me a cosmetician to work on me while she was preparing her two female models.

Not much later, I heard another woman approaching. She introduced herself as Ellen.

I replied: "Stevie."

I guess holding my head backwards for so long and nothing to drink made my vocal cords dry or maybe it were all the chemicals in the air. Anyway, my voice was barely a whisper and a bit hoarse. However, before I could say anything else or clear my throat Ellen lifted the cloth to start working on my face.

She began working around my nose. While she had one hand almost resting on my chin and lips gently pushing, pulling, squeezing my skin with two or three fingers while her other hand skilfully guided a small wooden tool like a toothpick to get me rid of blackheads, pimples and such. *Puberty! Okay? So sue me!*

Ellen was doing her gentle job and I was dozing off. I hope, I didn't snore! Occasionally, I would wake up a bit when she changed places or when some spot became warm or cold or she was brushing some Sulphur-smelling powder onto the treated spots to reduce the risk of pimples and infection. Still it was so soothing and relaxing I was in dreamland again only seconds later.

On my way in, I had seen some of the models getting dressed by designers or tailors or whosoever. Females, only clad in their undies. Therefore, I assume you can guess what my 15 years old male mind was dreaming about. Gentle hands caressing me. Perfume and scented cosmetics wafting through the air. Bright lights and warmth like at a Caribbean beach...

Suddenly, I was awoken by a stinging, ripping, tearing. 'OUUUCH!' I shot upright facing the mirror. At least, I thought, 'I' would be facing the mirror, but in front of me was a young woman's face looking back at me in shock and anguish. On second look, she had beautifully made-up eyes, a little blush on her cheekbones, red lips (not pink, not ruby-red, not pale red but a healthy red without being too obviously lipstick-enhanced), some decent eye shadow and a peachy complexion without blemishes or moles. One eyebrow was plucked into a beautiful arch, while the other and her upper lip was covered with a strip of paper, it seemed.

Ellen said: "Sorry, honey, if I hurt you and woke you up, but I couldn't postpone it any longer or it would get too late!"

With that, her hand went in direction of my mouth. I felt her grapping something and rip and 'OOOOUUUUCH!' My upper lip was stinging and hurting like never before. The girl in the mirror looked in pain now and the paper strip above her lips was gone. My mind must have gone numb by the pain or the adrenalin or something, because it still didn't compute the visual inputs and those hints from inside and outside of my body.

At least, not until a hand shortly passed my eye, followed by "Last one! There we go, honey!" and more pain penetrating from above my other eye and my (a bit blurry) vision of the girl came back on. This time with instead of a paper strip sticking above her eye a similar beautiful curved eyebrow as above the other one. I watched shocked as both curved eyebrows went up in surprise, when her eyes got bigger by the second, when my numb mind registered her(?) eyebrows raising in direction of MY(!) still bleached and washed but not-styled-yet hair!?! That girl was ME?!?! Her (?) MY (?) mouth stood open, gaping like a fish on land and couldn't utter a word.

Ellen interrupted my mental lockdown saying: "Sorry, but there is simply no way to rip those hairs off much less painfully! Best to do it with one fast rip."

Then she asked: "Do you like it like that? I wasn't so sure about your intended hair-colour and your eye-colour, since you had your eyes closed all the time..." She trailed off, maybe unsure because I still looked as shocked as I looked as I looked at the girl-ME in the mirror.

"But... But... I... I'm a boy..." was my first 'eloquent' sentence.

Her (Ellen's - not girl-ME's) eyes went wide in shock now, too, (I think, mine couldn't have widened any more without falling out of their sockets) while Ellen whined: "But you said 'Stevie'!"

"Yeah! Like in Stevie Ray Vaughan! NOT Stevie Nicks!"

"OH MY GOD! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod..."

Ellen was close to tears. The tears, which had begun to form in my eyes, when the pain and stinging started, were too frighten to come out and were absorbed back into my body. That was the moment Karen came back from the other side of the vanity, where she had taken care of her other models, I guess.

"What in heaven's ..." she shut up and stared unbelievingly at me, mouth agape like mine seconds ago. She stood there frozen and I was about to get away from a villain with a freeze ray gun, when she relaxed. (No, that's not right, she still looked kind of rigid when she moved again)

Then she pointed at me: "He... He... What... Whaa... WhathaveyouDONE?"

The last part, although shouted, didn't carry much further than where I sat and vanished in the noise some 100 or so busy people are causing in such a narrow space with bare walls.

"I just thought, you could spent more time later, when I give the make-up part a head start, while you were occupied over there and you said, I should try to clean Stevie's skin and hide the impurities for the show and", whined Ellen in rapid succession - close to nervous breakdown: "with the bleached hair and only the face visible and Stevie saying 'Stevie'… I just never thought he was no girl...", she bubbled on.

"OhmygodwhathaveIdone???"

Now she hid her face in her hands and started sobbing silently. I couldn't stand her crying and patted her gently on shoulder and back. After a while which felt to me like minutes she looked up into my eyes - hers full of hope and asked: "Can you forgive me?"

I had to choke down the suddenly forming clump in my throat before I could reply, but even then only a: "Huu? What? Uhm.. yeah?" came forth. A tiny tear-stained smile was my reward.

"But how should I present myself to the jury now? With those eyebrows, no one will see me as the male model! Even if you remove the blush and eye shadow and all that! Can you, I don't know, paint me or glue me some bushy ones or something like that?"

"Uh-oh! No! That won't work..." Ellen mussed already deep in thought: "but if we go all the way? I mean 'David Bowie' or … girly-girl?"

Before I could respond due to my still mushy brain, Karen stated matter-of-factly: "'David Bowie' wouldn't work, I don't have extensions for that! But - uh-umm - let's see... yeah, a teenage-girl - uh-umm - ready for the disco... or a young business woman ... yeah, I think, we could manage that!"

Again, I was just too dumbstruck to reply to that as she had already started pulling my hair this way and that, mumbling to herself. She vanished behind the mirrors once more only to re-appear with a bag, pulling out strands of hair and holding it next to my face. Frozen in place by the surreal situation I watched in a mixture of horror and fascination until she stopped at framing my face with strands somewhere between honey-blond and strawberry-blond.

"Yes, that's it! I guess I could make this work."

She looked me in the eyes, but I could not pull my gaze away from the blond cutie in the mirror.

"Cute, isn't it?"

Karen laughed and even Ellen smirked now. Like in trance, I nodded. Who was that girl in the mirror? Was that really me? Could I look like that? I am not sure to this day, if I agreed to anything, but suddenly Karen jumped into motion. She started clipping hairs this way and that, combing and brushing and doing things to my hair I couldn't name or understand. Within seconds or was it hours my hair filled in, grew, spilled over my head, exploded into a mass of honey-blond locks. I assume she glued the strains of hair to my hair using some kind of wax, because she placed the strands where they should be, then she did something and I felt a bit of heat radiating there and then the strand had been like soldered to my head. Later when she pulled or combed that new long hair of mine nothing came loose and it felt like she was actually pulling at my hair (I guess, she was because in the end or at the end it connected to the hair connected with the skin of my head).

She also did something to my hair, which I couldn't see, but when she was finished I couldn't see any difference in colour between the lately bleached hair and the new honey-blond mass. The she started working with hair spray, blow dryer, scissors, combs, brushes and what else like there was no tomorrow. In the past, I was used to a bit of combing here and a bit of cutting there, having the sides and the back cut with an electric razor, but now there was a blur of arms and tools going back and forth around my head. Soon my hair resampled Kim Wilde's mane and Karen set it in a similar style.

When she finished Ellen took over again. She painted my lips and started on my eyes once more. I had to open or close my eyes, focus the ceiling or the floor, then again look left or right. While I had to hold my eyes this way or that, she painted my lashes and finished my eyes' make-up. She was poking with sharp objects close to my eyeballs and I should not blink, shutter or look away. (Pure torture, I still can tell!)

Finally, she finished by using a pencil on my brows and turned me around to face the mirror. Had I thought, I looked like a girl - a cute girl before - I looked fabulous now. My mind negotiated if I would date this girl or if I would be way out of her league and intimidated by her beauty. I brushed that numbing thought away and kept on staring at loss of what to make of this visual impact.

While I still stared in awe and fascination not believing my own eyes, Ellen ripped away the cape, gasped and muttered: "Oh, boy!", then snickered: "...literally!"

Baffled, I looked at Ellen, then following her gaze back at my body and guessed her dilemma immediately. Underneath the cute made-up head clearly shouting girl sat the body similarly clear shouting boy. My mind was immediately flooded by pieces of pictures of Frankenstein's mad science or of aliens doing 'funny' experiments on human bodies. Karen was as confused as Ellen was and obviously disturbed by this ill-fitting human jigsaw puzzle.

Stage: Linda. As I later learnt, Linda was a friend of Karen and a fashion designer attending this school as well. She and Karen 'shared' their female models to present each other's work. While Karen did the hair, Linda fitted the clothes and Ellen provided the make-up. I guess that was another reason Ellen mistook me for one of the girls and had had no second thoughts. Perception follows expectations or something like that.

Anyway, Linda came by to clarify something with Karen but when her field of vision brushed me her brain started struggling with mixed contradicting information. Only seconds later, she exploded into guffaws of laughter. I almost expected her to explode for real, but somehow she managed not to and even avoided rolling on the floor instead. Still she was gasping for air and holding her stomach when she got herself back under control. More or less. Because every time I came into her line of sight she giggled, choked back more laughter or snickered and snorted. She couldn't stop it other than looking away until she calmed herself by breathing deeply in and out.

When Linda finally came down off it, Karen and Ellen could explain the mix-up. Only seconds later she proposed some stuff from her collection. I tried to block this. I waved my head and hands 'no' and 'no way'. I tried to show a way out of this. However, I could have done it in a room far far away for all it was worth. They simply ignored me and were in deep discussion what would suite me best.

While Linda went to get the stuff, Ellen and Karen made me strip out of most of my clothes. Shoes, pants and socks were easy enough to do it myself with a bit of encouragement, but they removed my tee ignoring me anew. They just pulled the hem up to my shoulders and made me pull my arms out of the tee's. Then they gripped the hem of the neck, too, stretched and pulled the shirt carefully over my mane of blond hair without disturbing it as far as I could tell. That left me sitting there in my sport briefs. In ONLY my sport briefs! Now I looked even more disturbing - almost naked male body and female head on top. Still, I was much too confused to be ashamed or what. I simply sat there void of emotions.

Linda came back and the three masters of my doom were again discussing stuff leaving me out of the loop. In the end, Linda made a point and came over to where I sat as dumbfounded as could be. Without further comment, she handed me a grey, shiny blouse, which I donned and buttoned up.

The buttons were big enough and I struggled only shortly with the first one before my numbed brain discovered they went the other way than I was used to. Kind of like when I had to button-up my grandpa's shirt when his hands were hurting or too stiff.

The top-most button was a bit below the line of my nipples and from it the neck went up like a V. Thus left a bit of my breast muscles visible, which that way seemingly resampled the rounding of tiny breasts. Next, I was given woman's suit pants in white. They had a high waist and lots of vertical pleats as well as narrow legs giving them a carrot-like shape. I guess, on an average woman they would disguise wide hips a bit. Nevertheless, on me they were rather making my slim hips look wider.

I stepped in and pulled them up, but when I was about to close them, Linda made huffing noises: "uhmm, uhmm,... no! Ahm, you have to... ahmm ... tuck ahm you know ..." and she waved her hand vaguely in front of my briefs.

I wondered shortly what that was about, but when I glanced down I discovered the zipper framing a prominent bulge in my briefs. I bet, I grew as red as a fire-truck within a fraction of a second and the blush on my cheeks was the least red colour on my face. When I think back to that day I'm still surprised the make-up didn't burst into flames by the heat I felt radiating from my face.

Nervously, I cleared my throat a few times, turned around and tried to tuck the content of my briefs' front between my legs. All the while trying not to lose the grip on the pants and dropping them to the floor. Somehow, I managed and luckily, it was hard but not hard - if you know what I mean. I think, I was too afraid and confused to be aroused.

When I finally turned back around, everything was tucked properly away and I had a surprisingly flat front as seemed required. The soft and light fabric of the pants still had enough thickness and rigidity to hide the outlines and colour of my briefs and things underneath.

Linda slapped a wide red, glossy patent-leather belt with a big chrome-plated buckle around my waist. She set it very loose and let it hang in angle halfway down my front further covering up. The large eyes of the belt were rimmed with chrome-plated rivets, which sparkled and contrasted the glossy red leather.

Next came a big shoulder pads jacket with a single red button right above my navel. The jacket was single-breasted, black, but with wide, large, white, triangular lapels on both sides of the wide v-neck opening. The V-neck of the jacket left the V-neck of the grey blouse and thus the upper part of my flat hairless chest visible. Did it hint or hide small breasts somehow? I wasn't sure which.

The big shoulder pads ended in slightly puffed sleeves. When I donned it, the sleeves came just down to my elbows. They hid my muscular upper arms and gave the impression of slim arms, while the puff sleeves and pads let my wide and beefy shoulders appear as if they were only wide and beefy because of those pads.

I was about to slip my black men slippers back on, when Linda tsssed me. She dug through her bag and produced a pair of red patent-leather pumps. Just my luck - they fit rather well. Obviously, I had a women's size 8 at that time and that was what Linda had in stock for me. When I tried to stand up, I almost fell flat on my face. They seemed incredible high to me and threw me out of balance, but Linda assured me, two-inch-heels are rather low and easy manageable.

'As if', I thought, but after three or four steps and trying to walk rather tiptoed than heel first, it became really easy. Maybe due to gymnastics and walking on tiptoes at home a lot. Once I had adjusted, it was not so far off from walking from and to the gymnastic apparatus before and after presenting oneself to the judges at gymnastics contests. It felt more like walking tiptoed with supported heels. Only standing in one spot with legs closed seemed to tip me over. Then I had to take a step forward to stop me from falling.

Linda dove again inside the bag and then snapped something shut around my earlobes. When I looked into the mirror, I sported two big red discs where my earlobes should have been. Linda had clipped button-like ear clips with more than an inch in diameter on me.

I gapped and stared into the mirror but 'I' had vanished. All I could see was a girl with big hair, made-up face and stylish outfit from head to toe. As unbelievable and as unreal as it occurred this still was me - well, kind of. Ellen and Karen came back just to repeat my stupid, open-mouthed, I-can't-believe-it expression. When my consciousness returned to working level, my wicked sense of humour returned as well. On sudden spur of the moment, I threw my right arm in the air keeping my wrist limp, while shoving my left arm down and turning the hand 90 degree to the outside before asking:

"And? How do I look?"

I would like to say I managed the pose of Madonna in that video where she imitates Marilyn, but I had never been in heels before and so I wobbled and stumbled struggling for balance. Thus instead of "ooo"s and "uhhh"s I earned some giggles and snickering. However, I started giggling myself and soon we were all laughing real hard.

While Karen had done some fixes and correction to my hair, Ellen got me some red acrylic nails and glued them in place. A bit of filing later, I sported almost an inch long ruby-red nails, too. Karen clipped a few silver loops around my wrist and Linda placed a red leather clutch in front of me.

When all that done, they made me pick up the clutch and walk up and down the aisle until they were satisfied, I could handle the shoes and myself. I was quite happy that Linda got no skirt for me. Otherwise, I might have landed on my nose a few times. It was hard enough to keep my balance when turning around and when being on the softer carpet without being hobbled at the knees.

I was on my own while Karen, Linda and Ellen were occupied with their other models. Hence nothing else to do I walked around the rooms and took in the girls in different stages of dressing. No one gave me a strange look and no one was shouting 'kill the pervert' while pointing at me. There were no medieval villagers waving torches or pitchforks running after me, so my mind settled at ease bit by bit a little more.

Obviously, I still was out of mental balance, since I did not appreciate most teen boys' dream of wandering around unnoticed in rooms full of girls and women sitting around half-naked or were in state of (un)dressing themselves. Maybe my mind went numb by overload and tilted most of the time.
It's a bit like my grannie's cat that one time. Some kids from the neighbourhood and me had rounded up some mice in the backyards and put them in a big tin tub. Then we lowered the cat in the tub. She saw the 30+ mice around her feet and was out of the tub like a flash on speed. Then she came back very cautiously before she jumped on rim of the tub. There she watched the mice quite a while before fishing them out one by one.

I guess my mind was still in the stage of getting away, because even later I just got blurry impressions and not much of nightly excitement out of it. Maybe it was for the best at that time, too, because otherwise my briefs might have not been tight enough. As surreal, as it may seem now, it felt like a completely normal every-day-experience at that time. I got smiles and appreciating looks when I crossed someone's scope. I would smile back when I was smiled at or got thumbs-up signs.

Therefore, when I returned I was as relaxed as if wearing my own boy clothes while hanging around with my best friends. Short time later, Karen came over with her other (?) two female models trailing behind her. I got just a little bit nervous again, but they waved, smiled and nodded their heads wolf-whistling 'woo-hoo'. The one in the floor-long evening gown and elegant evening-hairdo grabbed my elbow, hooked herself in and before I knew it, we were walking together down to the backstage area. Sabrina - as I learnt later - whispered conspiratorially: "Thanks! I am afraid to stumble and fall. I am not used to long dresses and high-heels - especially when they are not my own!"

"Me neither", I whispered back and had to fight laughing out loud when adding: "and it's my first time in high-heels, at all!"

Sabrina had no such reluctance and puffed and bellowed snickering "Oh my, what a lucky strike! One in a million! Heehee!"

I giggled and tittered now, too, and I really had to concentrate on staying upright and not falling down pulling her with me. Luckily, we had reached the stairs and waiting area behind the stage where Karen and Ellen were already waiting with the other girl. Sabrina and me gathered all our will-power to look somewhere else and not at each other to keep from bursting up in laughter again. It was hard but we managed.

The girls in my class giggled a lot all the time. I wondered if this could be because of the make-up and the clothes. Must be! Surely, there is something in all that female stuff - chemicals, maybe? Because why else would *I* giggle that much - so short after I came in close contact with all this - but never before? There really should be a research in action or could it be it is already common knowledge but to only evil scientist and the secret world government? (Uh-oh, I hope there is no killer brigade out there to subdue or silence me now!)

Anyway, as we stood there watching the ones before us I slowly calmed down. The models one by one went up the stairs, waited for a sign and then walked through the open curtain. There they walked to the front of the stage on some kind of catwalk, stood there for some seconds, then turned around, waited another few seconds and came back behind the curtain before exiting to the other side. Along the catwalk and in front of it there were some tables manned with the teachers or judges or whatsoever. The judge had clipboards and took notes.

Sometimes a model had to turn around a second time or wait a bit longer. While watching them my nervousness started to grow again. I guess it was more stage fright than fear of exposure this time. The clothes and the make-up didn't disturb me much any more. Maybe the mascara a little. Because it made my lashes feel heavy and I had to fight continuously not to wipe the 'dirt' out of my eyes. If you are not allowed to scratch, it will tick you to do so just the more.

Eventually, it was my turn. Because of my stage fright growing, I had missed the two or three girls in line before me completely. My view ahead was that narrow I could have worn blinkers and not lost a square inch of visible space. Still I somehow managed the stairs a bit shy but safely and then somebody I hadn't noticed before nudged me to step onto the catwalk. I managed with timid steps first and then a bit more self-confidently to walk over the plank. At least it felt like it.

I stopped at the edge and waited for what felt like an eternity while the noise in the hall grew louder and louder. I didn't know what it was about but I caught glances of the teachers whispering to each other. I forced myself to smile, but I felt my face heating up and surely becoming redder and redder by the second. My smile must have looked as rigid and as fake as a ballroom dancer's, while I noticed judges flipping through some pages and others sat there staring agape. I tried to use this as an excuse or a chance to flee the spotlight and turned around and ... saw myself!

I was facing myself - my SELF - my BOY self! In front of the curtain there was a projection screen and a diascope was beaming the *BEFORE* me there. I froze now staring at ... me!?!? I was just about to run off stage and hide in the darkest closet I could possibly find, when I heard someone clearing his throat and a deep voice calling out: "Excuse me, ... uhm Mi..., uhm... What's your name, please?"

Somehow being confronted by my picture crashed the walls of self-confidence and the hope or illusion or whatever it was that if I could hardly discover the boy in that entire girl's attire and make-up, nobody would be the wiser. Just to find, I was betrayed by my own image or was it the real me or was there a conspiracy of sorts?

"Stevie..." I breathed and then a little louder again: "Stevie?"

I don't know why I made it a question. Maybe I wasn't too sure anymore and was looking for confirmation? My mind came up blank and shrugged its metaphorical shoulders.

"Sorry, to have to ask this... But are you a boy or a girl?" The deep voice boomed again.

"Uhm, a boy?" *Stupid! Why make it a question again!*

"... you identify yourself as a boy?" the booming voice sounded more confuses and less booming now.

"Uhm, ... uhm, yes... sir?" *What-the?* "I am a boy…", I trailed off.

"Then why are you dressed like this?"

"Aw, uhm, you see… there was uhm this... I fell asleep and I woke up like this... uhm, NO, not like this… ehm, I mean uhm made-up … like the eyebrows and eyes, you know? Uhm… and then we simply had to follow what uhm, ... uhm what was already done and..." *Can somebody smack me in the head or shoot me, please?!? What am I saying?*

"Uhm, SIR, uhm, I was here for a boy's haircut, but somehow was mistaken for one of the female models and ... I don't know ... before we discovered the mix-up I was already too far ... uhm for the ... uhm to present the boy cut. You know?" *And the Oscar for the greatest fool in a supporting role goes to Steve! Bonus points for eloquent speech, too!*

Luckily, I could stop myself from face palming and finally shut up. So did the deep voice. A female voice peeped in instead: "Okay! Thank you, uhm, Stevie! You may leave now..."

If my mind's capacity had not be almost completely occupied by processing the inputs and replaying the speeches over and over, I would have raced off, but as it was my legs got only that much processing power to shift to automatic. What was left was used to balance on those heels. I assume I walked more like a zombie off-stage.

Karen was waiting for me and so were Ellen, Linda, Sabrina and the other girl. Karen took me motherly in her arms and the others were bubbling things I couldn't understand or process. My heart was beating like a drum and I thought they others could heard it, too. It took me quite some time to calm down. I reckoned, Karen, Ellen and Linda were very worried about all this dressing me up as a girl, while Sabrina and the other girl seemed to be rather shocked to learn I was a boy. I hadn't thought, they didn't know or anyone close could have missed it. They were beaming at me and congratulating me. I think they even nominated me 'part-time-girl', but I was too blurry to be sure.

Eventually, we went back to the dressing room. The girls still sputtered over each other. I went along as if in trance, but I became wide-awake when I found my tee missing and my jeans gone, too, since it meant, I couldn't change back and had no keys, no ID and no money any more. Thus, I couldn't ride my bike. I couldn't ride the bus with my school season-ticket and couldn't buy a ticket either.

On the other hand, without my boy clothes my missing identity card was almost no issue. If I couldn't change back I would not look anywhere near my own picture there anyway. We searched every corner, turned everything over, but my stuff was gone.

Linda assured me I could keep the clothes for now anyway and Sabrina proposed to drive me home with her car. What would have been the alternative? Of course, I accepted.

Sabrina and I managed to squeeze my bike in the trunk without messing up our clothes. While driving, Sabrina seemed to forget my real gender completely pretty soon. She talked to me, as I would have expect she would gossip with one of her female friends. She was enthusiastic about the show and how she had performed and her nervousness and clothes and the makeup and everything. Lastly, she came back to that she would never have guessed me a boy and how she was shocked and how I fit in so much better than her and that she liked my shoulder pads. Oh right, that were my actual shoulders, not all pads. Oh yeah, due to all the sport and my actual gender. And on and on and on…

Before I knew it, I was at home. Sabrina helped me with my bike again and was about to leave when she became aware of my nervousness.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yeah, I guess. I have no keys and my parents... how should I convince them to open the door for me ... or rather this strange woman here?" I mumbled looking away from Sabrina at the totally awesome gravel next to my heel-clad feet.

"Oh... Ohhhhh! You know what? I will come with you. Fact one two woman might not seem so out of place and fact two... Ireallyhavetoseethis!!!", Sabrina laughed at the last part and I couldn't help to look back up and snicker myself.

We half pushed half carried my bike over to the door, since we haven't been able to unlock it without key. Thankfully, we found the door open. Usually, people tended to lock the entrance door when it got dark, but not that day. However, we left my bike next to the door and climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor. The click-clack sound of our heels on the stone floor echoed through the silence of the early evening.

Steeling myself one last time, I took a deep breath and Sabrina pressed my hand reassuringly as I pushed the bell button. The door opened a few moments later and my mum appeared, looked back and forth at the two of us before she cocked an eyebrow inquiringly. Immediately, a lump formed in my throat before I could utter 'hi, Mum! It's me!' Thus, nothing came out.

Sabrina took over cheerfully: "Hi Mrs. M! We came over because of Stevie! Could you spare a minute?" and then she smiled a nice-girl-next-door-oh-so-innocent-smile. A timid smile crept onto my lips, too. Sabrina must be contagious or something.

My mum muttered a bit bemused: "Stevie is not at home and I don't know when he will be back...", but she stepped aside to let us come in anyway. We walked in and Sabrina steered us both over to the couch as if it was the most common thing to do or as if she had done so million times before. While she sat down onto the couch she was still clutching my hand in away that I was forced a bit backwards, too. As soon as my calves met the seat, my heels and the couch endangering my balance forced me to go down, too. Somehow, I managed to sit down with much more grace then I would imagine. Sabrina let go of my hand in time to sweep her skirt correctly into place and for me to neither topple over nor crash land on the cushions. I even managed to smooth my pants a bit before ultimate contact with the furniture.

My mum still cocking an eyebrow - and, I would swear, completely unaware of it - took the chair facing us when Sabrina continued bubbling: "You see, Mrs. M., me and ...", she nodded her head in my direction: "ahm, ... Louise... ahm, we both think Stevie is awesome and like totally cool! And we both like him a lot and we can't decide who would match better with him and we don't want to fight about him because we are like BFF but he is so cute and seems like such a nice guy and we were wondering if you could help us somehow and this would be like so totally cool and then we could still be friends and Stevie he is just so..."

If I wouldn't have known better I would think Sabrina a total airheaded teenager and a bit boy crazy, too, but in a nice kind of way. Nevertheless, I was a least as speechless as my mum. She just sat there and looked as if she was still processing what Sabrina said half an hour ago. Okay, it were mere seconds, but with her flood of words, it was hard to tell. Further, it seemed there was a string attached between my mum's eyebrow and her jaw. The more her mouth went agape her cocked eyebrow went up.

"But Stevie is just 15! ... You ... you look, excuse me, much ... older ahm mature ... ahm …" *My mum lost at words! That must be a first in a lifetime!*

"Yeah, as my mum always says, 'you have to take them on when they are still young and not spoiled! Then you can train them properly and get them housebroken! Later, when they think they are god's most precious gift to women it is just too hard to succeed!' or something like that, you know?" Sabrina bubbled airheaded and excited again.

"EXCUSE ME! Stevie is my son and NOT some some..." mum was fighting for words without losing her manners. I pitied her immediately, but were still not able to contribute. I just smiled a bit since it was the first time I had seen her as shocked and out of words. Beside that I felt proud she tried to defend me like momma-bear her cubs.

Unperturbed, Sabrina knocked her elbow in my ribs: "Louise, say something, too!"

Flabbergasted, I stared at her then at mum then back at her while "awesome" escaped my lips. *Talk to me, brain! Someone call Dr. Frankenstein! I think we got a rejection reaction here or a total shutdown ... flat line ... beeeeeep ... We need a new brain fast!*

As if this was the correct and only valid answer Sabrina took the lead once more: "See?!? Told you! Awesome! We think he is like so awesome!"

As I saw my mum fighting for words or air or both I knew I had to do something fast.

"Ahm, mum ... MUM, it's me... Stevie?"

To this day, I still see the stop-motion-slow-motion-single-frame playback of my mum's emotions running at a snail's leisure speed across her face when I think of this moment all those years ago. Confusion, bewilderment, processing suspended, wondering, mental rewind and replay, verification, confusion, synchronization, re-evaluation, investigation, counter-check, exploration, search, dawning, recognition, doubt, re-evaluation, doubt some more, realization, acceptance, wonder, confusion, helplessness, lost, tilt... :"WHAT?"

"Mum, it's ME! STEVIE! Your Stevie! ... Mum? Mum?"

She just sat there and stared at me. I was afraid she was shock-frozen or she might have a heart attack or even died of shock and I was about to walk over to her when she burst out laughing so loud as if she lost it.

Hey, maybe she really lost it, but then so did we. We laughed and laughed and I was endangered to fall off the couch or choke on lack of air myself. My tummy hurt. My ribcage hurt. Tears of laughter were filling my eyes. Not much longer and I was gasping for breath and so were my mum and Sabrina. If we as much as shortly glanced at each other, we would erupt again. Therefore, it took us almost 15 minutes to calm down to halfway normal. (Or whatever normal is with me dressed like that?)

Eventually, Sabrina and I told my mum the story of today's fails and errors and wrong assumptions. My mum smiled, giggled, laughed, oohed and awed, looked at me in wonder and curiosity. We three simply had a good time.

We were almost finished, when my dad came home. Still in the corridor, he rumbled something about Steve had left his bike where it fell out of his hands and if it was such a big effort to put it away first when coming home and then some more about the youth of today would not value what they got because they had it much too good for their own good and so on and so forth. But then he stepped into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks and ranting.

"Uhm, sorry... I was not aware we had visitors!" Then he came over and shook our hands - much more tender than he used to with me - then he went over to mum, pressed a peck on her cheek before asking: "Where is Steve? He left his bicycle right next to the entrance..." before turning to Sabrina and me: "and who are those lovely ladies brightening our home and evening?"

I never knew my dad could be such a flatterer, but then again he got mum somehow and that must not have been easy with her brain and looks... *giggle*

Dad must have thought he scored some points, because he settled on a chair next to mum and smiled contently. That is, until he looked at me for more than 10 seconds in a row. His face slacked and so did his jaw, before he breathed voiceless: "Stevie?"

I smiled mischievous: "Hi Dad!" and smiling even brighter added innocently: "Do you like my haircut? Or is it too short? Sabrina thinks it suits me just fine, but I think longer would be better. Then I could have more curls and more variety. What do think about this designer suit? I think it is awesome. I feel so grown-up! They were all like 'Oh, this is just so you!' but I was more like I definitely NEED a skirt with that. Maybe knee-length? Or better a bit shorter? It would show off my legs and those beautiful heels so nicely! Have you seen my high-heels, daddy? They are like so totally awesome, too. I never thought, I could walk with them on, but they are like so totally sexy and comfy. Oh, daddy, what do you think? You like?" With that, I tilted my head a bit down and to the left and batted my eyes at him, trying a daddy's-sweet-little-girl-smile, too. *Ooh, poor dad(dy)! Giggle*

Now Dad was shocked even more. As if, someone had clocked him a heavy pan right over the head. You could almost read 'TILT' in his eyes. Mum was almost as shocked and speechless until Sabrina giggled. Quietly at first, then a bit louder and when I lost it due to her giggling, we both were laughing so hard again I was sure to die this time from having a stich or from suffocation. Mum joint in and this time tears of laughter were running down her cheeks. We guffawed until we could stand it no more and had to settle down a bit.

My mum set up a straight face and stated matter-of-factly: "Stevie! If you keep this up, I will continue where the midwife left!"

"Huh?" I looked at her blankly.

"She asked me your name right after your birth and when I answered 'Steve', she asked me what your name would have been had you been a girl instead. When I told her 'Michelle Eve', she said: 'Oh, that is so much nicer! You sure, I should not make him a girl? You know, when I cut the cord I may slip just a tiny bit too far south and et voila - it's a girl...'"

Now it was my turn to look flabbergasted and shocked, but soon, we were all laughing again. Even my dad boomed with laughter when he saw my face as mum told her story. I heard this family tale several times before. It was kind of a family insider, but I never considered it to be more than a joke about my name. I had never thought about it in regard of my gender or the few inches related to it. I winced a bit waving my hands in front of me as I hurried to sputter: "Nononono! I'm sorry! Itwasjustajoke! Just kidding ... haha-haha!"

In milliseconds, those three rascals were back laughing their heads off and I joint-in only moments later.

In the end, we had a real nice evening. We let dad in on the events of the day and why his son now looked more like an adult fashion model - female fashion model - and all that. Then we had a nice little dinner with Sabrina to thank her for her help. Dad suggested to go to a restaurant instead as it was his one chance to go out with three such beautiful ladies dressed to the nines, but when this earned him THE EYE (you know the one girls and women seem so genetically prone to when men do something stupid) from the three of us, he just grinned and waved his hands defensively in front of him, telling us he was just pulling my leg and kidding around.

Instead, we just gathered around the dining table and ate and talked as if it was the most normal thing to do. Eventually, Sabrina had to leave. We pecked each other on the cheeks three times and promised to keep in contact. Then I went to bed exhausted, but not before mum showed me how to take off the makeup without poking my new longer nails into my eyes.

Since we couldn't do much about the hair and the nails my mum winked at me when she dropped a black, silky nightgown on my bed and said something about another chance for a first one on the other side of the fence. Despite the slippery and unusual feeling, I slept astonishingly and quite well. At least, I thought so until I saw, I looked more like a lion after a twister passing through in the morning.

Ellen and Karen came by later that day and brought me back to normal - boy-mode that is. They also handed me my clothes and my keys. Somehow, they ended on a cleaning cart when someone needed space to vacuum all those cut hairs lying around and when the janitor noticed them Sabrina and me were long gone.

How my life went after that day? Let's just say I never ever fell asleep at a hairdresser's again. The rest is up to you to imagine, because I won't tell...