My mother divorced my father because he beat her. He was rich, though,
and got custody of me. My mother refused to turn me over, contending
he beat me too. This simply wasn't true, but I guess Mom didn't want
to give the bastard any satisfaction and I felt too sorry for her to
tell anyone the truth.
My mother hid me at one of her childhood friend's houses in Texas. The
judge put Mom in jail until she revealed my whereabouts while my father
hired a Private Investigator to find me.
I called the woman I stayed with "Aunt" Helen although she wasn't
really a relation. She, too, was divorced with a daughter named Tracy.
Aunt Helen now hated all men and lectured me incessantly on how I had
to be faithful to my mother and not contact my father under any
On fateful night as we watched TV my whereabouts, which had enjoyed
some brief national attention, became news again. The announcer read a
report that my father had contracted even more PIs and would begin
contacting all of my mother's known acquaintances.
My Aunt watched the conclusion of the piece and turned to me. "John,"
she said quietly, "I knew the time would come when they would search
for you here. I have a plan, but I need your complete cooperation.
Will you help your mother and me?"
This was quite a lot of pressure to put on a thirteen year old. My
mind in a frenzy, I simply nodded.
"Thank you, John. As you know, some bad people will stop here soon
looking for a young boy, but they won't find one. Do you know why?"
I shook my head.
"They won't find a young boy because you will be turned into a young
girl! Tracy and I will transform you into such a convincing vision of
femininity that no one will ever guess you were once a boy. Right
"Oh, Mom, what a great idea! John will make a foxy girl. He can
probably wear most of my things and his face is almost too pretty for a
boy already. Let's start right now. What do you suggest, Mom, skirt
"Since we want to prevent him from being identified as a boy, we'll
need to go overboard on making sure everything about him just screams
'female'. That means no pants at any time and lots of girlish touches
even in his most casual moments. We have to go overboard on lace,
lingerie, heels, makeup, the works."
I forget most of the details of that evening except that I went to bed
wearing one of Tracy's nighties. My hair had been subjected to
dizzying number of processes and then wound up in enormous rollers
covered by a giant pink cap.
My hands had been coated with skin softener and placed in white cotton
gloves for the night. My face had been slathered in cold cream.
Considering the strange sensations I was experiencing, it was amazing
how quickly I fell asleep. I was awakened at six the next morning by
Tracy. "Get up, sleepyhead. We've got a lot to do today. Go and wash
your hands and face while I get your outfit ready."
I obeyed. Returning, I saw that Tracy had made my bed and laid out a
bewildering array of lacy apparel, a yellow dress and a pair of girls
She handed me a pair of pale blue panties and let me modestly slip them
on under my nightie before I took the nightie off. Next came a
matching bra and dark brown pantyhose. She padded out my bra with
cotton balls and taught me how to put on a blue slip by sliding it over
At this point she wrapped a plastic cape around my neck, sat me down
and brushed out my hair. "Oh, it's darling! No one will ever suspect
you're a boy."
I sat still while she applied makeup. The smells were strange as was
the feeling of my hair tickling my neck. Finally she removed my cape
and let me get up. She held out my dress and let me step into it from
the top "so you won't mess up your hair". I later learned that the
style was a shirtwaist, yellow, with a hem hitting me a few inches
above the knee.
Tracy asked me to button the top. It was difficult because it buttoned
backwards, but I finally got it right.
She helped me slip into the brown leather sling back pumps. They had
medium heels and it took me awhile to walk in them but Tracy was
patient. "Real girls take a long time to learn how to manage their
heels, too. You're doing fine."
After she was satisfied, she had me wrestle with jewelry clasps until I
was sporting a gold choker necklace, a charm bracelet, an ankle
bracelet and four rings. Finally she sprayed me with perfume and led
me downstairs to breakfast.
It certainly felt strange masquerading as a girl. I had to watch my