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Disguised as a girl

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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  

circumstances.

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  

Tracy?"

"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  

or slacks?"

"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  

pumps.

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  

my head.

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

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