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
