“Good Evening, Mrs. Higgins, who is your lovely companion?”

“This is my friend’s niece, Heather.” I whispered a ‘hello’.

“Heather, where is John Higgins?” I protested that I didn’t know and he
just nodded. “I admire your loyalty, Heather, but it’s misfocused.
John’s father misses him and wants him back. I think I’ll visit you
and your aunt sometime soon and see what there is to see.”

He returned to finish his meal.

“Well, Heather, it looks like you’re destined to stay a girl for quite
some time. Is it really so terrible wearing your pretty dresses and
acting feminine?” I admitted that I sometimes enjoyed the girlish
clothing and activities, but I missed being a boy and often felt
ashamed of acting like such a sissy.

“Oh, honey, I’m afraid we can’t let you return to being a boy right
now. The best I can do is to make your feminine life as enjoyable as
possible. I’m giving you charge cards for all the best stores and I
expect you to buy freely with them.”

After dinner we had a nightcap in the lounge and returned to our room.
We undressed (I got to remove the hellish corset), removed our makeup,
put each other’s hair up in rollers, donned our nighties and went to
bed. The next morning I had to fly back to Aunt Helen’s house. My
mother and I got dressed and packed up our things. I had on an
underwire bra, cream nylon panties, dark brown support pantyhose, a
white teddy, white silk blouse, long brown skirt and my new red pumps.
The skirt reached midcalf, but it had a long slit in front that showed
off a generous expanse of leg whenever I moved.

We took a cab to the airport, hugged each other, and went our separate
ways to our flights.

My seatmate was a boy about my age. He was dressed in a dark blue suit
and tie and read a collection of hot rod magazines with intensity while
I scanned more fashion monthlies.

What a contrast to see his casual masculinity next to me. He was
studying how to create a fast automobile- something tangible, while I
fussed with my skirt and worried about getting a run in my hose.

Aunt Helen, with Tracy, met the plane and the three of us drove back to
her house. As I unpacked and hung up my clothes, I was struck with my
situation: although I was a boy, I had to wear panties and skirts-
there simply wasn’t anything else to choose from! Besides, even if I
somehow found some boy’s clothing, my blossoming breasts and hips would
make me look ridiculous.

At dinner, Aunt Helen informed me that she was hosting a very important
tea on Wednesday, and that I Tracy and I were to dress up for the
occasion.

On the morning of the tea Tracy and I helped each other get ready. I
started with a pale blue bra and panty set followed by Tracy’s puckered
panty girdle and a new pair of light beige nylons. I slipped on a pair
of mules, wrapped myself in a robe, and ate a quick lunch. Back
upstairs we did each other’s hair and makeup.

I wiggled into a white half slip and got into my dress- it was a floral
lavender chiffon tea gown. It had a plunging neckline, highlighting my
cleavage, full cuffed sleeves, and a wide belt. I carefully sat on
Tracy’s bed and slipped on a pair of purple slingbacks with an open
toe.

Tracy had chosen a creme silk suit with matching pumps. As people
began to arrive, we sprayed ourselves with perfume and added our
jewelry. As I waited for Tracy to finish, I inspected myself in her
mirror. I patted a few imaginary wrinkles and then quickly blushed at
the feminine gesture. At that moment I felt absolutely girlish. I was
wearing uncomfortable underwear just to look attractive. I had spent a
considerable length of time worrying about the choice of stocking
color!

Finally Tracy was ready and I flounced down the staircase behind her.
Quite a few people were there and I flitted around the house helping
serve the tea and sandwiches. As I approached a couple with their
backs to me I heard the man say “I still don’t understand why you got
me to come here to Helen’s house. Is John here or not?”

“See for yourself. Here he is!” They turned and I dropped the tray I
was carrying. The two were my parents.

“See what your son has become? A utter and complete sissy. He wears
dresses and high heels, paints his long nails and has pierced ears.
He’s even had a date with a boy.” “Is all this true, John?” I broke
down in a feminine outburst of tears and ran upstairs.

My father decided he didn’t want any part of a sissy son and dropped
his law suit. I returned home with Mom and was kept in dresses until I
left home.

I’m back in pants, now, but every time I see a pretty girl I study her
clothing and gestures. After all, I walked more than a mile in her
shoes.