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,

However, I guess Mom didn’t want to give him any satisfaction

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

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

She lectured me incessantly on how I had to be faithful to my mother and not contact my father under any circumstances.

One 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 private investigators

These would now 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 me.

My mind was in a frenzy,

I simply nodded.

“Thank you, John.

As you know,

some bad people will stop here soon looking for you,

but they won’t find you here.

Do you know why?”

I shook my head.

“They won’t find you

because you will be turned into a  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 a 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 backward,

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 a while 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 feet to keep from tripping in the heels and I found myself attracted to the nyloned legs and feminine pumps that were mine.

My aunt made a tremendous fuss when I entered the kitchen, making me stand still as she walked around me.

It was weird wearing girls clothes but I tried to make the best of it and play along.