Tracy came down the stairs, looking beautiful, and we complimented each
other. I was still admiring her when the doorbell rang. “Here’s our
dates,” she announced with a twinkle in her eye.

“Dates!” I screeched, “I can’t go out with a boy!” But Tracy had
already let the two in and my aunt was gently propelling me towards the
one introduced as “Mike.” Tracy was paired up with Dave. I sputtered
out “Thank You” in a high voice when Mike told me I looked terrific.
Aunt Helen wrapped a lace shawl around my shoulders and handed me a
silver clutch purse. She took photos of the four of us and I tried my
best to smile.

Mike offered his arm and it turned out I needed it as I might have
fallen teetering down the steps in my new heels. I’m sure I looked
delightfully helpless and feminine.

Dave had brought his Camaro and it was impossible to get into the low
back seat with any modesty! We drove to the dance with me constantly
fighting to keep my skirts down but only succeeding in putting on a
private peep show for Mike.

What a contrast it was to look down and see Mike’s sturdy shoes and
thick trousers next to my fragile sandals and delicate nylons with my
painted toe nails peeking through. How had I gotten myself into this?
What if this big guy found out I was really a boy dressed up?

Feeling my bare arm against his tweed jacket, I quickly decided my only
option was to act a feminine as possible. Choking on my words I
fluttered my eyelashes and told Mike how strong he was. He responded
by casually resting a hand on my nyloned thigh.

We got to the dance and again I put on quite a show getting out of the
car. Tracy just smiled at my startled expression when Mike put his arm
around my waist and ushered me in.

I was never a good dancer, let alone in heels, but when Mike and I
started a waltz he led masterfully. I just stayed on my toes while he
kept balance for us both.

It was humiliating to feel his hand on my back, toying with the zipper
and bustier snaps. Every now and then he would grind his hips into me
and even wearing a crinoline I could feel his manhood pressed against
me. I, meanwhile, had my equipment tucked up and couldn’t respond
under any circumstances.

Whenever he twirled me, my skirts rode up exposing my stocking tops,
garters, and even my red panties! Several of the real girls glared at
me and my brazen display. Tracy was no help at all, threatening to
expose me if I didn’t adjust my garters while Mike looked on.

I felt totally embarrassed watching the boys in their suits, knowing
that I should be among them instead of wearing a pretty dress and
passing myself off as a girl. Boys were supposed to do important deeds
to succeed, while I had been carefully prepared to present my feminine
charms to anyone who cared to look.

With Mike’s dancing skill, however, I finally relaxed a little and
tried to enjoy myself as I glided across the floor.

The evening ended with me a little less frantic in the Camaro’s back
seat. I let Mike put his arm around me and even let him give me a peck
on the cheek at the door. I felt like a complete sissy and broke into
tears as soon as Tracy and I got inside.

Here I was, a boy, wearing a dress and sobbing into a lace hankie with
mascara streaks down my cheeks. My Aunt cleaned me up and made me take
a hot bath before bed.

I think it was that episode that broke my will. Starting that next day
I was resigned to my pretty skirts and stopped thinking about the next
time I would be wearing trousers.

I became more aware of women’s fashions and admired a girl’s appearance
instead of mentally undressing her. I began thinking of the feminine
finery in the closet as my own. I completely mastered the art of
walking in heels and no longer felt angry when a boy admired my legs.

I became addicted to romance novels putting myself alternately in the
male and female roles. My aunt taught we dressmaking and embroidery.
Soon I was making some of my own outfits.