The last thing I want to mention is that my mom eventually lost all self-restraint about dressing me. She bought me so many skirts and dresses in addition to the lingerie that there were eventually more girls' outfits than school clothes in my bedroom closet. She had me trying on different ensembles pretty much all weekend long. The clothes were great and I appreciated all of the attention, but at some point I started feeling something like a life-sized Teen Barbie.
"This new floral sun dress is really nice, mom, but aren't you doing way too much for me? Couldn't I try picking out a few of my own things for a change?"
"Well, we could go out shopping together next weekend. Would you like that?"
"Yes!"
"Fully dressed?"
"Oh, yes!!"
"You don't have to fake an orgasm, Dawn--I promise we'll do it."
I was frightened, of course, since I'd be going out as a girl to a public place in broad daylight for the very first time. But next Saturday came and I put on a reasonably modest outfit, did my hair and some light makeup all by myself in a casual style, and drove across town with mom to go shopping.
The first thing I noticed once we parked in the lot and got out of the car was the cool breeze on my nylons. Then I suddenly realized I was standing outside, cross-dressed right out in the open and completely exposed for the entire world to see. It was an amazing feeling, just as thrilling and liberating in its own way as anything I'd ever done before at a park restroom or party.
But it was nothing compared with how I felt once we were inside the mall and people were actually looking at me. There was a great deal of nervousness mixed in with my exhilaration, although that didn't make any sense given that we were twenty miles away from home and nobody even knew who I was. Then I understood it was because I knew exactly who I was and what I was doing. I was out there being myself in front of absolutely everyone.
It got easier once I realized that what I was feeling was something resembling stage fright. Nobody was looking at me all that closely or for any length of time, so I don't believe any of the other customers even noticed I was a sissy. Younger sales girls did in several of the shops, but they just smiled and winked without seeming shocked or surprised. Some were actually supportive, and getting help trying on shoes was especially fun. But one older sales lady definitely did have some issues with me.
"Is there an open changing room so I can try this on?" I was interested in this little black, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress with a hemline well above the knee, wondering if I could really pull it off.
"They're all occupied now. You'll need to wait." That clearly wasn't true, since my mom and I were her only customers. It was almost like being told I couldn't use the bathroom or a water fountain.
"It's fine, dear," mom said as she held the dress up to me. "It fits you perfectly. We'll take it, Ma'am." The woman scowled as she rung up the sale and then folded and boxed the purchase.
That was our last stop. It had been a long day and I was very glad I was wearing flats instead of heels. "You found some nice outfits." Mom made light conversation with me on our drive home. "How did you feel being out in public?"
"It was great, mom. I'm so glad we did it. At first I thought everyone was staring straight at me, but then I realized it was mostly in my head and no one was really paying that much attention."
"I think that's definitely true."
"You may not know it, but your gait and lots of your little gestures have always been girlish. I remember you skipping down the street and playing hopscotch with girls as a young kid, and walking around in my heels at home for fun. And that was way, way back before you reached puberty and could genuinely be conditioned into being gay and dressing up. It's just natural for you, like I keep on saying. Dad noticed it too and wanted you sissified and at least playing with cocks by third grade, but I wouldn't allow it." I filed that one away for future reference.
"These small things help you pass just as much as your nice looks and clothes. You're so convincing and confident that anyone who notices that you're not biologically female probably doesn't even care. Well, excepting that one old crone. She's just jealous. She couldn't get a guy to fuck her if she paid him."
This was all very enlightening, but the trip had made me realize just how confused I still was in my own head about dressing up, specifically about all of the unspoken rules that defined when and where being a girl was even permissible. "It's weird, mom. I got pretty comfortable crossdressing at the mall, and I can be as much of a sissy as I want to be at parties. Even with kids who know me well and see me every day. But we'd all feel impossibly awkward if I wore girls' clothes to school, even me. Why is that?"
"You were way across town today and completely anonymous. It's lots more complicated to explain why you can be a sissy cocksucker at parties but feel you're stuck being a boy at school."
"To begin with, sucking cock at school really isn't a good idea for either boys or girls." Yes, mother. "Although I will admit to doing it sometimes." I kept quiet about the coaches. "You're supposed to be learning, or at least learning about other things."
"But that doesn't explain why crossdressing is taboo. You could be wearing exactly the same outfit as the girl sitting next to you and it would still be unacceptable. And it's not that everyone knows you're a cocksucker. Plenty of girls are sucking and fucking, too, even if they aren't such total sluts about it. You wouldn't be any more of a distraction to boys who are already thinking about sex all the time, anyway."
"If you started wearing dresses to school you'd be claiming that there's absolutely nothing wrong with being a sissy. You'd be politely asserting you should have a basic right to simply dress and behave the way you are. But crossdressing—" mom giggled "—is somehow seen as an existential threat to society. Institutions want us to act as if civilization would collapse overnight if that sort of thing was allowed."
"We're all still expected to pretend that sex is only meant for male-female couples making babies and raising families. Or at least for stable, monogamous relationships that last until the end of time. All the rest of it is relegated to the shadows, like men fucking babysitters and getting sucked off by teen sissies at discrete parties that inexplicably still go on. It's all OK just as long as long as nobody admits to it—maybe even better that way, since we're all sampling forbidden fruit."
"Things wouldn't be arranged so strangely unless it actually worked to some extent. Most guys really do get a reasonable blowjob now and then. And sissies like you get to have your fun and humiliation in a fairly safe space, without being publicly shunned or ostracized. You just need to observe the unspoken limits about not dressing or acting en femme in the wrong place or at the wrong time. Keep on coloring within the lines. Otherwise, people will be shocked, shocked to learn that cock sucking is going on in this establishment. And you'll naturally be the scapegoat who has to pay."
Whatever you say, mom. What genius thought this whole thing up? Why do we insist on retaining a nearly impossible and semi-arbitrary morality from thousands of years ago, and then play all these stupid games because none of us can possibly obey it? Why is it so important to act as if our logical minds always had our sex drives entirely under control, instead of admitting that it's usually the other way around? Wouldn't it be a whole lot simpler if we could all just admit that cocksuckers like me were behaving exactly how fifty per cent of the human race wanted us to? Maybe closer to one hundred per cent, if mom's, Susan's and Barbara's attitudes were any indication of how most women felt about it.
Well, at least all of the boundaries I was expected to observe to keep up appearances weren't particularly narrow. All I had to do was to lead a double life, after all.
"It's not fair, mom. I'm expected to be two entirely different people at different times."
"It's so everyone else can have their own parallel lives, too, dear. That's the magic of hypocrisy."
"You just need to limit your sissy side to parties and restrooms. That's your natural habitat, where dressing up and sucking cock are fully acceptable for you. Men don't see you as anywhere near an equal, but you're still a very desirable little toy they like to play with just as much as they can. That gives you some say in the arrangements, even enough to expect a little consideration from them in return.
You don't exactly have veto power, since they're well aware how much you crave what they've got for you, too. I doubt they'd let you get away without swallowing, even if you wanted to. But they're more than willing to treat you fairly if you just keep on giving all of them decent head."
"Much of your leverage would disappear if you didn't care about being exposed or how you were treated. Or if you started letting men fuck you for drugs or money. They'll think they own you once you do things like that, even if it feels entirely consensual to you. You could end up in serious trouble."
Having men fucking me for money and acting like they owned me sounded like fun, actually. My clit was all for it, and I was shifting around on the seat hoping that mom wouldn't notice. I changed the subject.
"Does today mean I can start wearing skirts and dresses to parties? It would be a real waste only wearing them at home."
"Yes dear, you're definitely ready. You passed flawlessly today."
"Thanks! How about walking there in public?"
"Not right out our front door. Neighbors might talk if they saw you. Your dad or I will drive you to that little park two blocks from our house and you can walk the rest of the way from there. Coming back home later at night shouldn't be a problem."
We were silent for a minute. Who knew it would be so important that we parked our car in the garage?
One of mom's earlier comments was still weighing on me. "Why didn't you agree to sissify me when I was eight or nine if I was already acting like a little girl?"
"I was being way too cautious, obviously. I think we can both agree now that it would have been the right thing to do. I'll make it up to you. But I saw your situation once before and it turned out badly."
"It's time to tell you about my brother—I mean sister—that you've never met. My younger sibling, anyway, and definitely my sister now. She realized she was a girl in junior high, with needs and urges something like yours but much harder to manage. She really couldn't color within the lines. My parents didn't understand it and she ran away from home at around your age."
"Maybe that explains why I seem so conflicted sometimes and preach too much. I know how difficult things can get. You really need to take things one step at a time, Dawn."
Wow. This raised a whole new bunch of questions for me that couldn't be avoided forever.
"How's she doing?" I tried to act casual about it.
"Can't say, really. She's still so angry at us that we don't talk or get together anymore. She finally wrote me a few years back. Said she'd gotten pretty close with a somewhat older man and had started a new job as a hairdresser. Said her name was Roseanne now."
[To be continued. Send comments to laceyfemme@yahoo.com, and please consider making a donation to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ .]