Christine IV: Shopping Trip

When I awoke, my first sensation was an awareness of at least a million birds singing outside the camper. It was just coming daylight, and had cooled considerably. My second sensation was of the silky sheer nightgown I was wearing. I ran my hands up and down my front. It was pure luxury! Then I remembered my wish. I checked myself. At first I didn’t feel anything because I was feeling through two layers of nightgown and one of panties. I was elated! But then I felt the small hardness that was my morning erection. It was quite restrained and held against my body, but it was still there. I think I would have started to cry I was so disappointed, but then I heard a soft cough outside the tent. I scrambled out of the sleeping bag, being careful not to wake Gail. It was my mom, sitting there alone in a lawn chair enjoying her first cup of coffee. “Hi, sweetie,” she said softly as I came stumbling across the grass to where she was. “You’re up early.”

“Hi, Mom,” I said as I crawled into her lap without giving it a thought.
“To what do I owe this honor?” she whispered as I snuggled into her and laid my head on her breast.
“Honor?” I questioned, “what honor?”
“Chris, you haven’t crawled up on my lap for two years. You told me you were too big for that.”
“I dunno, I just wanted to. You want me to get down?”
“Don’t you dare move! I love holding you.”

I lay in her arms for a long time, neither of us saying a word. Once again I was thinking... thinking of how absolutely luxurious it was to be the ripe old age of age of 8 and still cuddling in my mom’s arms. As a girl I could do this for years to come and get away with it; as a boy I was “too big.” It just wasn’t fair! Then I started talking before I even realized it. “Mom,” I said tentatively, “when... uhh... when a baby is born, how do they decide if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Why Chris, what on earth makes you ask a question like that?”
“I dunno, I was just wonderin.’ I mean, I’ve seen signs on lawns and such, sayin’ it’s a boy or it’s a girl, and I was just wondering how they knew that a tiny baby is one or the other.”

“Christopher,” she said after thinking for a moment.
“Christine,” I corrected. “Please, Mom, call me Christine when I’m dressed like this?”
“Ok, Christine,” she said as she hugged me. “You like that name, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You had a really good time last night, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh. It was so cool, dancing with Josh. He’s a real good dancer, an’ a good teacher too. He had me dancing right with him in no time.”
“So I noticed. In fact everyone in the campground noticed. You two were really good.”
“But... how do they know, Mom?”
“Know? Oh, you mean babies?”

I nodded.

Mom explained to me that when a baby is born they look at its “down there” to see if it has boy parts or girl parts, and that’s how they know. “You know there’s a difference, right Christine? I mean, you and Gail have bathed together and...”
“Of course I know!” I scolded. “I’m not a baby! But... I mean... what if they’re wrong? What happens then?”
“Wrong?” she questioned. “I don’t know what you mean, honey. If you have boy parts you’re a boy; if you don’t, you’re a girl.”
“But, what if they made a mistake? What if a girl is born with boy parts? How would they know?”

“Out of the mouths of babes...” Mom muttered.

“Huh?” I quizzed.
“Oh nothing, dear. I was just thinking of something Mrs. Reynolds said last night. We were talking about you and Josh and how well you two hit it off.”

“You told her, didn’t you mom?” I asked. I didn’t really want to hear the answer, but I already knew.
“Yes, dear, I did. We all got to be very good friends, and I didn’t think it was fair to them to let them think you’re a girl. It would just be too much of a shock if you suddenly appeared as a boy after being friends with them for two days.”

When I started to cry, my mom held me tighter than she’d ever held me. “It’s ok, honey,” she soothed. “Mrs Reynolds was very understanding. She said she would explain it to Josh and Amanda. She said she was sure they’d understand. And I also think we’ve solved your little dilemma. They’ve got a whole box of clothes Josh and Amanda have outgrown. They were going to take them to the Salvation Army, but they said you could go through them and take whatever you want. You don’t even have to dress like a girl today if you don’t want to. She’s sending the kids over with the box as soon as they’re up.”
“So I gotta stop being Christine?”
“I thought you’d want to. We’ll still have to go get you some new underwear, but aside from that, your clothing problem seems to be solved at least for the summer.”
“Can I look at the clothes first?” I said. I had to say something to delay what I was beginning to think of as a major calamity.
“Of course you can,” Mom replied. Then she added, “Just remember, Christine or Christopher, you’re still my miracle from Heaven. I love you!”

“What if...” I said hesitantly, “what if a girl was born with boy parts? Would they cut them off?”
“If they were sure,” Mom answered. “I’ve heard of boys being changed into girls. Sometimes babies are born with both girl and boy parts. In those cases they usually operate and take one set of parts out.”
“But I wasn’t born with both sets,” I argued. “I think I was born with the wrong set though. ”
“You think you’re a girl?”
“Uh-huh. It just feels so... I dunno, it just feels so natural being a girl. Things are just so much simpler. An’ the things I like are ok if I’m a girl. Things like reading and music and dancing, makin’ good grades in school, and... and I could keep my hair long and people would like it, not make fun of me.”

“That’s pretty obvious from yesterday. But being a girl isn’t always that simple either, honey. We have to sit down to go to the bathroom; we have all that makeup to put on; we’re always having to change clothes because we can’t wear dresses here, don’t wear pants there. We have more types of underwear, we have to wear a bras... on and on and on. It isn’t as simple once you start to grow up.”
“I’d do all those things gladly,” I said with determination. “If only I had the chance...”

Mom hugged me tight again. “Christopher,” she said so deliberately I didn’t say anything, “I... I think you’re just overwhelmed by all that’s happened to you. You’ve been pretty lonely for the past year or two haven’t you?”
“Yeah, kinda,” I replied. “I know Gail is my friend, but... all the boys at school think I’m weird. But when I’m a girl I act just the way all the other girls do, ‘cept maybe for my Matchbox cars.”
“Honey, Amanda and Josh are going to be our neighbors. And I think they’re the kind of kids that will accept you just the way you are. And remember Josh loves dancing too, and his mother says he’s a straight A student, and the other kids don’t make fun of him.”
“But Mom, I don’t play sports, an’ I don’t like fooling around the way other boys do, an’ I don’t like torturing animals...”
“Honey, you’re not the only boy like that. There are lots of boys who are gentle and tender hearted like you. In fact unless I miss my guess, I think Josh is one of them. I don’t think Josh would ever make fun of you.”
“Could be,” I answered. “I haven’t met any of ‘em, ‘cept maybe Josh. Most of the boys make fun of me, like the time I saw that baby bird fall out of the nest and die. When I started to cry the kids teased me about it for weeks. But the girls didn’t. They only said they were glad they didn’t see it, or they’d cry too. Mom, you and Dad have always told me I shouldn’t be afraid to cry. But when I cry in front of the other boys they just laugh at me and call me a sissy. What’s a sissy anyway, Mom?”

I could tell by the look on her face that I had her in a corner. She wasn’t going to answer, but I pressed and asked again. “Well,” she said as she seemed to be searching for words, “I guess a sissy is a boy who acts... well, like a... a...”
“A girl, right, Mom?”
“I... I guess so. At least that’s what most people think of when they think of a sissy.”
“So I’m a sissy. Would you rather tell your friends that your son is a sissy, or that your daughter cries when she sees baby birds die?”
“Honey, is doesn’t matter to me if you’re a sissy, or a jock, or a boy or girl or earthworm for that matter. I love you anyway.”
“I know, Mom. But you also tell me all the time that I should love myself. How can I love myself when I’m tryin’ to live like a boy when I know I’m not? Isn’t that lying?”

“At any rate,” Mom said, “I don’t think people are born with the wrong parts.”
“Why not?” I demanded. “Johnny told me he went to a circus once and saw a calf that was born with two heads. He said they told him in health class that there are all sorts of birth... uhhh... birth...”
“Defects?” mom helped me find the word.
“Yeah, birth defects. Johnny told me that sometimes people are born with extra fingers and toes, no arms, and sometimes two babies are even born stuck together. So if those kinda mistakes happen, why couldn’t someone be born with the wrong parts?”
“You’ve got me, sweetheart,” Mom said in exasperation. “I simply don’t know. We can look into it if you like, but in the meantime just go ahead and be Christine if you want to. If it makes you happy, then I don’t see any harm in it.”
“Does that mean I get to share some of Amanda’s old clothes? She dresses real nice except for those jeans.”
“I suppose so. But the key word here is SHARE.”

There were a million more questions I wanted to ask, but nature was calling urgently. I slid out of my mom’s lap and ran to the washroom. Would this be the last time I visited the girls’ washroom? Would this be the last time I had to sit down to pee? Suddenly I was very depressed. My head was swimming with questions; questions for which I knew there were no answers: Why did boys HAVE to play ball? Why was it ok for girls to play with dolls but not boys? Why couldn’t boys cry? Why was it ok for girls to wear dresses and pants but boys could only wear pants? Why did boys always have to act out and be so tough? Who made these rules anyway?

And most important of all, why was it that Josh didn’t get all bent out of shape when he played with dolls? How come he’d been taking dancing lessons for two years and wasn’t the least embarrassed about it? How come Josh liked me so much but all the other boys I knew couldn’t stand me? Was it just because I was a girl? Would he hate me when he saw me in jeans? Or was he maybe like me? Was Josh born with the wrong parts too? Nahh! That was silly! Even an eight year old like me could tell that Josh was perfectly happy with himself and what he was. He just had a self confidence I could only dream about.

Gail and I sat at the picnic table in our night gowns and ate breakfast. While we were eating Mom got called down to the front administration building. By the time she got back we were finished our breakfast and were dressed. Gail had chosen a blue skirt and white knit top for me. The skirt was full but rather on the short side, with gathered ruffles around the hem. I particularly liked the top. It was too short (on purpose) so that my mid section showed. There were red and blue flowers embroidered around the square neck, and it was sleeveless, almost like a tank top but very feminine. She was wearing a turquoise sun dress that I thought was really cute on her.

As I was getting dressed, it suddenly occurred to me that I was learning a whole new vocabulary. Words like hem, gathered, full skirt; embroidery, seersucker, smocking; puff sleeves, neckline, panties, slip, petticoat. These and hundreds more were words I’d heard before, but never paid much attention. All of a sudden they were all important to me. I was also beginning to realize that I’d never really seen Gail before. I had never stopped to think that she never wore pants, hardly ever wore shorts, and when she did they were always a light cotton print, or a bright pastel color, always very girlish. I knew she always looked great, but I’d had no real awareness of anything other than that simple fact. I mentioned my observation to her, and her answer was so simple it made my head spin. “I’m a girl,” she said quite firmly. “I love being a girl. So why in the world would I wear pants and look like a boy?”

“Can I see you for a moment, Christine?” my mom called as she got back from her phone call.
“Sure, Mom,” I answered. “Just give me a minute to get these sandals on.” Gail had suggested that I wear a pair of white sandals with no socks. Since it was already getting really hot, I thought it was a good idea. Besides, I liked the look of those sandals and I still felt a little guilty, wearing Gail’s brand new sneakers before she’d even worn them herself. Another girl’s trait, I suppose.
“Now, Christine!” Mom said sternly.

“That was your dad on the phone,” she told me when we were seated in the car.
“But, I thought he wasn’t gonna call until tomorrow?” I questioned.
“He was worried about us so he called today to check on us,” she explained. “I told him about your... that you’re wearing Gail’s clothes. He was pretty upset. He told me there was no way I should make you wear her clothes all day today. He wants me to take you into town right away and get you some underwear and other clothes.”
“Dad... Dad’s mad at me?” I said with concern. There was nothing, absolutely NOTHING more important to me than my father’s approval. In my eyes he could do no wrong, was the perfect man. He was smart and good looking and knew everything. Or so I’d always believed..

“Not you, honey, me,” Mom corrected. “Your dad’s mad at me. He said I had no right to humiliate you like that.”
“But... didn’t you explain to him that I don’t mind? Didn’t you tell him that I kinda like being a girl?”
“I told him, but he said I should give you an option. I guess I sorta agree with him in a way. So we’re going into town right away, ok?”

For the second time in as many days, my world was crumbling. I was so looking forward to one more day as a girl, but now that seemed to be coming to a crashing finale, long before I was ready. “I guess it’s ok,” I said slowly just as Amanda and Josh arrived, each carrying a gigantic box. At that moment I hated Josh worse than death. Why did he have to outgrow his clothes anyway? Why couldn’t he just wear them until they were no good to anyone, like I always did? And now there was a huge box of boys’ clothes for me to choose from. Yippee!

I looked for signs of disdain or disapproval from Josh, but there were none. Evidently his mother hadn’t told him about the weird little boy he’d danced with last night, because he had only smiles and nice things to say for me. Wait’ll he found out. Not only had he danced all evening with a boy dressed up as a girl, but now that boy was going to be wearing his clothes. I wanted to die!

As I put Gail’s sandals on, Mom explained to all the others where we were going, and then we were in the car heading for my doom... or in other words, town. I didn’t say anything as we drove. Mom made comments about how hot it was, pointed out a newly born foal, and just generally made conversation. I only answered her in grunts. I was afraid to speak for fear I would burst into tears, so I busied myself brushing out my hair and putting it in a pony tail, something Gail had taught me yesterday. I didn’t get it right, but not too bad for the first time. When we got to a Target store Mom parked the car, then helped me fix the pony tail and we went inside.

“These look like they should fit you,” Mom said as she held up a pair of pure white briefs.
“Yuck!” I exclaimed. “They’re gross, Mom.”
“I quite agree,” Mom said with a grin. “I wouldn’t wear them either. Would you rather boxer shorts, like your dad wears? Or maybe some colored briefs? I noticed some with Batman on them over there.”
“ICK!” I said haughtily.
“Chris,” she said patiently, “you’ve got to help me here. I’m trying to do as your dad says and get you into some boys’ clothes. He assured me that once you got the chance you’d be glad to get back into clothes you’re more familiar with.”
“Well, Dad was wrong,” I said defiantly. “You can buy them if you want, but I’m not gonna wear them, ever again. I hate them!”

“I suppose I’ll get the same answer when we check out the jeans?” Mom questioned.
“Uh-huh. They’re all gross.”
“Shorts?”
“Yup.”

“Then why are we here?” Mom questioned.
“You drove the car, not me. But since we’re here I do need some underwear, Mom,” I said as I felt a tear burning its way down my cheek. I was trying valiantly not to cry, but it wasn’t working. In less time than it takes to tell, I was overcome with a flood of tears that surprised even me. “I don’t ever want to be a boy again, Mom. Not ever!” I wailed.

“Ok, Chris,” she said. “Your dad’s gonna kill the both of us, but lead the way.”
“Really?” I said excitedly. I was so excited I didn’t even stop to correct her calling me “Chris.” When she nodded I jumped up and hugged her neck and smothered her with kisses.

“On one condition,” she said as she tried desperately to regain control. “We’ve got to buy you at least one pair of boys’ underwear, and perhaps some socks and a pair of shorts. I’ll explain later, ok?” I agreed readily. I already knew what they were for. They were for me to wear when my dad came to visit, and I could live with that; or at least I thought I could.

For the next hour and a half I was like a kid in a candy store. I flitted about from one counter to another, picking up first one package and then another. Ok, I just learned another difference between girls and boys: Boys were supposed to be totally embarrassed when shopping for underwear and usually are; girls, on the other hand, got a real thrill from the exact same process. Mom and I discussed this and that color, one and another style; we talked about what went with what, which colors and styles were best under skirts or dresses, and... and yes, we even discussed openly my special needs: Which panties would be best to hide the boy parts I wasn’t supposed to have.

By the time we left the store, I had over a dozen pairs of panties, as many pair of socks. I had five new sun dresses that were on sale, all with very full skirts. I had two white lace petticoats and two adorable dress-up dresses for church. One was white cotton with a real abundance of lace trim; the other was a blue satin with a sheer layer over the full skirt and a sewn-in petticoat, very open neck and puff sleeves. The waist had a very wide band of white lace trim over a satin ribbon that tied in a big bow in the back. It had to be the most beautiful dress I’d ever laid eyes on, and it was mine. It wasn’t borrowed, it wasn’t a hand-me-down, it was brand new, and it was M-I-N-E! There were six knit tops, all various pastel colors, and all very feminine. I could wear them by themselves over a skirt or shorts, or with the sun dresses on cooler days. I was totally astonished at all the varieties and styles of clothes available.

Mom bought me some other things that I didn’t particularly need, such as three pair of tights: two were white and one flesh colored panty-hose. She explained that she wanted me to experience all there was to being a girl, just so that I would understand that it wasn’t all as glamorous as I seemed to believe. Unfortunately she was sadly mistaken, because I was having the total time of my life, trying all this stuff on. I totally lost count of how many dresses and skirts I tried on, but the highlight had to be when I tried on my blue dress. Mom had me put on one of the petticoats and a pair of the white tights, just to make sure they all went together all right. Then she allowed me to wear the whole outfit over to the shoe department so I could get a pair of white shoes, with just the hint of a heel. I was getting comments from all the sales people and even some of the customers at what a beautiful little girl I was. The sales clerk at the shoe department had Mom take my hair out of the pony tail and let it down, commenting that hair as beautiful as mine should always be worn down and full. Talk about being queen for a day!

I had two new pair of sneakers, and two pair of sandals. I had three of the most feminine night dresses I could find in the store. I was heading for the shorts and pants to see what they had to offer when my mom reminded me that there was a whole box of clothes waiting for me back at the campground. “And besides,” she said, “there’s all those old clothes of Josh’s. What’re we gonna do with them?”
“Burn ‘em,” I said in my elation. I was totally happy.

She got me some hair bands and ribbons, and I think I made her really happy when I said I’d like to try my hair in pigtails, so she got me some elastic ties to hold the ends firmly. In fact I think Mom was enjoying this spree more than I was, and that was a lot.

Oh yes, I almost forgot: A bright green, Speedo girl’s bathing suit. Mom had me try that on too. She instructed me to keep my panties on, and gave me some tissues to help disguise the parts I wasn’t supposed to have. I loved it! Now I could go swimming and be proud of my looks instead of ashamed of my body. As I was coming out of the dressing room after taking the suit off, Mom suddenly said “I’ve got an idea. Let’s pay for these things and get out of here. We have another stop to make.”
“Another stop?” I questioned.
“Yes, dear. Today you’re going to learn one more of the many complications of being female.”

After we were back in the car, Mom drove to a large drugstore and parked the car. She took me inside and bought a variety of something called “sanitary napkins” and little packages of belts to go with them. “What in the world are they for?” I questioned.
“You’ll find out,” she replied. She drove me back to the Target store, explaining as we went all about the monthly periods girls and women have. That, she explained, necessitated the wearing of these napkins for a week or so every month to catch the discharge. “You’ll never have that problem,” she said, “because you don’t have a uterus. But I think I’ve figured out another use for them.” She took me inside, having brought with her some things out of the boxes she’d bought. She asked the clerk if I could try on some more bathing suits, and of course the clerk said yes. She selected several different suits, held them up to me to check for approximate size, then led me to the dressing rooms.

“Take everything off,” she instructed.
“Everything? Even my...”
“Everything!”
“But Mom,” I protested.
“You’d better get used to it,” she said with a kind smile. “It seems we girls are always having to strip for one thing or another. We always have to strip for doctors and nurses, and sometimes it seems everyone wants to shove their whole arm up inside us to check for one thing or another. Another little benefit of being a girl.”

Once I was naked she took one of the napkins and clipped it to one of the belts she’d bought, then instructed me to put it on. It was sort of a cross between a pair of bikini briefs and a miniature diaper, which Mom said with a grin is really what it is. As I pulled it into place, Mom grabbed my boy parts without apology or hesitation and arranged them inside the soft thick part of the pad after making an indentation in the padding. She pulled the pad up extra tight. “There,” she said. “Now put on your panties and then try on this suit.” I was absolutely humiliated as I felt myself getting hard as a rock. But when I pulled the Speedo into place and looked in the mirror, wee-wee still standing at full attention, there was no sign of it. It was like magic! The bulk of the pad made a slight bulge in the crotch, which Mom assured me was not all that unusual, but there was no wee-wee, no balls. It was as if those ugly parts had vanished.

We tried another type, with the same result. Then she tried a different style. This one simply stuck to the inside of my panties. It worked too, but I told Mom with a red face that I preferred the belted ones because I could feel the pad going up the crack of my butt and that way I knew it was still in place. “I know what you mean,” she agreed, “but sometimes you might be wearing something that allows the belt to show, and that’s not very pretty. And believe me, the stick-on kind is pretty secure.”

As a reward for being her “little trooper” and submitting to the humiliation of her handling my privates, even allowing her to manipulate my wee-wee once to get it hard, I got a second bathing suit. This time I chose a brilliantly colored two piece one with a rather brief bottom. I loved the way my belly button showed, and Mom said that it really accentuated my girlish figure.

Girlish figure?

Well, that’s what she said. As we drove home, Mom explained some more that it was quite unusual for a girl as young as 8 to be having monthly periods, but not impossible. “Now,” she said, “if you should happen to get caught with padding down there, you can just explain truthfully what it is. No one will question it, but they will just assume you’ve started your periods early.” Well, I had wished my genitals out of existence last night. The wish hadn’t come true, exactly, but now I had a way to make them disappear for a while.

To Be Continued...