Modern Bride
by Czolgolz
copyright 2000


For the longest time I blamed Lori for what had happened.  It seemed easy to lay the guilt on her doorstep.  It had been her problem after all, I just was trying to help.  But after it was over, I realized that I was the one to blame, if you could call it that.  I could have called it all off at any time I wanted to.  It’s just that I didn’t.

It started my senior year of high school, round Easter.   Ken Woolsey, class of ’99, that was me.  I was gearing up for graduation, applying to colleges, doing the usual senior pranks.  If you had told me at the time, I never would have believed how differently my life was going to turn out from the way I had planned.  

I remember the day the whole thing started.  I was still living with my mother at the time (my father was never part of my life, nor is he part of this story).  I came home from school to find my sister, Lori, waiting for me.

“Hey sis,” I said as I pecked her on the cheek.  “What brings you by?”

“What, can’t a girl visit her family?”  She smiled.  At twenty-two she was a few years older than me.  Despite the age difference, we were rather close.  She had moved out a few years ago and it was always nice to see her.

“Just that you don’t come by too often.  I was wondering what the occasion was,” I said as I began to fix myself a snack.

“Well, I’ve got a bit of exciting news.”

“I’m all ears,” I replied with my mouth full.

“The Tri-state bridal show is coming to town in a few weeks!”

“Gosh, that’s wonderful,” I said, not bothering to mask my lack of enthusiasm.

“No, you don’t understand.  It’s a huge trade show.  And I’m going to get to display three of my gowns there!”

That was actually big news.  For years my sister had been trying to break into the fashion industry.  I supposed working in the fashion industry was a lot like being a musician or a writer: thousands of rejections before you got the big break.  My sister had never had a success like this before.  If it worked out for her there, it might be the jump-start her career needed.

“Congratulations,” I said, more excited this time.  “Don’t forget us when you’re a millionaire industry leader.”

Lori laughed, nervously.  “God, if only.  Breaks like this come along maybe once every five years.  If the customers are interested in my gowns then maybe one of the big companies will take me on as a designer.  God, I hope I’ve picked the right gowns.”

“Well, why do you have to use just three?  I know you’ve designed about a dozen, I’m sure there’d be room for a couple more.”

“It doesn’t work like that.  The gowns will be modeled by women.  I’m only allotted three trips down the runway, there isn’t time for more.”

“Ah.  So who’s going to be modeling your gowns?  Elle MacPherson?  Cindy Crawford?”  

“Ha, ha.  No, I actually can’t afford to pay anyone to model.”

“So you got a friend to do it?”  I asked, hoping that maybe she’d introduce us.

“Well, actually I’ll be modeling my own work.  It’s unusual, but I couldn’t find anyone willing to sit through all the fittings and measurements for no pay.”

“Well, I couldn’t imagine a prettier bride,” I told her.  This wasn’t a mindless, brotherly comment, either.  Lori was a lovely woman.  I guess you’d describe her as statuesque:  just under six feet tall, muscular (though not grossly so), with short black hair, long legs, and a pretty face.  We bore a striking resemblance to each other.  I think if we had been closer in age we could have passed for twins.

“You’ll come, of course?”  asked Lori.

The thrill of going to a bridal show was lost on me, but I knew it would mean a lot to my sister so I assented.

Mom came home and soon the girls were deep in conversation about the upcoming convention.  Their fashion talk soon lost me and I retreated to my room.

*

Two weeks later I had one of the worst experiences of my life.  I was sitting in my science class when the principal hurried in.  He searched the rows until he had located me, and motioned for me to join him in the hall.  This is a scary enough experience for a high school student, but he didn’t look angry.  He looked upset and worried, which was even more disturbing than if he had been about to punish me.

“Your sister has been in a car accident,”  he told me flatly.

“How is she?”  I blurted, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know.  Your mother just called from the hospital.  I’ll drive you.”
*
‘She’ll be okay.  She’ll be okay.  Probably just a couple of stitches.  Hell, they make anyone in a car accident go to the hospital, she’s probably just being held for observation.  Her car probably is beat up and they wanted mom to drive her home.’  I told myself this on the hellish ride to the hospital.  Of course, it was hard to convince myself.  If there was no problem, then Mom would have said so on the phone.  If Lori wasn’t hurt then they probably wouldn’t have called me at school.

I nearly football tackled the duty nurse in an effort to find out where my sister was.  “Room 701,” she replied, calmly.  “And don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

I began to breathe easier.  That was a hell of a scare, and if it’s never happened to you, then you’re lucky.  I burst into the room to find Mom kneeling next to Lori’s bed.  I rushed over.

Lori was fine in the sense that she would suffer no permanent damage from the accident.  But she was hurt.  Both of her legs were plastered up to the thighs, and elevated on slings.  Her face was badly bruised and one of her eyes was swollen shut.  Later I found out she had been speeding a bit, hit a wet spot, and lost control of her car.

I tried to put on a brave face.  “Well young lady, you gave us quite…” I then broke down sobbing for the first time since I was about seven.  I couldn’t help it.  My crying set off Mom and Lori and we hugged each other.  Finally, we regained control.

“Why did this have to happen?  Why the hell did this have to happen?”  moaned Lori, inconsolable.  

“Shhh, honey,”  said Mom.  “It’s okay.  There’ll be no scarring, and you’ll be out of here in about a week.  The casts come off in a month…”

“No, you don’t get it.  The bridal show!  It’s in less than a month!”

“Well, you can still go,”  I stupidly pointed out.

Lori sobbed again.  “I can go, but I can’t model.”

“Why not?”  I insisted, demonstrating my utter ignorance about such things.  “You’ll still be able to walk on crutches or use a wheelchair.”

I could tell Lori was getting angry, but it passed.  “I guess you wouldn’t understand.  Look, the people at the convention will be planning the happiest day of their lives.  They’ll have nothing on their minds but how perfect they want their day to be, and how they would look in the gowns.  I won’t be able to do anything but limp along, and my face will still be a giant bruise.  If a bride to be looked at me she’d think of how hideous I looked, and that is not a mental image I want them to have.”

“There has got to be a way!”  I shouted.  I hated to see my sister so upset, on the heels of a leg-crushing, Buick-totaling accident.  “Hey, how expensive could a model be?  Really?  We can pool our funds and afford it.  We’ll just call an agency and tell them what we need.  I’m sure we can find a college girl who’d work for a couple hundred…”

Lori shook her head.  “Thank you Ken.  I know you want to help.  But in the fashion industry, you design the gown with the model in mind.  Skin color, hair color, body shape, height, weight, you get the picture.  Remember all the measurements you had to get for your tux at the dance last year?  Well this is about a thousand times worse, and there’s no time for me to do any alterations.  Unless you could find a six-foot tall girl with pale skin, a muscular build, black hair, and long legs, I’m sunk.”

I’d never seen her that sad.  A nurse came in and told us we should let Lori get some rest.  Mom and I retreated to the cafeteria.

“Ken, I want you to think,” said Mom when we sat down.  “This is for your sister.  Can you think of anyone you know who looks like your sister?  A friend, a classmate, a teacher, anyone?  It would kill your sister if she had to cancel now.  She’s been building up to this moment for as long as I can remember.”

I wracked my brains.  No one came to mind.  Few women were close to being tall enough.  The few tall girls I could think of were either heavyset, very skinny, or otherwise had the wrong body type.  Even with what little I knew about modeling, I was aware that altering the dresses was much more involved than lengthening a pair of pants.  There wouldn’t be time to do the necessary work that would be required to make the dresses suit them.

“I’m drawing a blank.  Do you know anyone?”  Mom shook her head.  “Well, I guess we can call some modeling agencies tomorrow, though I don’t have much hope.  God, don’t we know anyone about six foot, pale skin, dark hair…”  Mom stopped short.  It seemed she was staring at me, but I guessed she was just thinking.  

“What, did you think of someone?”  I asked hopefully.

“Maybe.  I want to ask your sister something.”  She left quickly, and wouldn’t say anything else about the subject that afternoon.

*
That night, after we had bid Lori goodbye, we sat at home picking at the frozen pizza we were having for dinner.  We were relieved that Lori had survived the accident okay, but depressed because Lori was about to miss her big opportunity.  Finally, Mom asked me if she could ask a serious question.

“Ken, I’ve been thinking about this all day.  I want to ask you something, and I hope it won’t make you angry.”

“You can ask me anything, Mom,”  I replied, a tad nervous.  Why would I be angry?

“You know what a big day the convention was supposed to be for Lori, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I think, with your help, she can still display her gowns.”

“You know I’d do anything to help, Mom.”

“You may not want to do this, Ken.  Forgive me for what I’m about to ask you to do, but at the same time, think about it.”

“Mom, why are you getting so weird?  Out with it!”

“Ken, I think you should model your sister’s gowns for her.”

I was about to get angry at her for joking about something so serious.  But then I realized that she was not trying to be funny.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just listen.  Five minutes.”  That was kind of an unwritten rule in our family.  Whenever any of us got into an argument, we’d ask for five minutes to state our side, without interruption.  Not always easy, but it saved a lot of yelling and hollering back and forth.  I fell silent, preparing my myriad of reasons why I wouldn’t participate in this insane plan.

“Ken, it struck me at the hospital today.  You fit the body type!  You’re tall, you’re kind of muscular, especially if you were a female.  You have dark hair and look a lot like your sister.  If you let me fix you up, with makeup, a new hairstyle, and padding, you could pass for a girl.  You go to the convention, walk down a runway three times, and then leave.  It could save your sister’s career, and no one would have to know.”

“Yeah, except for the thousands of people at the convention.”

“Do a lot of your friends go to bridal shows?”

“Well, no.  Of course not.”

“No one you know will be there, Ken.  No one will know you are a guy.  Only us, and we’d be there to help you out.  We’d never mention it again afterwards.”

“I refuse.  I’m not a girl, Mom.”

“Ken, sleep on it, okay?  I know what it sounds like now, but at least think about it.  Could you do that for me?”

“I suppose.”

*

That night I lay awake, thinking about my mother’s ridiculous plan.  Model my sister’s gowns indeed!  What the hell was she thinking?  I loved my sister, but did she honestly think that her teenage son would put on a gown and model it in front of hundreds of people?  I mean, I wouldn’t just have to dress like a woman, I’d have to dress like a friggin’ bride!  There was no article of clothing more feminine than a bridal gown, except maybe the string bikini.  Well forget it.  I had my pride, and that was just a little too humiliating.  Lori would have to make do somehow.

I thought of Lori.  It was odd, really.  Almost no one ever winds up choosing the same career they wanted when they were five (I wanted to be Mr. T), but not Lori.  For as long as I could remember, fashion was in her blood.  She’d design little outfits for her Barbies, draw dresses in art class, and spend every spare cent on fashion magazines.  After she got out of high school, she worked nights as a waitress to afford to go to the top of the line design school.  She’d stay up half the night working on some new outfit that she had created.  Her fingers were constantly bandaged, due to the repeated pokes with the needle.

While she could create just about any item of women’s clothing she put her mind to, it was in the field of wedding dresses that she shone.  Even with my lack of understanding of such things I could tell that her gowns were something else.  But to actually wear one?

The industry was cruel.  Month after month she would try to get an interview with some major clothes company.  Month after month she was given the run around.  On occasion she would be granted an interview with some low-level executive, but nothing ever came of it.  

I thought of this bridal convention thing.  Every engaged woman in the area would be there.  What if a bunch of them approached her wanting her to design gowns for their weddings?  What if Lori’s dresses caught the eyes of some of the industry representatives there?  Could this be the big break she was looking for?  Couldn’t this make her dreams come true?

My sister had always been there for me.  She drove me around before I got my license, helped me with my homework, gave me advice about women… but this was different.  It’s not like she ever had to pretend to be a man for me!  Then again, it wasn’t like I ever had a career opportunity hanging in the balance, either.

Was I being just a little short-sighted?  Mom was right, it’s not like anyone would see me up close, especially not anyone I knew.  I loved my sister and I knew this would be a gift to her she’d never forget, even better than the humorous fake severed arm I had given her for her last birthday.

But then, even supposing I did do the honorable thing, would it really work?  I mean, if I anyone realized I was a guy it wouldn’t be merely embarrassing for me (and embarrassing it would be) but it could get her blackballed from the bridal circuit.  If word got out that her gowns were being modeled by a man, then she’d wish that she had modeled them herself, casts or no.  I’d need more convincing if I were to do this thing.

*

The next morning I approached Mom about her idea.  “I guess maybe I could possibly think about doing this.  I know what it would mean to Lori.  But, well, do you really think we could pull it off?  I mean look at this.”  I held up a bridal magazine that Lori had left in the bathroom and pointed to the cover model.  “This woman is gorgeous!  Maybe I’m no Mr. Universe, but I’d like to think that I’d look a bit silly in a wedding dress!”

Mom nodded.  “Ken, of course you are right.  If you threw on a dress right now you’d look ridiculous.  But I think, with padding, tons of makeup, a some lessons on feminine deportment, you could pass for a woman.  No one would expect you to look like the cover girl there, all we’d need if for you to look like a woman.  You’re skinny enough, no beard, and your jaw isn’t too prominent.  Your trips down the runway would be less than a minute each, and after that we’d forget this ever happened.”

“Hmmm.  Maybe it’s just the male programming in me, but I’m still having my doubts.”

“Listen, honey.  Lori left some clothes here the other day.  Maybe if you tried them on…”

“What, you think I’d feel more comfortable?”  I barked, fearing she was mocking my manhood.

“No, no one expects that.  I was thinking that if you saw yourself in women’s clothes, with padding, makeup and all, you’d realize that under the lights you could pass yourself off as a woman.”

I was dubious.  “C’mon,” said Mom.  “It’ll only take a couple of hours.  If you aren’t convinced, then just change back and we’ll pretend it never happened.”

I sighed.  “I’m agreeing to nothing, you understand?  I just want to see whether this is at all possible.  If it is, I’ll decide then, not now.”

A few minutes later I stood naked and alone under the harsh bathroom lights.  Was I really about to do this?  Let my mom, my own mother, doll me up like a girl?  Well, what’s the worst that could happen, I thought, as memories of Anthony Perkins dressing as his mother and knifing tourists flashed through my mind.

I looked down at my naked body.  Points against me passing as a woman:  my height (though that was actually a blessing in this case), my slightly muscular frame, and my penis.  Points for:  I wasn’t too hairy, or too big, and my voice wasn’t too terribly deep.

Mom knocked on the door and tossed in a pair of dark panty hose.  “Put them on like socks, not pants,” she told me through the door.  “They’re dark, they’ll cover your leg hair.”

I yanked them on, wondering how women managed to wear these things every day.  Finally I got them on more or less correctly.  I bulged out in the front, the hose designer obviously didn’t have individuals with penises in mind.  Still, my leg hair was covered, and I guessed there wasn’t anything too obviously masculine about my legs from the thighs down.

“Are you doing okay?” called my mother.

“Yeah, it’s kind of odd to be wearing these things on my legs instead of over my face.”

“Mr. Funny Guy.  Do they feel okay?”

“Kind of weird, you know?  Tighter than pants, tighter than socks.  So close to the skin.  But soft too.”

“Wait till you get used to them.  You’ll get sick of they way they are constantly getting torn soon enough.”  

“Whoa, I’m not ‘getting used’ to anything.  So far as you know this will be a one-time thing.”

“Yeah, I know.  I didn’t mean anything by it.  Here, try this on.”

She passed in a gray, full-length, pleated skirt.  It zipped up in the back, I slipped it on.  In all my eighteen years I had never put on a skirt, even for fun.  It was an odd sensation;  I think that if my legs hadn’t already been wrapped in panty hose I would have felt like I was standing there with nothing on.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  Well, the skirt covered up my legs, so I was alright there.  I knew that a wedding dress would be full near the bottom with only the bride’s shoes visible.  So I was okay downstairs, I supposed.  But above the waist was another matter.  I had seen a few of Lori’s gowns before and I knew that most of them hugged a woman’s figure.  I certainly didn’t have the curves required to slip into something like that.  I began to feel a little relieved.  If I looked silly enough, maybe Mom would forget about this crazy plan.

As usual, Mom had thought ahead.  She passed me something through the door.  “Slip this on.”

It looked like a corset, only smaller.  It wrapped about my stomach and closed in the back with hooks and eyes.  

“Mom, what the hell is this?”

“Don’t worry about it, just put it on.”

“Don’t worry about it?  Is this a corset?  Where did you get it?”

“I ordered it off TV, okay?”  said Mom, embarrassed.  “It, uh, can help hide a woman’s stomach.”  I smiled.  Mom was fighting the middle-aged woman’s battle against cellulite.  “Just put it on, it’ll make it look like you have curves.”

“Lucky me.”

“Be sure it’s on its tightest setting.”

I yanked and pulled, took a deep breath, and groaned.  After about ten minutes I had it cinched at its second-smallest size.  I figured that was the best I could do.

“How are you doing?”  called my mom.

“I can taste my kidneys.”

“I’m sorry honey, but it’s the only way you’ll fit into that bridal gown.  Remember, if you do this, it’ll only be for a few hours.”

“Yeah, who needs to breathe?”  In my reflection I looked like a boy in a skirt and corset.  Maybe I’d look less stupid when I put on some kind of top.  

Mom passed me what I’d be wearing.  It was a blouse, a white one.  It was poofy and trimmed with lace.  I looked at it dubiously.  “Well, here goes nothing.”

“No, wait,” said Mom.  “We have to give you boobs first.  Can I come in?”

“Sure.”  Mom suppressed a grin when she saw how I looked.  “Was this my idea?”  I asked, defensively.

“I know.  Sorry.”

“So what now?”

“We have to give you breasts.”

“Great.  How?”

“Turn around.”  I knew what was coming, even though I hoped it was wrong.  My slipped my arms through the straps of a bra and closed it in the back.  It felt very tight and looked quite stupid.

“Mom, I don’t exactly fill this thing out.”

Mom rolled up a couple of washcloths and stuffed them in the cups.  They stuck out stupidly, like a couple of falsies on one of the ‘Kids in the Hall’ actors.  “Do you honestly think Lori would look worse than this?”

“Wait till we’re finished.  How you holding up?”  

“Cold and uncomfortable.  And I’d be humiliated as well, if I thought anyone else would know about what I’m doing.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No one will know what I’m doing, right?”

“Honey, I swear I wouldn’t tell anyone.  I know this isn’t your idea of a fun afternoon.  If you agree to go to the show we’ll tell your sister, no one else.”

“You know I’m only doing this for Lori.  Only because this is her big chance.”  Even though Mom hadn’t implied anything, I felt I had to justify what I was doing.

“Honey, I’m sure Lori will never forget this.”

“Yeah, well, I’d just as soon she did forget.”

Mom had helped me into the blouse and buttoned it up in the front.  I looked in the mirror.  The change was disconcerting.  While I was shirtless, the corset and bra lucked just plain dumb.  Now, they simulated the curves and chest of a young woman.  It appeared that I had an hourglass figure and an ample chest.  I knew I couldn’t survive in an outfit that showed off too much flesh, but with the long shirt and long sleeved blouse it seemed I had the body of a woman.  Wedding dresses didn’t show much flesh, and I knew that if my Mom could fix up my face well enough, then I’d have to excuse other than my own fears to duck out of going to the bridal show.  

“There you go.  Looking better already.  You’d never be able to do this on a daily basis, but I really think no one would notice if you tried it for a few hours.”   Mom was trying to convince me to help my sister, that was for sure.  But by saying I could never pass on a daily basis, she was telling me I wouldn’t be less of a man.  I shrugged.

Mom took out a brush and spritzed up my short dark hair into something a little more, if not feminine, then neater.  It was kind of an androgynous do.  Mom didn’t seem happy with it.  “There’s only so much I can do with hair this short.  If you agree to do this, your sister will have to help you out.”

She then took me to the well-lit kitchen and began on my makeup.  Draping a towel over my shoulders, she instructed me to ‘just relax.’  I wondered how well she’d relax if someone were trying to make her look like a man.

First came the foundation.  It was freezing, and I felt like my face was caked with mud.  I kept having to keep myself from touching it, it felt so goopy and gross.  Then, gently and carefully, Mom reddened my cheeks with a hint of rouge.  “The blushing bride,” she giggled.

“I’m warning you, Mom…”

“Lighten up, Ken.  I’m not trying to humiliate you or make you feel like a sissy.  We both know you’re doing this so that you can maybe help out your sister.  Don’t be so defensive.”

She began to apply the eyeliner.  That took forever, I kept getting the impression she was about to jam the makeup pencil in my eye.  Finally, she finished.  Then she took out a mascara brush and lengthened my eyelashes.  It felt disgusting, like I had crusty eye boogers in my lashes.  Lastly, she took out a red lipstick and colored my lips.  “Finished!” she said happily.

I groped for the mirror, but she stopped me.  She refused to let me look until she had taken care of everything.  ‘Everything’ unfortunately, included a manicure.  I initially balked, but after she explained that the only after-effects would be well trimmed nails, I assented.  Soon my nails had been filed, trimmed, polished, and painted pink.  Mom assured me the paint would come off quickly with a little alcohol.

Finally, she clipped a silver chain around my neck, a smaller one around my wrist, and two clip-on earrings on my lobes.  She then told me I could look in the mirror.

I won’t get into cliches like I didn’t recognize myself or that a stranger stared back at me.  I knew it was me; no amount of makeup can change one’s eyes or the shape of their nose.  But it was a very disturbing change, nonetheless.  

I remember once, fooling around on the internet, that I found a commercial photo morph site.  Most of the photos advertised were to create fantasy pictures, such as standing next to a celebrity, but there were a few gender change photos.  The owner of the site boasted that they could make you look like you would have, had you been born the opposite gender.  That was how I felt now.

It was my reflection, yet different.  All padding and corset thing gave me the impression of natural curves.  If I hadn’t known that it was my body, I’d have assumed that its owner had a flat tummy, a curvy frame, and an ample pair of breasts.  As for what was under the skirt, I didn’t even want to think about what people would assume was under there!

The face, however, was what really blew my mind.  It was my face, and yet it wasn’t.  It looked more like Lori’s.  Softer.  Well maintained.  Not rough, smooth.  The face of a teenage girl.  

I stared and stared into the mirror, observing myself from all sides.  I didn’t like it, not one bit.  I knew that with a more careful makeup job, a new hair style, and a little practice, I could easily pass as a girl for a couple of hours.  Why the hell was my beard taking so long to come in?  Why didn’t I keep my new year’s resolution to bulk up?  Even my height, the one thing that should have made me look masculine, was working against me:  I had been chosen to replace Lori for that very reason.

“So what do you think?” asked Mom.

“I dunno…”

“Be honest.  It’s a heck of a disguise.  Do you honestly think anyone would recognize you?”

“Maybe not recognize me, but could anyone guess my true gender?”

“I doubt it.  You’ll need a lot of work before you go on…”

“Hang on now, I never agreed to anything.”

“Ken, look at yourself.  Tell me why you couldn’t dress like this for one afternoon.”

I looked.  I tried to relax, make myself look a little more normal.  Like I was just a teenage girl, about to do a favor for her sister.  ‘Calm down,’  I told myself.  ‘You are helping out your sister who is lying in a hospital bed right now.  You are about to do an honorable thing.  This will not make you less of a man.’  I thought back to the previous fall when I had a bit roll in the school’s production of ‘Music Man.’  Maybe if I just thought of this as an acting roll…

I stared at the feminized reflection.  I ventured a smile.  The girl in the mirror smiled back.  I wondered what I’d look like to a stranger.

“Have you talked to Lori about this?”

“Yes.  She said she’d only consent to it if you agreed totally.  She said she refused to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

That was my sister.  Always thinking of others first.

“Do you really think we could pull this off?  I’m going to be scared to death to attempt this.”

“You sister is the industry expert.  How about you go see her and see what she thinks?”

“How about not.”

“Well, why don’t I take a picture of  you, let her be the judge.”

“Okay, but we’ll have to burn it afterwards.”

“Great,” said Mom.  “Just a couple of more touches.”  She touched up my makeup, and then got out a pair of her heels.  They didn’t fit, so I had to cram my toes into a pair of her sneakers.  She then handed me a purse, which I clutched awkwardly in front of me.  She snapped the Polaroid.  I watched as it developed.  

The blurry snap-shot further obscured my true gender.  To the layman, I was sure I’d look like a shy girl with a bad hair-do.  The only way I could get out of this was to flat out refuse.

*

We found Lori morosely staring at an infomercial on her television.  She looked bad; her bruises were starting to swell up in earnest, and she had a dismal air about her which immediately brought me down.  

“How’s it hanging, sis?”  I asked.

“Ugh.  Just trying to put off calling the bridal show and canceling.”  She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, as if hoping I could somehow prevent that.  I took a deep breath.

“Listen, Lori.  I guess you’ve heard what Mom was thinking.”

“Yes.  And I want you to know you don’t have to do it.  I mean, It’d be great if you could do it, but it has to be your choice.”  Lori couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.

“Well, look at this picture.  Do you think I, you know, could pass?”

Lori took it.  I had expected her to enthusiastically agree that I would make a beautiful bride.  I guess I was a little shocked when she looked rather skeptical.  

“Maybe.  You’d have to spend every night for the next few weeks practicing makeup and deportment.  It wouldn’t be easy, but I bet you could pass…for a couple of hours at least.”

I began to get annoyed.  Not only did it look like I’d have to appear in public as a girl, I’d have to bust my butt to do it.

“Lori, what exactly would I have to do?”

“Well, Mom and I would have to give you a lot of lessons on how to act like a young lady.  Femininity is more in the head than in the body.  You may look like a woman, but if you don’t act like one then you’re more likely to be found out.  Also, we’ll have to have about a dozen fittings until I can get all the gowns adjusted to your body.”

“Great.”  I was starting to get annoyed.  I think Lori knew it.

“Ken, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.  I’m not going to force you or try to guilt you.  I’d be asking you to put in a lot of work, in addition do doing something I’m sure you don’t want to do.  And I can’t offer you anything in return.  It’s your choice, bro.  But I want you to know that I’d spend the rest of my life trying to repay you the favor.”

It would have been so easy to back out; no one could really have faulted me on it.   Dozens of fittings?  Lessons on femininity?  Sorry, I had better things to do.

But of course, I didn’t say no.  I owed it to my sister.  That’s what family is all about.  You make sacrifices for those you love.  You do what it takes to make them happy.  

“Okay.  I’ll do it.  But the first time I hear a smart-ass comment from either of you, I quit.”

Lori smiled.  And it wasn’t simple smile, either.  Her whole face lit up.  It was like I had just given her the best news of her life.  It probably seemed that was to her then.  During the weeks that followed, I kept having to think back to that smile to remind myself why I was doing what I was doing.

*

Against hospital orders Lori had checked out that night.  She said there wasn’t a moment to loose in preparing me for the convention.  Soon I was spending every afternoon and evening developing my feminine nature.

It was hell.  Mom and Lori were relentless.  It was only going to be for a few hours, and yet they insisted that I had to be totally comfortable, totally natural as a woman.  

“Representatives from some of the top design firms are going to be there,”  Lori told me excitedly, the first night.  “This is how careers are made!  If you help me with this, I could be the next Elaine Kessie!  Or the next Bertha McRoy!  Or Estaphania Gomez!”  I had no idea who any of those people were; designers, presumably.

“Look, let’s just get this over with.  When you become famous you can set me up with some of your top models.”

“Oh, I was hoping that you’d be my top model.”

“Maybe you’d like to find someone else to do this.”

Lori fell quiet, but that wasn’t the first moment of friction.  I felt she was being just a little too demanding of me; it’s not like I was getting paid.  Sever times I walked out, telling her I refused to do it anymore.  I always returned, feeling too guilty to leave at the last minute.  Lori would always cut my apology short with one of her own.

For three weeks this went on.  The second I arrived home from school I would practically be forced to put on some new manner of feminine garment.  At first, I had naively assumed that all I would be wearing would be the wedding gowns.  Not the case!  The wedding gowns weren’t adjusted to my size yet.  I wouldn’t be trying those on until the end.  No, for the time being I had to practice being a girl in Lori’s clothes.

Lori, being a designer, made most of her clothes and found them easy enough to alter to fit me.  She never let me wear her slacks, she insisted on dresses and skirts.  I had to practice wearing the garments without legs, at least that was her explanation.  How to sit (never spread my legs, how to cross my legs like a girl, how to smooth the skirt when sitting and standing, how to make sure I never tucked it into my panty hose).  The panty hose were another thing.  I began to see why women were annoyed with them.  They were constantly tearing, catching on things, making me sweat; not to mention they were especially inconvenient when using the restroom.

I asked my sister why I had to wear these things constantly.  She frequently went barelegged.  Her answer was simple:  she shaved her legs, I didn’t.  As a desperate attempt to rid myself of the restrictive  pantyhose, I agreed to shave my legs.  I’d have to do it for the wedding show anyway.

It was weird shaving.  I was never overly hairy, but I always had a bit of fuzz on my legs.  Now they were smooth.  Girlishly smooth.  I knew it would be a while after the show before I could wear shorts.  Still, at least now I could go barelegged under my dresses.  Of course, I still had to wear underwear.  And of course all my sister had were lacy panties.  I guess I could have insisted on my own Fruit of the Looms, but what did it matter, ultimately?  

Now that my legs weren’t covered by hose, I felt almost naked, like I was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else.  I kept looking down nervously.  My sister would constantly point out my unease; that was how she justified doing this, so that when it came time for me to do it in public I wouldn’t see so out of sorts.

My tops were another thing.  Lori was never a shy girl and didn’t mind showing off a bit of flesh.  At first I insisted on wearing long sleeved shirts, bulky sweaters, and conservative dresses.  But it was a warm spring that year and it soon became uncomfortable, even in the house.  Mom and Lori were insistent:  if I wanted to wear something cooler, I’d have to shave my armpits.  Well, at least no one at school would notice that.

After I had denuded my underarms, Lori made me take off my shirt and spent twenty minutes plucking my torso with tweezers until the few strands around my nipples and under my navel were gone.  They had taken a long time to grow and I wondered how long it would take them to come back.  I thought like most teenage boys:  macho guys have chest hair.

Once I was sufficiently hairless, Lori allowed me to wear her looser, cooler outfits, like sleeveless sweaters.  They looked cute on Lori, but I felt they looked dumb on me, even as a girl.  My arms were a little muscular, and I felt that an outfit like this would look stupid on anyone with arms like mine.  Lori disagreed.  “Lots of women have powerful upper bodies.  Trust me, you look athletic, not freakish.  Besides, my arms are about as strong as yours, so watch what you say.”

I looked at myself in the bare-armed sweater in a new light.  Maybe Lori was right, I was probably just being sexist, not thinking that a powerfully built woman would be attractive.  What did it matter anyway?  No one would see me like this.

The sweaters weren’t the only top I wore, of course.  Some of Lori’s outfits had plunging necklines.  Obviously I couldn’t wear anything too revealing, but many shirts revealed a fair amount of upper chest.   Not only that, but some of her sweaters had extra large neck holes, so that quite a bit of my bare shoulders were visible.  Unmanly?  And how!

But that was only the beginning.  Shoes in my size were procured and I was forced to wear them.  They had high heels of course.  It took me well over a week before I could walk in them naturally.

But of course just wearing the clothes wasn’t sufficient for my loving family.  No, I had to learn how a girl is expected to act.  And that meant a hell of a lot of hard work.

Who would have thought I’d have to learn how to walk again?  When Lori told me that was the first thing I’d have to practice, I laughed.  Women walked forward one foot at a time, same as guys.  It didn’t seem so funny after about a week of practicing my posture and carriage.

Women, as it turned out, walk differently than men do.  Lori took me people watching at the mall to demonstrate.  Men slouch, they slump over.  They lead with their head and chest and roughly plant one foot ahead and to the side of the other.  Women, on the other hand, lead with their hips.  One hip forward, then the other.  That’s what gives them the ‘wiggle’ in their walks.  They step differently as well.  Instead of extending their feet directly forward like a man, they place their left foot directly in front of the right one and vice versa (next time you have a chance to observe a group of people, watch for this phenomena.  You’ll be surprised how obvious it is, once you know it exists).

You wouldn’t think that such little details would make such a big difference, but they do.  That night, as I practiced walking in front of a mirror, I was shocked at how girlish my stride was, once I aped Lori’s manner of walking.  Wiggling hips, dainty steps, straight posture; I supposed that Lori hadn’t just been compulsive when she insisted that I relearn how to walk.  Since walking would be about the only thing I would do at the show, it had to look right.  Still, I felt like I was in physical therapy or something:  place your right foot in front of the left, stand up straight.  It got old fast.

Another thing I constantly had to practice was my voice.  While I wouldn’t be expected to say anything during the show, it would be unwise to assume that I wouldn’t have to speak to someone backstage.  Lori coached me.

“Your voice isn’t too bad, but it’s still the voice of a man.  Try not to speak too loud; just above a whisper should be enough.  Don’t deliberately try to make your voice higher, you’d sound like a cartoon.  Just push more air into your voice when you talk, don’t say much, and relax.”  I asked her how she got to know so much about impersonating a female voice.

“Off the internet.  Some help page for cross dressers.”  Was I embarrassed?  I’ll give you two guesses.  Lori finally stopped badgering me about my voice when I managed to order a pizza over the phone and have the person on the other end address me as ‘ma’am.’

While I refused to listen to detailed lessons about makeup, Lori did insist I know the basics.  She’d do my face up for the show, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to know how to touch everything up.  I’m sure I knew more about makeup than any other boy in my class at that time.

After a couple of weeks of training, Mom and Lori decided I was as ready as I’d ever be.  I couldn’t help but agree.  Looking into the mirror, I looked back at the twin sister I never had.  Her clothes, makeup, deportment, and walk…they were all feminine.  Standing there wearing a woman’s sweater and jacket, with a skirt and heels, I certainly didn’t feel like a man.  The corset caused my stomach to turn in and the fake breast forms Lori had bought me gave me a convincing bust.  My hair was still the same; I wouldn’t let Lori do anything to it until just before the show.

“You look great,” said Lori.  “You’ll do fine.  Now we’ll have to begin on the wedding dress fittings.”

“Yeah, great,” I replied, sadly.

“What’s wrong honey?”  asked my mom.

“What’s wrong?  Your son is standing here in a skirt and a bra and you ask what’s wrong?  I haven’t had a free night in weeks!  I feel like I’m living a double life!  Like I’m being brainwashed!  I’ve been practicing acting like a woman for so long that I have to keep myself from doing it at school.  All I know is that I’ll be glad when this is all over.”

Lori came up to me and hugged me.  “I’m sorry Ken.  I guess in the rush of everything I kept forgetting how much work this would be for you.  You need a night to relax.  Can I take you out to dinner tonight?  I want to thank you for all your help.  Both of you.”

I smiled.  “I guess in all the rush I forgot how important this show is to you.  Sure, dinner sounds great.  Let me change.”

“Well, why bother?  You make such a good woman that no one would notice.”

“Har de har har.”

“I’m serious,” said Lori.  “You’re always talking about how uncomfortable you are at the thought of dressing like this in public; well, maybe you just need a little practice.”

I was about to tell her to stop joking, when I thought about it.  It was going to be nerve-wracking enough doing this at the bridal show.  Maybe if I had a little practice beforehand then I’d be a little more comfortable.  Better to make a fool of myself in a restaurant, then on stage in front of hundreds of people.

“Okay, but I get to pick the restaurant.”  Mom and Lori seemed both shocked and excited that I had agreed.  

“So where would you like to eat?” asked Mom.

“Fred’s Steak Emporium.”

“That’s all the way out in the city,” groaned my sister.

“I know.  I can’t risk running into anyone I know.”

“But Fred’s?  Didn’t they get shut down by the Board of Health?”

“I’m sure they’re reopened.  C’mon, it’s there or nowhere.”  Fred’s was a dive, it was true.  But since so few customers frequented the place I figured that fewer people would see me.

As we headed out to the city I began to wonder the intelligence of my rash decision.  True, I was interested to know if I had a change of ‘passing’ in front of all the people at the bridal show, but was this the best way to do it?  What if someone found me out tonight?  What if I got caught?

When we arrived my confidence nearly failed, but Mom and Lori insisted I go in.  I braced myself at the front door (which now proudly bore a ‘B’ rating from the grudging health board) and steadied myself.  I straightened my skirt, ran my fingers through my wayward hair, and followed the rest of my family inside.

As luck would have it, there were only about a half dozen customers in the greasy spoon.  We selected a booth in the corner and sat down.  The waiter approached us and handed us our menus.  “What would you ladies like to drink?”

Well, it happened.  It was thrilling in a way, as if I were a spy whose shaky cover had worked.  At least I’d be a little more confidant when I walked down the catwalk the following week.

I glanced at the unappetizing menu.  “Well,” I asked, making an effort to keep my voice soft.  “What does everyone want?  I think I’ll have the T-bone with a baked potato…”

Lori motioned me to lean forward so she could whisper to me.  “Remember, you are a girl tonight.  Try to eat like one.  I suggest a salad.”  

Well, maybe it was the fact that Lori had agreed to pay for my meal, but she did have a point.  How many women eat big juicy steaks?  Besides, I’d probably have less risk of getting e coli poisoning this way.

After three wilted salads with watery Cokes and stale crackers, we were ready to call it a night.  It hadn’t been a relaxing night for me, just the opposite.  It’s not that I was overly worried about being caught; I hadn’t had so much of a casual glance in my direction since we walked in.  What was stressful was that I could never let down my guard for a second.  I was constantly worried about doing something ungirlish.  I had to perpetually make sure that my mannerisms, my walk, and especially my voice were on par with my supposed gender.  I’d be glad to get it over with.  But first there was something to try…

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to run to the ladies room.”

Mom and Lori feverishly tried to object, but couldn’t stop me without making a scene.  I girlishly swooshed my way into the final frontier.

The women’s bathroom was dirty, but clean compared to the rest of the restaurant.  I snooped around at the unfamiliar sights: the lack of smutty graffiti, the toilet seat cover dispenser, the tampon machine.  I started when the door opened and a pair of women walked in.  Quickly I ducked into a stall.

I figured that just standing behind the door might arouse suspicion, and besides, I needed to use the facilities.  After placing a paper cover over the seat, I tried to sit down.  Confounded skirt!  Confounded hose!  Confounded cramped stall!  When you are a man, the world is your toilet.  As a woman, you have to plan.

I sat there for a bit, listening to the two women gossip.  After getting tired of sitting down forever, I decided to venture out into the restroom.  Neither of the women gave me a second glance.  As I was washing my hands, I noticed that my lipstick had smeared while eating.  It looked rather stupid, so I took out an extra tube Lori had given me and touched my lips up.

It was crazy, but funny in a way as well.  Here I was, casually putting on makeup in the ladies room.  Knowing that Mom and Lori were probably panicking I decided to extend their fear and re-do my whole face.  Who knew when I’d be back in the women’s restroom again?

My confidence was shattered when one of the women, a good-looking blonde of about thirty, asked to borrow my mascara brush.  Trying to act casual, like people asked to borrow my makeup everyday, I handed it to her.

“Jesus, I look awful.  It’s the damn humidity, my makeup’s always smearing.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that.  Well, when in doubt, just nod and agree.  “Tell me about it,” I said.  “Just look what it’s done to my hair.”  My hair being my worst feature.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied.  “Actually, I think you can do a lot with it.  I’m a stylist, you see.  If you’re interested, come by some time for an appointment.”  She handed me her card.  I thanked her and left.

I was surprisingly giddy when I walked out.  I felt like an actor who had pulled off the greatest roll in his career.  They didn’t even suspect.  While I could have been inclined to take this as an affront to my masculinity, I decided it resulted from a combination of Lori’s instructions and my acting ability.  Maybe I could try my hand in Hollywood after graduation.  Yeah right.

Mom and Lori waited until we were in the car before they said anything.  Then they were all questions.  “What happened?  Did you talk to those women in there?  Did you say anything?  Why were you in there so long?”  They were excited, I guess they got a kick out of how well their ‘creation’ was getting along.

I answered their questions with a laugh.  It had been kind of a fun evening, though I was glad it was over.  Lori had been right; now that I had a little of the nervousness out of my system I should be able to face the bridal show with more ease.  

All in all, it seemed that I would spend about eight hours out of my life pretending to be the opposite gender.  What a thought!  Thank God that after the show I’d never have to do it again.

Of course, things don’t always work out the way they seem.

(continued)