Women's Jeans - Part 1

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PART - PART - 2 

SUMMARY - Arriving at his girlfriend's house soaked from a rain shower, he borrows her jeans to wear. 

I managed to wriggle into the jeans by lying down and pulling a lot. The zip came up easily when I breathed in, but they were on; there was the belt to fasten with its big buckle falling like a shield between my hips. I pulled at the waistband a little to try and get it over my hips, but the crotch was already tight into the tops of my legs. So a belt on my hips I could cope with. But standing up, the hem was under my heels. I thought to turn them up and put on my trainers, but with the flair, they would never stay up, and the trainers were soaked as well as everything else. It was bad enough to borrow the clothes; to return them dirty because I had been dragging them on the floor would seem ungrateful.

'Are you decent?' Julie asked. 'Depending on what you mean,' I replied.

She came into her room and saw me in her jeans. 'Very nice; tight looks good,' to which my response was, 'do you have anything looser?' ' You being that little bit bigger than me means everything will be tight; these are loose on me; remember' I did remember, and they kept on slipping down her, so anything else would cut me in two.

'OK, can I turn them up? I don't think I have anything that will keep them up, but you might. She looked at the legs, then at me. Another surprise was coming: 'What size feet?' I furrowed my brow. 'Why?' 'Well, you are right, they won't stay up, so slip these on and the heels will keep the hem of the floor.' She passed me her black ankle boots. 'They should just about fit.' I slipped my feet in and pulled the zips up; they were not toe-curling tight, just snug. 'Stand up.' She took my hand and helped me to my feet. After a few seconds, I got my balance and looked down. I could not see my feet, the flairs covering them, and just touched the floor. 'That is perfect, just right,' she explained. I had a careful look and felt that they could pass as mine; the block heel under the flair would not look too bad.

'Now do you want a jumper or a shirt?'' Jumper, I think, but I will borrow what you give me. I don't want to stretch your good stuff. 'This has grown a bit for me, but try it on.' If the boots and flairs had me worried about walking out of her place unnoticed, the deep pink angora jumper would make it no easier. It had ž sleeves and did not really meet the jeans in a male tuck in the way at all; just resting about belt height was the best I could manage. Good job I had washed my belly button was not my first thought. But it did fit. I commented on the bright color, which she dismissed because she liked the color and it had been one of her favorites, but she gave me a denim jacket to help me hide my pink. I thanked her too quickly; the jacket was not made to fasten and was an inch shorter than the jumper.

Unfortunately, I caught sight of myself in a mirror and blushed. I looked very female—heels, tight hipsters, bare belly, pink fluffy jumper. I tried to say this was not a good idea; I should just put my wet clothes on and go home. She insisted I would get a chill doing that, and after making sure I could walk in her heels, she told me I would be fine, but there were a few extra things she wanted to do, unless I wanted to go home looking like a male with no dress sense.

She pulled the ponytail out, then dried and brushed my hair out so it swept across my face, and with plenty of gel, it was going nowhere. Next were sunglasses, even though it was still cloudy, and lipstick—nothing too bright, thankfully.

I was declared ready; I felt far from ready. We put my clothes into a bag and emptied my pockets into a shoulder bag, nice pink to match the jumper, she said. 'Do you want me to hold hands so we stay close just in case?' 'Until I get used to walking, please,' she smiled, gave me a very affectionate kiss, and led me out of the door.

Checking no one was around, I followed. Soon we were out into the town and heading for the buses and the way home.

On the bus she started talking to me. I had avoided talking thinking my voice would be too deep, but when she got a text asking who the new girlfriend was, she showed it to me, and I just involuntarily said, 'Me?' 'Yes, sweetie, do you fancy being a lessi?' More quietly, I replied, 'Never thought about it, though you liked men.' She was sliding a hand down my thigh, 'but not all men are the same, and this one is very feminine.' Then she reconsidered, 'Perhaps you are female, but just have an extra bit here.' Her hand now sliding up my leg, with a peck on the cheek, she finished her teasing.

Once of the bus, and I realized the next half mile would be the hardest, people knew me around here, or so I thought. We walked as quickly as I could in her heels, and fortunately I only saw 2 people I knew, but I looked past them and they said nothing. We had linked arms in a girlie sort of way, so when I got nervous, she squeezed my arm and told me to relax and reassured me they had not even looked at me.

Half a mile seemed like 2 miles; at last, I was routing through the pink bag for my keys, just wanting to get in as quick as possible. Once inside, I threw my clothes at the washer and slumped onto a chair, declaring that to be the hardest thing I had ever done. She came and cuddled me, telling me how thrilling it had been to walk with me dressed as a'sexy woman' (her words) and how it had turned her on. Then got me to agree it was not frightening, but there was a buzz about it, and that in some way I had enjoyed the thrill.

It was as I was relaxing and about to say it was time to change when my mom came in. 'Hello Sara, no Dan with you?' and was about to introduce herself to me when she took a second and a third look at me, 'Would you like to explain?'

I started, but Sara did most of the storytelling; there was an occasional 'and you agreed?' to which I had to explain why I had taken certain actions, like wearing high heels. In the end, she asked how we felt, told me I looked good, and somehow Sara told her what a buzz it had been.

She sat drinking a coffee we had made during the talk, then looked straight at me, 'How's about I take you both out, and maybe I could feel this buzz also?' I was about to say'mum,  this was really just a one-off' when Sara said 'that would be nice' and did that thing, squeezing my hand to let me know she wanted to do this. Mum looked at me, 'Dan?' I just said, 'Oh, call me Danielle then.'

Mum wanted to change out of her work clothes, then she and Sara said I could not wear the shades at night so make-up was required, then they looked through the jewelry, a couple of rings, a watch, a bracelet, and a necklace. Finished off with her best perfume.

She drove us to a pizza restaurant we had never been to before, and to be honest, we had a really nice meal. We chatted about all sorts, not just the gender issues. Even college, work, and her past experiences came up for discussion, which was very eye-opening to a son who thought moms were just parents. The comment that stuck with me, but at the time I tried to duck, was 'How far would I go in bending the gender image?'

Things went back to 'normal' until the weekend. Sara suggested I try on some clothes she thought I would like—nothing too girly, just androgynous. I was fine with the idea of remembering how soft the jumper had felt. And so I started a transition in my clothes. First I was wearing the soft jumpers, then Sara came in with a pair of trousers that were fitted at the hips but loose down the leg and very soft. The next move was mine; I bought some knickers and would wear them under my usual jeans for college. Sara found out and thought it wonderful, buying me some more. I also stopped tying my hair back and took more care of it, so it became fuller and in my face, which made me sweep it back, very girly. I was told more than once, but I continued.

Mum had gone quiet for a few weeks, then about the middle of the term, whatever was on mom's mind lifted, something about work she said, and she once more took an interest in what I was doing, commenting on the pants and nice tops I was wearing, then coming back to the question I had forgotten about, 'How far would I go?' meaning a dress. Then she noticed a film she wanted to see and asked Sara and me if we would like to go with her. When I said it was a chick flick, their reply was immediate, 'Well, you know what that means then, no boys.' I agreed to wear my trousers and heels; if I could borrow the satin top Sara had not worn for ages but was beautifully silky and pastel pink, they both smiled at me in a knowing way, and that night we went out as three women again. The film was actually enjoyable; maybe I had never bothered before, or it was the company, or maybe the clothes had changed me, but I joined in with mom and Sara as they discussed the merits of the plot and the characters, particularly how nice the male lead had been.

A week later was the anniversary of dad dying, and we always went out, at first to remember and be sad, later to have fun thinking how he would like to have been with us, and dad liked the theater; he enjoyed the whole thing. He would like it most when it was a good play, and he and mom had got all dressed up, ate out, and made a full day of it. Mum this year wanted to go to see a play and said it would be a dress-up occasion. Sara knew straight away what she meant: 'How dressy?' 'How dressy can we get him?' 'Well, he does not do male dressy; his suit is tight, and I am sureties are lost in his room.' 'Have to be 3 girls then,' they announced. The next question was, would I wear a skirt? What is wrong with the soft trousers and a smart blouse this time, and maybe a dress next time if it feels right? Somewhere I was hanging onto the idea that trousers were masculine no matter how they were cut. Mum wore a smashing outfit; she looked really glamorous. Sara wore a dress for the first time in ages and looked stunning, which made my trousers look very common beside them, but I knew I had said I would wear a dress, and feeling quite dull by them, I knew one day I would. The play was fine, not the best, but I was distracted weighing up the smartly dressed women, thinking what a dress would feel like.

After we all agreed it had been a good night out, I was not sure how dad would have accepted my clothes but thought he would have been fine after the shock. Sara accused me of looking at the smart men and declared that if I was eyeing up men, then she would need to make sure I was eyeing her up, and no amount of protest would stop her teasing me; I insisted I was looking at the women. Then mom joined in and teased me about which style I liked the most. I gave up in the end, saying they won and to just tell me what I should be doing and when, which brought a laugh and a smile to their faces.

It is hard to say why I did what I did next. I had a study week, which usually means I caught up with college work, had a rest, and would have something prepared for a meal in the evening to save mom doing it after work, which she usually does. Anyway, why I do not know, but after mom went to work on Monday, I got up. Usually I would slob around, but instead, I showered and dressed in tight jeans and a mohair top, blow-dried my hair, then studied. Come the evening, I had a meal ready, and when mom came in, she thanked me for the meal and opened a bottle of wine. Then over the meal, she asked about my day, particularly why I was dressed girly and my hair was loose, which she said I had done really well. But then continued with an offer to show me how to style it rather than just dry it.

So Tuesday I tried what I had she had taught me, styled my then lacquered it. But when mom came home that evening with styling gel to try, we played with that.

Wednesday, I invited Sara over; she came in a skirt, said to please me and loved my gelled hair, and then suggested coloring it, which is just what mom had in mind as well. So after we had eaten, I was given a temporary dye, which meant instead of mid-brown, I had a mahogany-colored head of hair with a great shine.

I still am not sure why, but playing with my hair got us all into a really good mood, chatting and discussing how each of us might restyle. Mom fancied a 2-layer light and dark coloring, the dark being hidden when still. Sara had never had short hair, and for me I liked mine long and maybe blonde.

Thursday mom left out a Cosmo magazine, which I saved till I had finished my studies, then had a read, which led to playing with makeup I had in my room from weeks ago. I thought I had done it very muted, just enhancing my features, but mom's first reaction on coming home was to stroke my cheek and lift my fringe, taking in what I had done, then smile, 'Nice.' She said, 'What is for tea.'

Friday, I had to get plenty of studying done so I could work the weekend, but I did shower and pull on a bra, etc., then while the meal was cooking, I slipped to put on some lip gloss and mascara. Not sure who I was doing it for, mom or me, but she said I looked nice again. I enjoyed taking care of my appearance and being flattered.

As far as dressing, that weekend saw me scruffy as I worked both days, but relaxing with Sara and mom on Sunday evening before we went out. Mom suggested that once the exams were over she would treat us all to a special time, then winked, How special? Very special, but let me think about it some more, and I shall have it all sorted for the day after you finish.

So the exams came, and I concentrated on them and the part-time job, trying not to think about what treat mom might have in mind but expecting it to be something we all would enjoy. Sara's exams finished a week before mine and would be round at our house cooking for us when we got home, then when I went to revise, I would chat with mom and giggle excitedly, all adding to the anticipation—part excitement, part dread.

My last exam was on a Thursday, and I went out with my classmates for the evening and had a farewell drink with them, plenty of what are you going to do now chat and mucking about as well. I did not know what I wanted to do or even what I was doing next, except for mom's special treat, which I could hardly talk about with straight friends.