For the longest time, I so feared that it would happen. That my resistance to my mother’s passion for dressing as a girl, would wear so thin, that I would reach a point where I had completely given in. 

I remember what it finally happened. Having arrived home from school, showered, and found myself contemplating what I was going to wear that evening. In realizing it was a Friday, I knew that this would be the evening that mother usually requested that I indulge her. Overcome by a stress, of whether I should anticipate her desires, suddenly something snapped, and I felt I couldn’t take it any more. And suddenly, having left every article of my normal boy’s wardrobe, in a bin by the trash in the front of the house, the enormity of what I had just done, struck me. That I no longer owned a pair of pants, boxers, or socks. That my wardrobe contained little more than dresses, skirts, panties and pantyhose.

Shortly after mother arrived back from work, she beamed with shock and joy at the sight of me descending from my bedroom, having for the first time, dressed of my own free will. Choosing the most glamorous, elaborate dress, high heels, makeup and accessories. Knowing intuitively, something had profoundly changed in me, when I told her, that I was ready to become home schooled, as she had so long wanted, that confirmed it for her.

That evening, there was many instances of mother’s surprise at my demeanor and behavior. Having so entirely capitulated, I wasn’t going to fight anything I hitherto had, even indulging in the graceful, effeminate movement that mother liked to see. Furthermore, I wasn’t going to fight whether some of it was natural to me, even deny whether I may like to act this way.

Then later that evening before bed, I found myself in my bedroom, surrounded by posters of scantily clad girls. I gathered them up, including the girly magazines I had under my bed, and left them in the trash. That night, I let go in another way. Where I had for so long, so desperately feared how much I was really into girls, I was no longer going to care. No longer care whether I was into them at all. Furthermore, having for so long feared it above all else, that night, I was going to let my mind wander anywhere without inhibition, knowing what that would mean…. thinking about boys. That night I would have the biggest orgasm of my young life.

The following day, first thing in the morning, I decided to take the drugs that I had been pretending to mother to have been taking for months. The drugs that she said all “good boys and girls take to grow up big and strong”. The drugs, that I instinctively knew, meant something rather different than mother let on, and soon enough as the months passed, as slow as the changes were, I began to notice them. My face, growing from childlike, to distinctly pretty. The small mounds on my chest, growing into a full set of breasts. 

I knew then, that almost certainly I never could look like a boy, even if I were to try.

Like all the boys, I so dreamed about being in the army. 

But in time, I would come to realize that the other boys had something quite different in mind, than I…. Than the cute outfits and certain “nice feelings” about being cooped up barracks with muscular macho men.

“A rhythmic gymnast and a hockey player mysteriously swap bodies and must figure out how to get back in their own skin before the exchange becomes permanent.”

When I was a kid, me and my friends knew of a small, quiet boy with long hair, who along with his older sisters, were home-schooled by their mother in a very feminine household. There were all kinds of rumors about him, that he wore girls clothes and makeup, and was into boys. Where all us boys, quite typically scorned and mocked him, I wonder how many of us secret, so deeply wished we could be him