How it begins

Eleven year old boy tricked into a lifestyle which requires him to wear skirts and dresses for the rest of his life

My name is Larry; or at least it was for the first eleven years of my life; then I became known as Lana. This is what happened:

My father, who was a self-made multi-millionaire died in a car crash, and left my mother a sizeable inheritance, which she used to get out of town, ASAP, and start an experiment. She sold our house, took me out of school, and moved to another town, where she was certain no one would know us.

She threw out her entire wardrobe, and replaced it with nothing but floor-length dresses, but also many tulle petticoats. She also went to the kids’ department in a specialist clothes-store and started buying floor-length dresses and skirts, as well as tulle petticoats, panties, pantyhose and nightgowns. When I asked her about why she bought all those things, she simply replied:

“I’ve come into contact with a group of women, who like to dress like this.”

“O.K,” I said. “But what’s with all these kid-sized girl clothes? They’re much too small for you. In fact, they’re more my size.”

To my horror, she told me they were for me.

“But, I’m a boy! I can’t wear girl clothes!” I stuttered, horrified.

She looked down at me and calmly said, using that special voice parents use when they feel they have to be particularly overexplicit when talking to their numb-scull child:

“Yes, you can and you will. You see, the group I now belong to, is going to have a meeting at our place tomorrow, and we both have to dress according to their rules, which says that it is forbidden for any man to be around the house during the meeting. And as we’re both new in town; I don’t dare let you go out. God only knows what kind of nasty people there are around. Look, it’s only for a few hours; then you can go back to being you; Deal?” She held out her hand, and I shook it. “Deal,” I said. Then I remembered the nightgowns.

“They’re for you. To use when you go to a slumber party next week.” mum replied.

“A slumber party; that’s the first time I’ve heard I’ve been invited to one?”

“That’s because you haven’t; not yet, anyway. However; do as you’re told at the meeting tomorrow, and you will be!”

It was now with delight, mixed with large dose of terror, I looked forward to tomorrow.

Delight at the possibility of being invited to a slumber party, terror at having to dress as a girl. My only consolation was that no one would be able to see me from the street, as the windows facing it were placed too high for anyone to look into our apartment.


My mother woke me up bright and early, the following morning. On the stool where I usually put the clothes I’m going to wear that day, now lay a ¾ sleeved, pale pink dress, with a knee long, black plush skirt-part and a tulle petticoat, white nylon pantyhose, and black, lace up, calf-high patent-leather boots with small heel, and a white, frilly, bibbed apron.

“MUM!” I hollered.

When she put her head through the door, I asked her where my clothes were.

“On the stool, dear; where I put them yesterday evening. Now; I know the meeting is not till later tonight, but you will need all the time you can get, to become at least a half decent girl. After breakfast, I will give you a crash-course in everything you will need to know; or at least as many things I can teach you. Such as how to walk, talk, sit and act like a girl, your age. If you think it pointless to learn all these things for just a couple of hours, need I remind you of the sleep-over I promised I’d try to arrange? Those skills will apply there as well, maybe to the highest possible degree.”

Under her watchful eyes, I struggled to get into all the unfamiliar clothes.

“Why are the buttons in the back, and why are they so small?” I asked when she helped me close all the little buttons in the back of the dress.

“There are two reasons. One is that they wouldn’t look nice if they were placed in front; the other is that it makes it much more difficult for you to get out of it by yourself! And from now on, Larry doesn’t exist; you will be known as Lana.” At that point, I didn’t realize she meant I’d be called Lana forever, I just thought she meant she’d call me that, while I wore the skirts.

“A-ha, I see,” I said. “Fair enough, I suppose!” I put the bib of the apron over my head, and actually managed to tie a passable bow on the first try.

Then, we walked to the kitchen to have breakfast.

“I see I at least don’t need to teach you how to walk like a girl.” mum noticed as I was about to sit down.

“The boots and skirts make any other way of walking almost impossible!” I replied.

Then the crash-course began. My mother criticized or corrected almost everything I did and said, until I was ready to scream; but all our, or rather her, hard work paid off in the end.


The other ladies arrived at six o’clock and I was sent to greet them as they arrived. I opened the door. I curtseyed the way mum had taught me, and they were all amazed how well she had managed, given she only had had a few hours.

As the oldest of them, a stern-looking woman, said; “I see great potential there, Margaret; great potential!”

After dinner, which I served, I was sent to my room, so they could discuss me without me being there.


Sometime later, I sat on my bed watching TV, when my mother entered

“Well, Lana; you seem to have made quite a success among the ladies, and my plan is now in full swing! I will help you put some clothes in a suit-case, and then you will go with Barbara, and spend the night at her house and meet her two boys, who are about your age.”

I got to my feet, expecting her to help me get out of my dress, but she just gently took my arm and guided me to the others.

“Barbara; here is my son Lana,” mum ceremoniously said. “Take good care of him, and may you make his journey smooth.”

Barbara, dressed in a bottle-green floor-length velvet dress got to her feet, grabbed my mother’s hands, looked steadily into her eyes and replied, just as ceremoniously:

“Margaret; I accept your son Lana, and I will take good care of him, and make his journey as smooth as possible.”

“Wait; what;” I protested,” I thought I was only going to go to a sleep-over? This sound more like you’re giving me away like a puppy! Don’t I have anything to say?”

She turned to me, and simply said: “No, Lana; you don’t.” But I could see the tears in her eyes.

The End

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