Abby's Panties

"I'm Jordan," I said. With Theresa's help, I'd been working on my voice, trying to make it go higher. It was another piece of my masquerade. "Please, come in." I stepped aside, allowing my sister to enter.

Jennifer came in, eyeing the place. "My brother still keeps a clean house," she said.

"Oh, he has a maid now," I said, the faintest trace of a smile lifting my lips.

"He does?"

I nodded. "Can I get you a drink?"

I grabbed two bottles of water from the refrigerator before returning to Jennifer. She was sitting on the couch, eyeing me. By the look on her face, a cross between shock, confusion, incredulity, amusement, and surprise all rolled into one. "John?"

I nodded, handing her a cold bottle of water.

"You got your ears pierced," she said. Alice had noticed the holes in my ears the Monday I returned to work following my ear piercing. Jennifer noticed them just as quickly. She set the water bottle on the coffee table. "Look at you. You look like a girl."

"That's the idea."

That started the long questionnaire. The first question wasn't why. Jennifer's first question made me smile. "How did you turn out so convincing?"

I told her everything, from finding Abby's panties, to learning how to do makeup, and the joyous discovery that life outside of work was an obtainable goal realized by the introduction of this new side of me.

To her credit she didn't mock me, and I truly hadn't thought she would. She seemed bemused and more than a bit interested. She poked me in the chest. "Those aren't real, are they?"

"No. Nothing drastic and I'm not planning on going any further," I said. "I'm not a woman trapped in a man's body, nothing like that. I just find," I indicated my body with a flourish, "this relaxing in a way I don't really understand."

We chatted some more. I showed her my closet and when she saw my fitted maid's dress, she touched the fabric and laughed, "so you're the maid."

I felt the heat on my cheeks as I gave an affirmative nod. "God, you're such a girl." She punched my arm for emphasis. "I have a sister."

She complimented me on my clothing. "I have to borrow this," she said holding a satin burgundy evening gown to her chest. "It's gorgeous." The thought of it made her laugh. She pawed through the rest of my dresses. Looking down, Jennifer gasped as the growing number of shoes littering my closet floor. "My brother has more heels than I do," she protested.

I shrugged but somehow felt proud of that. Shopping for shoes wasn't an Olympic event, it didn't even take any talent, but hearing my sister make that comment made me feel like I was accomplished. Maybe that's silly, but I don't care. I like heels.

Back in the living room, Jennifer took a sip of her water. "So, sister of mine, what did you want to ask me."

That question was easy to answer. "Will you be my maid-of-honor?"

Jennifer listened as I explained about Theresa. She took it all in, a smile rising on her face long before I finished telling her about my first shopping trip with Theresa, with me dressed as Jordan, slowly overcoming my nervousness. By the end she was nodding.

"Of course, silly. Just don't go picking out any ugly bridesmaid dresses."

(iii)

The day before I introduced Jennifer to Jordan I proposed to Theresa. I was dressed as Jordan in a pair of simple jean shorts. I had blue wedges on me feet that had a thin ankle strap encircling my leg. I wore my breast forms in a white bra and over that I was wearing a white t-shirt. My makeup was as good as it got. I constantly eyed myself in a mirror, touching up my makeup. Keeping my face neat helped keep the man behind my eyes well hidden.

Theresa was wearing jeans and a Metallica t-shirt that was so faded I could barely make out the name of the band. We were sitting in a local coffee shop, sipping mocha lattes, and sharing a chocolate scone. Overhead Adele was singing something about rolling in the deep. Two baristas were working behind the counter, calling out orders as they completed them. Two young men, each wearing beanie hats and headphones were plugged into their laptops oblivious to the world around them. Six people were waiting to order while another three were standing to the side awaiting their orders, eyeing the sweets and treats hidden beneath protective glass. The coffee shop was a flurry of activity, but my thoughts were only on Theresa and the diamond ring hidden in my pocket.

When Abby had moved out, shocking me but not really shocking me, she had left behind her wedding and engagement rings. She could have kept them. I wouldn't have faulted her for doing so, but somehow seeing them she had finally made her point in a way I could understand. "I won't be needing these anymore," the twin bands had said. Now, that engagement ring, the one I had given to Abby so long ago was sitting in my pocket. Theresa would know they were regifted, but I was sure she would not mind. At least I hoped so.

"Want to go to the beach this weekend?" Theresa asked, unaware of my plans. She smiled, "we can get you a nice two-piece. Work on our tan lines?"

The idea fascinated me. "Sounds good, but," I thought of my breasts. I'd have to do something different with them. Maybe it was time to buy the glue I'd studied, "I was thinking of something else."

"Oh?"

Uncaring about the people round me, I dropped to the floor. Once, long ago, I had proposed to Abby in this very coffee shop. I was a broken record, doing everything exactly as I had done before. But once, long ago, Abby had said yes in this very shop. If superstitions held, Theresa would do the same. I knew Theresa well enough. She would understand the nostalgia I felt. I put one foot on the floor and reached into my pocket. "Theresa," I said, trembling slightly as a dozen pair of eyes turned to watch the show. "Will you marry me?"

Theresa could say anything. "We hadn't been dating long enough to get married." Or, "I'm not sure, John." Or, worst of all, "No." My trembling was evident as I held the engagement ring that had once belonged to Abby up to the woman I loved.

The chatter in the coffee shop became nothing but a muted, anticipatory whispers. Like me, shoppers and staff alike were waiting for Theresa to reply.

I knew her answer before those around me. Her eyes, the color of mocha, lit up and her lips pulled into a huge, radiant smile. She gave a nod to me, then, for me and those serving as witnesses, she said, "yes!"

Theresa brought her hand forward, allowing me to put the ring on her finger. Around us there was a cacophony of applause, laughter, and congratulatory messages thrown our way.

The ring was a perfect fit.

(iv)

We left the coffee shop, leaving the well-wishers behind. "I have a better idea," Theresa said, once we were out of earshot. "Instead of the beach, let's do something else."

"Oh?"

"We need to go shopping." She nuzzled into me. "I want you to be the bride this time. Please."

"Okay."

(v)

Saturday morning, once again dressed as Jordan, Theresa and I were hitting the stores. This time we were shopping for wedding dresses. Theresa had been a bride once before. It was something I had learned all about during our date where we discussed our baggage, the failed relationships of our past that shaped those in the now. This time she wanted me to have the experience. "Besides, Jordan, it'll be fun," she had said with unhidden mirth.

Now we were entering a bridal boutique. The shop was far larger than I expected. A trio of well-lit cubby holes created a divide in the middle of the store, each tiny segmented space surrounded by three mirrors. The left- and right-hand walls were lined with wedding gowns, dresses, and bridal lingerie. Two racks in the center of the store were filled with veils of every length, from those that would barely cover a face to ones that would trail behind the bride a good ten feet. In front of the store stood seven mannequins, each wearing a different style of wedding dress. Behind the division made by the mirrored cubbies, sat a trio of dressing rooms. Deeper in the store were full racks of bridesmaid dresses in every color from aqua to yellow and everything in between. The store smelled of cedar and fresh Autumn pine. Candles with electric flames lit the pristine walls.

A lady, probably a few years younger than Theresa approached. "Who's the bride?"

Grinning, Theresa said, "she is." Theresa indicated me.

"Hi, I'm Jordan," I said, holding out my hand.

She introduced herself as Diana. "A pleasure," she said, shaking my hand. If she could see through my masquerade, she gave no indication. I knew I looked passable, especially under the distracted, oblivious scrutiny of the general populace, people going about their own lives, uncaring about those around them, but Diana and I would be working side by side. Surely, she would notice. Maybe it was better to get that bit of knowledge out of the way. Before I could say something, Diana said, "you're very convincing," putting the doubt aside and letting me know that she still accepted how I was dressed. "Most like you come in alone," she smiled at Theresa, "and dressed overly feminine." She paused for a moment. "You're the first to come in wearing shorts."

It was part of my research. Anything that brought attention to yourself was something to be avoided. To blend in, you needed to blend in, to dress and act like everyone else. It was the visible nail standing out that received the hammer's blow. "It's okay then?"

Diana laughed, "at these prices? I'll sell to anyone."

Just like that I liked her. She was honest and forthcoming and had a wicked since of humor.

Diana looked at Theresa and the ring on her finger. "Will you be in a dress, too? We have a great buy two get two special going on."

Theresa laughed, "I'll be in a rented tux," she said. "Jordan's the bride."

"Well," she said, "make sure you get her an engagement ring. Yours is lovely, by the way."

Theresa examined the ring on her finger, something I'd seen her do quite frequently since I put it on her finger. "Thank you."

We got down to the business of buying me a dress. Diana started by examining my frame, seeing how my body looked. Smiling, she went around the store pulling one dress down, then another, until she had five different dresses in her hand. "These should work," she said. She hung the dresses on a hook in the closet of three changing rooms. "Try one on, then come out and let us see." She nodded to the mirrored nook.

"Okay."

Each dress was more magnificent than the last. Diana knew her trade. Each dress I tried fit well enough, though Diana did say that alterations were included. Every time I tried a new dress, I would come out of the fitting room to stand in the first mirrored recess just to examine myself in the mirror. Satin and scalloped lace caressed my skin. The hems were long, slipping silently against the floor. Each dress had a full neck. Diana had seen through my disguise and knew I didn't have the cleavage needed to pull off a low-cut gown.

Theresa oohed and aahed, her smile plastered on her face. Diana was more critical, telling me why one dress was better than another. "That one makes you look hippy," she said, or, "that one makes your shoulders stand out. You need to look more delicate."

Finally, it happened. I've seen it in movies and television shows, but I never understood that it was real until I happened into one dress. It was perfect. It was the dress I would be married in. I knew it as soon as I put it on. The dress was tight at the waist before flowing lower in a waterfall of white satin. The back and arms were see-through with delicate, lacy flowers running down the arms. There were faux pearls lining the neck and pearl buttons running down the spine. Equally white flowers lined the bottom of the dress like appliques.

I walked into the cubical of light to look at myself from all sides. I gasped at how lovely I looked. Theresa gasped as well, her hands coming up to her face, her eyes were saucers.

"This is my wedding dress," I said. There was no ambiguity in my voice. There was no doubt in my heart.

Theresa gushed, "it's beautiful. You're beautiful."

Sure, she was my fiancé and she was biased, but her words still made my heart swell.

Diana gave me a critical eye and then smiled. No other words needed to be said. She had me stand still to stick a few pins into the dress for the few alterations I would need. She promised it would be ready in three days. That was plenty of time.

Theresa and I left the boutique. We went shopping for white heels to match my wedding dress and new bridal lingerie. Buying a pair of full-cut bikini panties with the word "bride" bejeweled into the seat had been fun. Theresa had added a pair of black boxers with the word groom stitched in golden thread across the seat.

We found the heels in one store. They fit well but the heel was five full inches. They were now the tallest heel I owned. Theresa had me buy a second pair: part of a buy one get one free deal, far less humorous than the one Diana had mentioned, but more cost-effective. I didn't need any encouragement although though Theresa did say I would need the practice to dance in heels that tall.

We finished the day at my house. This time, even though the passion was high, I remembered to shut the front door. Hours later, we came up for air.

(vi)

I was standing at the back of the church, waiting for the music to start. Down the carpeted aisle, my groom was waiting for me. Theresa did not look like a man; she looked like a woman in a tux. I looked like a woman, dressed to the nines in her wedding dress. My hair was coiffed and styled, pulled up in the back with a gentle curl with full, rolling bangs. It wasn't a wig, not this time. During the few months, waiting for our wedding day, I let my hair grow out. At work, which was still going swimmingly, I just kept my hair in a single ponytail. Alice gave me a knowing look but said nothing. When one of my employees asked, I just said, "it's easier." That was a lie. It was a lot harder keeping a woman's hairstyle than a man's. And more expensive, too.

The music started, the march we've all heard. This time it was for me. Here comes the bride, and I was that bride, about to marry the woman I loved.

The church was mostly empty. Theresa's parents were there, bemused by my attire and more than a little incredulous. When Theresa explained everything, they welcomed me "back home," as Eileen, Theresa's mom, said. My closest friends were sitting on the right-hand side of the aisle, with Theresa's friends sitting with her parents on the left. They all knew who I was, and they were all accepting. Or they said they were and that was good enough for Theresa and me.

Standing next to Theresa were her two best friends, Marilyn, and Carly. They, too, were wearing rented tuxedos. Opposite Theresa stood my sister, smiling in her lovely yellow dress. As requested, the dress she wore wasn't the least bit ugly. When I showed it to her, two weeks before the wedding, Jennifer had smiled, "you have good taste, sis." I liked how she called me sis, how she was able to distinguish Jordan from John and how she had readily accepted both.

I slowly marched down the aisle, one foot in front of the other, clutching my bouquet. Theresa had been right. It took some time getting accustomed to five-inch heels. I started practicing with them the day after I bought them, donning the heels the moment I arrived home from work and not taking them off until I tucked myself into bed, sometimes alone but more often than not with Theresa by my side.

Under my wedding dress I was wearing Abby's panties. The same pair that started my welcomed transformation. They were as snug as ever, bringing me closer to my ex-wife, but that wasn't why I wore them. They were old, the oldest pair I owned. They were new, or new to me. They were Abby's, so they were borrowed, and they were the faintest wisp of blue, like that of a cloudless late morning sky. That one item of clothing satisfied the tradition all brides obeyed. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

I stopped in front of my groom, smiling every bit as large as she was.

Since we were being formal - and official - the minister used our proper names, "Do you, Jonathan Poole, take this woman, Abigail Theresa Poole..."