Seven and Half Hours.

I am in my 'his' disguise. I do what I can to get through the crowds. There is a certain way of doing this. You can't walk like you have a secret. Head forward, lips slack, eyes relaxed, a walk measured by a count of short but steady lopes; the key to achieving anonymity.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

So on.

I want out. Of these clothes, I mean. The baggier, the better. I can't stand it when the inside of the shirt brushes against my flat chest. So close, yet so far, or something like that. I don't have that problem with pants, provided they're big enough to be worn by two of me. I can take care of what's 'there' at home, cutting down 'prep' time.

I wish we were allowed to wear hats. It'd be so much easier than wearing this cheap Goodwill wig. The thing looks, at best, like a shag cut on a 1970's weatherman. At worst, a decapitated and tailless muskrat.

At this time, the locker room is always empty. It's the only reason I can manage to get in at all. The crowds outside won't notice. The people I know and know of are not really the types to pause and actually consider something, such as 'what does that guy think he's doing". The only thing worth noticing are acts of deception or illusion. That is the one thing that this side of me can pull off. It's pathetic.

I slide the lock on the door. It's a one person bathroom, meant for only one person. It makes me laugh to say that I am lucky, but I truly am in this very small way. There is room for splayed out elbows, wrestling with bras, and feet planted on the lid of the toilet to roll pantyhose neatly up my leg. There is a single mirror, neatly hung over the sink, just right for makeup application but not for checking to see if there is anything sticking out that shouldn't be. For that, I still rely on a thorough smoothing with my palms.

Today is a day for contrast. My sister's dark red A-line skirt, emphasizing the narrow shapeliness of my hips and thighs, is paired with her frilled white blouse with the puffed cap sleeves. I check my toes for hair before slipping on the red platform sandals. I wish I could paint my nails, but I don't want to have to go around wearing socks all the time in my house. The wood floors are slippery.

Today is a day for contrast. I apply the black eyeshadow heavily on the very corners of my eyes. I apply the black mascara thick on my lashes.

Ever heard a girl say to a guy that he has eyelashes only a girl should have?

It's funny.

I leave my lips nude, but I do use my cherry lip balm.

I check to see if my dick is still in it's proper position. No one knows, but I wear boy shorts. Thongs are too thin for the 'upkeep', even if I use more tape than usual. Today is black lace. I must be in mourning.

I am me now, and will stay that way for seven and a half hours. When the last bell rings, I will stop being me and become 'him' for the rest of the day. I will be 'him' at home, where 'he' will come home to a quiet house and go upstairs to 'his' room, alone. 'He' won't emerge until dinnertime, and 'he' will sit there, pushing his food around on 'his' plate. 'He' will only listen to 'his' father when 'his' father says something along the lines of 'pass the potatoes, Miss Nancy'. 'He' can't take the nickname, but 'he' has to be constantly on the uptake when it comes to orders.

'He' will go to bed, and 'he' will dream about the next seven and half hours.

I fold the discarded clothing neatly and put it into my backpack. The wig is ripped off without care; it is a disgusting thing. I brush my blond hair, giving it a definite 'pretty' swing around my chin. I rip off swatches of toilet paper, rolling them up into two 'boobs'. I make sure to give them equal heft and size. In the early days, it wasn't unusual for one to be sharp and pointy and the other to be fat and round. Thankfully, the boys then were all too young to realize that isn't how boobs work, most of the time.

I've had better days.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I need only to take a few steps before being surrounded by everyone who counts.