The Saturdays came and went. There was no longer any hesitation. As soon our parents car drove off I was transformed into Michele. We were having a ball; ranging from compete silliness to 'serious girl-talk'. One thing, I didn't really like the name Michele (I didn't like Micky much either). We had one of our 'round-floor' discussions. All sorts of names were bandied about, then my clever sister (I was beginning to like her a lot) came up with "Shelly" which she said was derived from the last part of Michele. I loved it instantly. We ran and danced around the house singing "Shelly, Shelly, Shelly".
Mum and Dad loved bridge and unsurprising rapidly moved up from the beginner ranks. Oh, did I mention that my parents were really smart people. They had established and built up their own business from scratch. By dint of hard work and ingenuity, they were successful, very successful. We were frankly, quite well off. Though still relativity young, they were now looking to enjoy life more. They discovered bridge - or perhaps it was the other way around. They were now eligible for the regional tournaments which were held on Sunday afternoons. And thus, Shelly was now able to emerged for two afternoons most weeks and sometimes during the school holidays.
There was only one incident, or misstep would be more a accurate description. We all thought we were so clever with the timing in changing me back just before Mum and Dad got home from bridge. On one occasion, when Mum gave me a hello kiss, she said "What's that in the corner of your mouth?"
Of course it was lipstick. I hadn't wiped it all off. I quickly did so with my hand and said "Dunno". She gave me a gentle smile and nothing more was said.
YOU ARE READING
Shelly
Short StoryThe story of a young boy who discovers, virtually by accident, that he truly wants to live as a girl. (Author's note: I decided to revamp this story in an effort to improve it's presentation. The story itself is virtually unchanged.)
