I woke up around nine, and showered and did my hair again, putting a little
mousse in it and teasing it out.  Then I put on my bra, breast inserts and
panties and pulled on a dark blue tee dress Mom and I had bought.  I thought
about Paul, and about the evening before, and what I'd done.  I kind of shocked
myself, but I felt a nice buzz again as I remembered what he'd said and how he'd
looked at me.

On the kitchen bench downstairs was a note from Mom, saying she'd gone to do some
food shopping and would be back soon.  I made myself some breakfast and was
sitting next to the kitchen window, enjoying the sun streaming through it, when
the doorbell rang.

Without thinking I got up and walked to the front door and opened it.  In Santa
Rosita you don't check who's outside before you open the door - I guess we're not
very security conscious.  I should definitely have checked this time, because
when I opened it wide and was about to say "hi" I stopped, shocked, as the door
was half-way open.

It was my Dad.

He seemed frozen, too.  He was standing on the porch, a small carry-on bag under
one arm and a gift-wrapped parcel under the other, and he looked like he'd just
been electrocuted or something.

My first reaction was to close the door again, but I didn't move for a few
moments.  My face was burning, I was really embarrassed.  Embarrassed didn't
really begin to cover it.  This was worse than when Mom had seen me at Marcia's. 
Dad always made such a big deal when he lived with us about me being more into
macho kinds of things.  My mind was doing flip flops as I tried to figure out
what he was gonna think about this.

Eventually Dad croaked out "Chris?", and I opened the door the rest of the way
and motioned for him to come in.

"Hi, Dad", I managed to say, and I walked back into the kitchen.  He followed
behind me, and put his case and parcel down.  Nervously I fidgeted around the
kitchen, putting some coffee on.  I was aware that Dad was watching me closely.

"Is this for a joke or something?", Dad finally asked.

"Uh ...", was all I could manage.  He was starting to recover from the shock, and
I could see he was gonna be steamed in a few minutes, the way he always was
before whenever I screwed up.

"Jesus", he said, and sat down at the kitchen table.  "Your mother told me you
had some problems that needed attention, but ..."

"Mom called you?"  I asked.  "When did she do that?"

"Stop talking like that, alright?" he said sharply.  My face burned again.  "She
called me last Monday, and said you were having some problems and she needed to
pay a therapist and some other stuff.  I figured ... it's not - you're not on
drugs, are you?"

"Oh, come on, Dad, gimme a break",  I groaned.

He looked at me sharply when I spoke again, but it was no use him criticising me,
over the past week or so I really had forgotten how I used to talk.

"Uh, will you at least take off that dress.  It's very distracting".

I sat down at the table instead, so he couldn't see my legs.  From the table up
the dress looked like a t-shirt, so what was the problem?  Of course, I wasn't
thinking about my breasts or anything else.

"Okay", he said, "I guess not.  So, have you decided you're a fag?  Is that it?"

"Dad, please".  I wasn't sure what I wanted from him but I didn't want to walk
out of the room right now and I didn't know what to say if I stayed.

"I knew your mother was gonna screw you up", he said icily.  "She never did
understand discipline".

"This has nothing to do with Mom", I protested.

"Oh, so she didn't say anything when you came home with your hair like that,
huh?"  He said sneeringly.  "And I bet she thinks the dress is just .."  His
voice trailed off as his eyes went to my breasts.

I started to cry, without making any noise.  A teardrop just ran out of the
corner of my eye and across my cheek.  I wiped it away with my fingers, and then
unconsciously flicked my hair back from my face.  This seemed to make Dad even
more exasperated, and he stood up and paced the kitchen while I tried to keep
myself from crying more.  He came over to me and I thought he was gonna hit me,
but he straightened up as though exercising extreme self-control, and went to the
sink to pour himself a glass of water.

He shook his head, as though trying to shake loose some disturbing thoughts. 
Then there was a knock at the kitchen door.  I got up and answered it.  It was
Marcia.  "Hi Jenny", she began before I could stop her.  I realised she couldn't
see my Dad next to the sink.  Marcia appeared momentarily puzzled that I didn't
immediately invite her in, but seeing the expression on my face she probably
figured I was pissed with her about Becky.  "I'm really sorry about last night",
she went on.  I was about to interrupt her, but she said "I hope everything was
okay with Paul, Becky wouldn't tell him or anything ..."  At that point my Dad
must have come into Marcia's view, because her voice trailed off and she looked
at me questioningly.

Eventually I managed to squeak out a few words.  "Uh, Marcia, thanks, but this
isn't a really good time right now."

"Uh, Okay", she said.  "Call me later on, okay?  Hello, Mr Miller."

Dad just nodded to her and she left and I closed the door again.  "So the whole
neighbourhood knows about you carrying on like this", Dad said. "Jenny", he added
with heavy sarcasm.

I couldn't bear it anymore and I burst into tears and ran from the room up to my
bedroom.  I lay on the bed with my face in the pillow and sobbed.  He was right,
I was ridiculous.

I heard Mom come home, and the two of them talking.  Dad was raising his voice a
lot, and I could hear words like "fag" and "queer" coming from the kitchen. 
Mom's voice was quieter but from her tone I knew she was upset, too.  I rolled
over and looked up at the ceiling.  I should just chop all my hair off and quit
wearing dresses and go back to being a guy right now, I thought.  Dad was right. 
Then I thought of how great things had been in the past week or so, how it seemed
like Jenny was popular in a way Chris never was, and I wondered how I could go
back to being a little runt that everyone picked on or ignored.  I wondered how I
could explain it to Paul.  Which was worse, my father's abuse or hurting Paul? I
hardly ever saw my father any more.

Mom and Dad were quieter now.  I could still hear them talking downstairs, but
more reasonably.  Eventually I heard my Dad calling me. He was calling Chris, of
course.  Hesitantly I got up from the bed. Should I put on a pair of jeans? I
wondered.  He called again and I decided it was best to just go downstairs as I
was and face the music again.

Mom smiled at me weakly when I entered the kitchen.  She had obviously been
crying.  Dad looked me up and down again before he spoke.

"Your mother and I have been talking", he said.  "She tells me she took you to
see a doctor".  I nodded.  Was he doubting her?  "What did the doctor say to
you?", he asked.

"Not much.  Just a lot of questions, really".

"Your Mom says she told her that you were maybe more girl than boy, whatever that
means - is that what she told you?"

I was momentarily confused.  Did he mean the Doctor or Mom?  Neither had told me
that.  I shook my head.

"Sounds as though she's smart enough not to force anything onto you, then", said
Dad.  "So this is all your doing".

"I guess so", I said, looking at Mom.  "It started off just as a bit of fun..." 
I saw from his face that 'fun' was clearly the wrong word to use in front of Dad
in this context.  "I dunno, Dad ..."

"Well, I want you to get a second opinion.  Jesus, look at you ..."

We talked for a half-hour or so and Dad began to soften.  As he did so I became
less self-conscious.  He eventually agreed with my mother that, yes, I was
attractive, then caught himself and said "Of course, I'm not saying I agree with
any of this".  We agreed that I would go to another Doctor, and that he was happy
to pay whatever it took to figure out what was wrong with me.  "Damned Shrinks",
he said, "I know they'll bleed the life out of me".

I helped Mom make lunch and the three of us ate in relative silence.  I
discovered that Dad had come west for the weekend because he'd been worried by
Mom's call asking for money for Doctors for me.  Mom had always been too proud to
ask him for money before, she figured I was his obligation and he should have
been aware of that without being told.  He hadn't been terribly good about
sending money, or about calling.  In fact the two of them barely spoke once he
moved to New York and started a new company there.  So he was surprised when she
called.  All she had told him was that I needed to see a doctor.  That got him
worried so he decided to fly out to see for himself what was wrong with me.

After lunch he asked me whether I could get changed into a pair of jeans instead
of the dress.  I decided to try to appease him, and went upstairs to change.   
But I made sure I tucked myself back carefully so as not to have any bulge at the
front, and I chose a scoop-necked t-shirt to go over the jeans.  I left my bra
and 'breasts' on, then checked my hair and fixed the runs in my mascara and went
back downstairs.  Mom winked at me when I re-entered the kitchen.  Dad still
looked unhappy, but seemed to accept the jeans as some sort of a compromise.

I cleaned up the plates from lunch while Mom and Dad talked, in a more civilised
fashion, in the living room.  It felt weird to have him in the house again.  The
whole atmosphere of the place was different.  I glanced in a few times, to see if
they wanted coffee or anything.  Dad seemed surprised by my attentiveness. 
Actually I was just kind of dealing with the novelty of having him around again.

Eventually I told them I was gonna go see Marcia.  I think Dad was gonna protest
about me going out dressed like I was, but then changed his mind and sank back
wearily in his chair.  I checked my hair again and went next door.