In the distance: "Have you seen Jordan?... She's not up yet? She never wakes up late."

"Jordan honey! Time to wake up," I heard as I also felt a slight pat on my back.

I didn't respond immediately, I wanted to sleep for a little while longer, but the light was already on in the room. Apparently, it was time to wake up. I heard footsteps leave the room I am in. Several seconds later, my eyes opened. I was in a bed obviously. I raised my head and could see the comforter draped over my body. My foot was sticking out from under the comforter. The comforter was mostly white with purple and cyan streaks in roughly square patterns. There was one problem, I didn't recognize the comforter. There was also something else wrong, the room wasn't perfectly in focus. I hadn't needed glasses when looking at near things before. To my left, there was a lacquered wood-colored nightstand with a lamp upon it. I didn't recognize the stand nor the lamp although, like most people, I had similar items by my bed at home.

I reached for the eyeglasses on the table and put them on. As with everything else, the glasses weren't mine. They were brown classes in a roughly curved rectangular shape. Mine were wire framed, but I put them on regardless. The room came into focus. It wasn't my room. I looked the room over. Past the night table in the corner perpendicular to the bed was a desk with a monitor, a keyboard, and a mouse. Presumably, the actual PC was on the floor next to or under the desk, but I couldn't see it as the nightstand kept it from my view.

I propped myself up on my elbows to look around. Looking down the bed lengthwise there was a wood-colored entertainment unit that stood at least six feet high. It was approximately four feet past the foot of the bed. The entertainment center was dominated by a TV with a 32-inch screen. There was also a DVD player and a speaker inside the unit. At the foot of the bed, on the right in front of the TV, was a window with white horizontal blinds. They were closed to keep the sunlight out.

To the entertainment center's left, standing about half its height was a chest of drawers. The drawers were in a three-by-three formation with many items on top of the chest. I could see that a drawer or two were slightly ajar with clothes sticking out over the top. Above the chest of drawers hanging on the wall was a light-colored drawing in a wood frame. I couldn't make heads or tails of what it was supposed to be a painting of.

In the farthest corner directly opposite of me there was a full-length mirror attached to the back of the door. Next to it was the room's light switch. Next to that was a closet, the doors of which were shut. This brought me back to the computer desk.

The room was approximately 15 by 12. It looked about the same size as my own room but I couldn't be sure. I hadn't any desire to measure it out.

There were other things this room, besides it's dimensions, that look familiar. The closet was by the door with the window opposite the door. "That's like my bedroom when I was a kid." I knew that it wasn't my room though. Nothing inside the room was familiar at all.

"Jordan, hurry up, church is in less than an hour. Get dressed," I heard from the same voice that had awakened me.

"Church? I don't go to church," I thought. I didn't want to answer the voice. Instead, I looked down at what I was wearing. I was wearing a navy-colored pair of pajamas that had the heads of Mickey and Minnie Mouse on the upper chest. Mickey on the right and Minnie on the left. They were looking towards the center of the shirt.

I pushed the comforter away and saw the rest of the pajamas. The pajama pants were the same color as the top. It was fastened with a drawstring that was tied into a knot. It didn't penetrate to my consciousness at the time that there wasn't a fly hole as all pants made for men have.

"Where am I? What am I doing here?"

Looking more closely at the nightstand by my bed, I saw an iPhone. It looked similar to mine except the case that surrounded it was different. I instinctively reached for it and put my thumb on the base to activate it. Surprisingly, it recognized my thumbprint and lit up. I saw the standard icons, instead of the screen that requested an ID code. The phone recognized me. Apparently, it was mine. I looked down at the recent calls. I didn't recognize any of the numbers nor the names. There were Mom and Dad entries, but I didn't think they were my parents' phone numbers. The other names I didn't have any clue about.

Next, I looked quickly at the message section. I didn't know who the people messaging me were nor what they were talking about.

There was also a purse on the nightstand. I hesitated before looking inside, but due to the circumstances, I couldn't resist. Inside the purse, I found a tan wallet. It obviously wasn't mine but I opened it up anyway. The first thing I saw was an ID card. It wasn't a driver's license, it was a state-issued identification. Oddly, it had my picture on it. It wasn't exactly my picture. I was wearing glasses in the photo. Something I never did if I could help it. I didn't wear glasses on the photo on my real driver's license.

I took the ID out of the wallet to take a closer look. It listed the state on top, which was correct, and then some sort of ID number under that. My last name was printed in capital letters. That was correct: BAIRD. My full name is Jordan Taylor Baird. Under that was my first and middle name also in capital letters: JORDAN TAYLOR, also correct. The address listed, 526 Hillcrest Street. That's where I used to live when I lived with my parents.

Under that in small letters was Sex, but instead of M as I expected, it listed my 'Sex' as F. I was shocked. I looked at it again. It definitely said F. Next to that was height, 6' - 2" was right. Eyes BLU correct. DOB 05/13/1996 (I am 26.) Expires were next, 05/13/2028. (The ID was valid) Issued: 03/19/2021. It was apparently issued about two and a half months ago. There was a star with a circle around it. I knew that meant I could use this to enter a plane and leave the country. Under my photo where I almost missed it, was my signature that was undeniably my own. There were also holograms and seals to prove the authenticity of the card. On the back were the appropriate bar codes and such, not that I knew exactly what they meant to the government.

"What the fuck is happening here? Am I a girl?"

I had to look for myself. I pushed the top of the pajamas I was wearing aside and wedged the pajama bottoms away my body to look down. I saw my penis underneath my underwear. I was relieved. I knew I shouldn't be, but the relief was undeniable. The underwear I was wearing were plain white panties, but that didn't register to me. I was just happy to see a penis in my pants.

I walked diagonally across the room to the mirror. I had to see myself. I looked exactly as I expected, except for the glasses. I had never worn glasses like this before. I never needed to wear glasses except for reading. I took them off my face to inspect them more closely. My vision immediately became blurry. I couldn't see well without them. My vision had never been this bad before. It was the only real physical change that I noticed. I replaced them on my face and looked again, this time taking my time to look myself over thoroughly. Everything looked exactly as it should.

"Jordan, dressed yet?"

I refused to reply..

"Jordan!!! Are you dressed?"

Ten or fifteen seconds later, the door to the room opened. I had to step back as I was staring at myself in the mirror attached to the back of the door.

"You aren't ready? You haven't even taken a shower! Are you sick?"

The woman who was in her fifties was looking right at me. I had never seen her a day in my life, but she obviously knew me. She obviously thought she was my mother. She probably also thought I was a woman too.

"But..."

"No buts. I'll help you." She opened the closet door and grabbed a white robe. "Here," she said handing it to me.

"I don't know if..."

"You take a shower and I'll pick out what you should wear."

The woman who thought she was my mother wasn't treating me like my real mother would. That is if I still lived with my parents. She was treating me like I was much younger.

"Go on now, scat!"

I left the room and headed down the hallway.

I could hear the woman mumbling to herself. "What is with her today?"

The house seemed to have the same layout as my own. The decor was different but the layout was the same. I found the bathroom and went inside. I put the robe on top of the toilet lid and then turned on the shower. "What should I do?"

I heard the woman (my mother) calling from outside. "Don't forget to shave your legs and armpits. You have to wear a dress to church. Also don't you dare eat anything this morning, you're taking communion today!"

"This is getting worse and worse," I thought.

I hadn't gotten into the shower yet even though it was running. Instead, I took a moment to think, "What's going on? What am I going to do? Should I really shave my legs?"

I strip off my clothes including a pair of panties and decide to take a shower. "What harm could it do?" But I determined to not shave my legs. I hadn't ever in my life and I wasn't going to start today. Now that I was fully naked, I saw that my body was exactly as I expected it. My penis was there, that was obviously the first thing I checked. My legs looked muscular, well not muscular precisely, but as I expected them to be. They were my normal 'male' legs. My chest was flat. It even had a bit of hair on it as it was supposed to. I was never that hairy, but that didn't bother me.

The only soap in the shower stall/bathtub was liquid soap. I preferred bars, but there wasn't any around. It didn't matter too much. I squirted some into my hand and washed. I wasn't too dirty, but what did that matter, I always took showers in the morning.

It was odd (odd was too tame of a word, but what other word could I use to describe what was happening.) Waking up in someone else's house and being told by a woman who thinks she is my mother to take a shower. What should I call that: odd, weird, bizarre, off the wall, bat-shit crazy?

I showered quickly, dried off, and put on the robe. It fell to my mid- thighs.

What about underwear? I still had the panties I had been wearing when I entered the bathroom. I wanted to look more closely at them, but my vision was blurry. I had to put the glasses back on my face. It wasn't clearer until I wiped the fog off them.

The panties were mostly light gray in a bikini style with a pink band on the top. Minnie Mouse with a pink bow was peeking over the right leg hole to the top. On the right side, written in script, Minnie Mouse was displayed in white lettering with hearts over the I's in Minnie. They were clearly girl's panties.

I decided not to wear them.

I exited the bathroom.

"Jordan, didn't I tell you to shave your legs!!!" the woman scolded. Most of my hairy legs could be seen below the robe's hem. "Go back to the shower and shave them now and hurry!" she demanded.

I hesitated.

"I think I'm feeling sick," I lied sort of. I certainly didn't feel well. "I don't think I should go to church today." I didn't add but thought, "...or any day."

"What's wrong?"

"I have a bad headache," this time I did lie outright.

"I guess. You can also have breakfast if you aren't going to church."

"Maybe later."

When I returned to my room, my bed was already made. I saw for the first time that the pillowcase was purple which matched the comforter.

On top of the bed was the outfit my mother expected me to wear to church. The clothes were still on their hangers. The centerpiece of the outfit was a modest sky blue long sleeve, knee-length, a-line dress with a crew neck. It came with a thin brown belt which was laid on top of the outfit. Also laying on the bed for me were white panties, a t- shirt bra, and tan sandals with a small heel. None of those things surprised me. What I hadn't thought about was the gold hoop earrings and the necklace with a gold cross. Tights apparently weren't necessary.

I hung the belt on the dress's hang. Then I put the dress back into the closet. I didn't know if it had a special place. As for the panties and the rest, I put them on top of the dresser.

I got back into bed. I wanted to explore my room some more, but I would have to wait until everyone had left for church. I was naked except for my robe. Should I at least put on the panties or my pajamas? Best not to, just lay in bed and feign being sick until I can think of what to do.

The woman, from now on you'll think of her as 'my Mom' in this narrative, entered my room again. She had some toast and juice.

"I thought you might want something easy on your stomach to eat."

"I guess so."

"I also brought your morning pills. Take them first."

"My pills?" I thought but didn't say.

"Do I have to take them?"

"Of course you do. You know what happens if you don't. Do you want to have to go back to the hospital?"

I didn't know what the pills were for or what they would do to me if I took them. I certainly didn't want to take any medication. I looked inside my mother's hand. There were four pills.

"I'll take them when you get back," I said hopefully.

"No, you'll take them now. You mustn't overlap your morning pills with the pills you take later in the day."

"There are more pills?" I thought. "Four seem like plenty."

"I think that..."

"You have to take them. I don't care if you have breakfast, but you have to take your pills every day. That was one of the things they taught you at your class."

"I don't want to." That is what I said. I didn't know what class she was talking about.

"I'm going to wait right here until you take them. You don't want me to have to call Mrs. Gottfield do you?"

"Who is Mrs. Gottfield?" I thought.

"Ummm, no," I said.

"Do you want to go to the hospital right now?" mother said thinking of something else.

"NO."

"Then take your pills."

"I feel nauseous. I'll throw them up."

"We'll deal with that when and if it happens. Honey, you have to take your pills. Besides one of them is an aspirin. It'll help relieve your headache."

"OK, I'll take the aspirin."

"You'll take them all," she insisted.

Debate was pointless, mother wasn't going to leave until I took 'my pills'. She gave them to me and made sure I swallowed them. Apparently, I had tried to trick her by not taking the pills before. When she was satisfied, she left, she still had to get to church.

I got back into bed and closed my eyes, still naked except for the white robe.

"If you need me, phone," she called out as she left the house.

I got out of bed and decided to look around. On the walls were several paintings, some looked 'homemade' like they were painted by me. These were the ones that weren't framed. I didn't remember painting any such things. There was also a collectible display case wall curio cabinet hanging on the wall. It contained several small knickknacks like little wooden rocking horses and the like.

I saw at the foot of the bed on the floor several large wicker baskets. One contained scores of plush animals. One contained books, papers, and tote bags. There was another with other miscellaneous items. They were typical things for a girl's room.

On the dresser, there were the remotes for the entertainment center, hand cream, hand sanitizer, a brush, some papers, and a picture of me with the woman who said she was my mother and presumably my father. Not that I recognized either of my parents. My family was smiling in the picture of course. I should have a brother too or maybe she would be a sister now. But I didn't see him in the picture. I was wearing the glasses I had on now.

The underwear and socks my mother picked out for me were also on top of the dresser. It was obvious that I wouldn't find any male underwear here.

It didn't feel right to wear the robe without underwear underneath. It would feel better to be totally naked. But I put on the mostly white bikini panties (with little smiley faces on them) to keep my dick from swinging under my robe. That seemed the best option.

I hadn't any plans to wear nor did I need to put on the matching bra. The bra did have relatively large cups. I'm as flat-chested as any man.

The drawers were closed for one. Mom apparently closed the drawers that were slightly ajar.

Looking through the drawers, it was obvious that all the clothes were made for a woman. I found a green short-sleeved t-shirt with a crew neck that said Binghamton University in white letters and a pair of jeans. I put them on too. They fit me adequately. All the clothes seemed to fit my tall masculine frame, except for the bras which were made for a woman with a large bust.

In the closet was what I had expected, a few dresses, some skirts, dress pants, and other assorted tops on an assortment of hangers.

On the upper shelf in the closet were several books. On the floor were several pairs of shoes and sneakers.

Hanging on the wall by the computer were two framed diplomas. One was my high school diploma. I recognized it instantly. I hadn't had it framed though. Next to it, from the College of Mount St. Vincent was a college diploma. It proclaimed that I had completed the VIP (Vocational Independence Program) three years ago. It had all the proper seals and formal lettering to make it look official. I am a college graduate, but I hadn't graduated from such a school nor such a program.

I sat down at the computer and booted it up. When it came to the password screen, I typed in my password and it continued onto the main page. The wallpaper on the screen was of me and some man who was a couple of years older than I am. He was hugging me tightly as if we were in a relationship. The picture made me smile. Soon, the computer was completely booted and I used Google to find out what the VIP program in the college of Mount St. Vincent was.

I read the information. It said: "The Vocational Independence Program at the College of Mount Saint Vincent (CMSV | VIP) offers students with various learning abilities and styles a unique, immersive college experience, combining community and campus inclusion with rich engagement in academics, career preparation, and student life. At the College, VIP is expanded to encompass not only vocational preparation but also campus and community inclusion, and opportunities for participation in campus life for every student, among the traditional college population. "

"What?" I said out loud without realizing it.

Continuing it said, "This highly competitive program welcomes applicants, ages 18-26, who may have previously received special education services in high school, who desire and have the ability to navigate and live on a college campus under college-level supervision, and who seek to expand their academic, career, and social enrichment as an engaged member of the Mount Saint Vincent community. All students will reside on campus in a fully inclusive, integrated residence hall with same-age peers."

Then it listed under specialties, "Autism, Learning Disabilities, Special Education, Employment Training, Social Skills, Independent Living Skills, College Experience Programming, Executive Functioning, Post-secondary Transition, and College Life "

"Great, they think I'm retarded?" I thought. "I'm not, I'm normal!"

But then I calmed myself by realizing, "They think I'm a girl too and I'm not that either."

I put on some socks and sneakers. They both fit me fine and left my room. The house's layout was familiar, but not the furnishings.

I exited the house and looked around. The neighborhood looked just as it always had. It was also obviously my house, but it was painted a different color. The fence that surrounded the property also had never been there before. Once outside, I realized it was my home. Well, not exactly my home. Then I lived with my parents I lived here. Now I live in an apartment over twenty miles away.

A passerby who I didn't recognize, saw me and nodded 'hello' at me. I nodded back. The passersby continued on his way without breaking stride.

If I was going to get back to my apartment I would need some things like my keys and a credit card number to call an uber. I decided to return to my house.

I inspected the inside of my parent's house more closely. It was as though my family had moved out and a new family had moved in. I didn't recognize a stick of furniture. I didn't recognize the photos. Not even the photos what contained images of me. It was me, but it wasn't. I hadn't been to those places, I hadn't worn those clothes. Those weren't my real parents and friends with me. Where were any pictures of my brother? Maybe, I don't have a brother anymore.

Returning to my room, I determined to find out more about my new self. I looked through my Facebook page. I looked at the "About" part of Facebook. It didn't say much about me. It listed the year I graduated from college (the VIP program which never happened) as well as my high school. It was correct about the high school as it said I attended Adelphi High School during the correct years.

It listed that I worked at the local Stop and Shop. I had never worked there although I knew the store well. I had shopped there hundreds of times.

It listed my town properly. It also had my birth date correct. Only my gender was incorrect. Facebook stated I was female.

It listed all sorts of family members. I didn't see a listing for my real older brother. Facebook did list several people as my siblings, but most likely they were only friends. I knew lots of people who liked to list their best friends as sisters or brothers. But the biggest surprise was that it said I was in a relationship with Matthew Zubeck. I didn't know why I couldn't help but smile at the name.

I scrolled over to the Photo section and found scores of pictures of me with people I had never met before and at places I never went. I was mostly smiling in each photo and wearing the same glasses I had on now. I even saw one with me wearing the same Binghamton University shirt I was wearing at this very moment.

"Strange," I thought, "why would I be wearing this, I didn't go to that school in either reality."

While looking through Facebook, my cell phone rang. I picked it up. The name, Justine Rubin was one of 'my friends.' Calling her 'my friend' was similar to saying that I was in my own room or this was my computer or the clothes I was wearing were my apparel. I didn't know this girl and didn't want to talk to her. I turned the phone off so I wouldn't be disturbed again.

Most of the pictures were of me with girls, presumably friends possibly the one who had just phoned. But, the most recent photos were of me with the man who was on my computer wallpaper. There were several of them mostly taken from the same location. When I looked closely at the man, I could see that his face was off. He was obviously autistic. I thought he looked cute though. I thought, "He had a gorgeous smile and expressive eyes."

I scrolled down the pictures and saw myself becoming younger and younger and doing many things I hadn't remembered doing. The same group of girls was always around me. There were occasional pictures of me with my 'parents' too. But not many of those.

I read through my posts. There were the usual posts one finds on Facebook. One with Snoopy and Woodstock hugging, with the name of my 'boyfriend' on top with the caption "I will always be there for you."

Under that was a post, "The Mets won tonight yeah I have the best boyfriend ever."

There were many posts where I changed my profile picture to one of me with my boyfriend.

Another said "Happy 2 month anniversary to the man I love Matthew Zubeck you are the most amazing boyfriend ever I love you so much, baby. You are so cute baby and I love spending time with you. Thank you so much for always being there for me and you make me feel happy and loved."

It went on like this. The typical posts of a young woman. I didn't remember posting any of them. Although the poster was right, Matt seemed to be a very nice guy. I meant something much more expressive but I refused to let myself put into words what I was truly thinking about Matt. The posts conveyed a more accurate description of what I thought about him.

I left the computer to see what else was in my wallet. There was $23 in cash and the ID card I described before. There was also a card that said in case of emergency call and it listed my 'mother' and 'father' as well as their phone numbers. I looked through the business cards that were contained in the wallet. There were cards for doctors, a psychologist, a physical therapist, a social worker, a dentist, a hair salon, and the Stop and Shop (place I worked). There was also the picture I had seen a moment before on Facebook with me and my 'boyfriend' Matt.

I took a moment to think. I knew what had happened. That was obvious. But how and why I didn't have a clue about. I didn't dwell on how. It was clearly impossible despite the fact that it actually happened.

"What did I do to for this to happen. Who could have done this to me? I was a normal enough person before. I didn't hurt anyone. I didn't deserve this. No one deserved this. Then you thought, hey I'm not saying that being retarded should be thought of as a punishment. No, I didn't mean that. I mean..."

I heard the front door close which broke my train of thought. Mom and Dad must be home. Mom came into my room soon thereafter.

"How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," I said forcing a smile.

"I'm glad you are feeling better."

"Thank you."

"Since you are feeling well, I can drive you to work at two."

Work? I had forgotten all about that. I knew from my investigations that I work at Stop and Shop.

"Sure," I answered.

"I'll make lunch. Want tuna?"

"Tuna's fine."

"Great."

I was done with my investigations for now. I knew enough about this person's life. Or is it my life now?

I really didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell my mother what had happened. I didn't know if she would believe me. Plus what would I do if she did? This was still my home. It's not like I could go back to my former family. They should be living in this house. If they weren't here, then where were they. There wasn't a way for me to find out. I assumed that even though my mother didn't look like my real mother, she was living in her house and she probably had her name too.

"Jordan," my mother called out. "Matt is on the phone. He wants to speak to you. He says if he did anything to disturb you, he is sorry."

I had turned off my phone and he couldn't get a hold of me. He called my mother to find out what was wrong. I didn't want to speak to my friends, but Matt was different. I felt an undeniable love for him. What was written in those posts was true.

I really didn't know him, but that didn't mean I didn't love him with all my heart. That he wasn't the best boyfriend ever. That he wasn't the cutest, most considerate, most handsome person ever. I couldn't help how I felt about him. I needed to speak to him, to listen to his voice. I couldn't help how I felt.

It took several seconds before I realized what I was thinking. I am a guy, a straight guy, how could I feel those things? But I did.

I ran to get the phone.

"I couldn't get a hold of you. I was worried," Matt explained.

"I'm so sorry. I turned off my phone."

"It's not about what happened yesterday?"

"No, don't be silly," I reassured him. I didn't want him to worry. While talking to him, I wanted him to know that I loved him and would never leave him. I wasn't concerned with what had happened to me or getting back to normal.

"I was concerned. You know I would never do anything to make you mad or sad. I love you so much. I hate when I can't talk to you."

"I love you too," you said and you meant it. "I won't turn off my phone again. I don't know what I was thinking. What did you want to tell me?"

"Just that I love you and I was thinking about you."

Hearing those words made me smile. I felt the love through the phone. I was tingling all over. Matt is the best boyfriend I could ever have. I knew that in my bones. I loved everything about him. It was even more obvious from how he spoke than in his picture, that he was autistic, but I didn't care. I knew he thought I was autistic too. He might not like me if I wasn't like him. I couldn't let him know that I really wasn't. He probably would be intimidated if he thought I wasn't autistic also.

I let my mind wander. "Everyone thinking I was an autistic girl would be worth it, just if I could be with Matt," I mused. "He is the most amazing, thoughtful, caring, loving, smart, sexy, and romantic person I know."

"Honey, you have to get off the phone now," my mother reminded me. "You need to finish lunch and get ready for work."

"Just a few more minutes," I asked her.

"OK, but hurry."

Matt and I weren't talking about anything important. But it felt wonderful just to speak with him. It was all I wanted to do.

Eventually, I got off the phone, ending the conversation with "I LOVE YOU, MATT."

"I LOVE YOU MORE," was Matt's reply before hanging up.

I went to my room to get ready for work. I didn't know the first thing about working at the Stop and Shop, but I assumed it couldn't be too hard. After all, everyone thought I was retarded.

Since, I didn't know how to dress for working at Stop and Shop, I logged onto my computer and found the Stop and Shop website. There should be a picture of an employee. It wasn't easy to find a picture of the employees. The website mostly had pictures of the products which were on sale.

It was slow going since my mind kept drifting back to Matt and how I loved him. After searching for a while, I found the photo I was looking for. It was of an employee who was wearing a yellow apron over a black shirt and pants.

"That must be the uniform," I hoped. I looked in my closet and found the apron. There was a name tag attached which said Jordan. "Perfect." I paired the apron with black slacks and a black top with long sleeves. I put them on.

I noticed my purse still sitting on the nightstand. It was a black, rectangular shoulder bag with a long strap. Inside there were various items, but I decided not to take the bag. Instead, I simply took my keys and my wallet along with my iPhone and put them in my pockets instead.

I didn't recognize the keys. They weren't the keys to my apartment, they must be the keys here. There were only two keys actually. My car key was gone, along with the mailbox at my apartment key and the fob that would get me into the building.

"Mom, how do I look?" I stood over my mother looking down at her. I always knew she was shorter than I am, but now that I was asking her if I looked OK as a daughter might, it suddenly seemed ridiculous.

I assumed I was dressed properly, so I was surprised when she asked, "You're not going out like that?"

"What's wrong?'

"You aren't wearing a bra."

I looked down at my flat chest. I didn't need a bra. I didn't know how my mom knew I wasn't wearing one in the first place. My black shirt and the apron over it would have hidden any outline it might have had. But to my mother, my non-existent boobs were hanging too low to be appropriate in public.

But I trudged back to my room to find one. I picked what looked like an ordinary bra and put it on. The label said it was size 34D. I didn't have D-cup boobs. I didn't have any boobs at all. But I put it on.

"Is that better?"

"Very much so. Do you have everything?" Mom inquired as she didn't see my purse.

"Yeah."

"Your wallet and keys?"

"Yeah."

"OK, then let's go."

I followed my mother to the car and let her drive me to the store.

"I'm glad you are feeling better. What was it?"

"I guess just a little headache. I think I'm fine now. It must be the aspirin. Thank you, Mom."

"Great." Then Mom made small talk as we made our way to work. I didn't say much. I was thinking about Matthew. I loved him so much. I couldn't help myself. I didn't want to do anything to screw things up until I could be with him. I didn't even worry about returning to my normal life let alone about trying to do a job I hadn't any training for.

I got out of the car and walked towards the entrance. A girl I didn't know, dressed as a Stop and Shop employee walked right up to me and hugged me tightly. "Jordan, I thought you were sick."

"How did you know?"

"You weren't at church. Your Mom told me."

"Oh, I'm feeling better now."

"What's new?" the woman asked.

"Not too much."

She gave me a look.

"What?"

"You know, begins with an M..."

"Oh, Matt. I talked to him this morning. I'm going to see him Tuesday."

"Is that all?"

"He told me he loved me."

"He always does that."

"I don't care, I love hearing it. I love him too. He is the sweetest boy out there." I wasn't lying to her. I believed every word I said. This was the first time since this all started that I wasn't guarded about what I was doing or saying. As long as I was talking about Matt, I was smiling.

"I just can't wait to see him Tuesday."

I followed her into the store and mimicked her movements. I checked in and found out my assignment for today.

Most of the people there were protective of me since they knew 'my problems'. If I had a question, I felt like I could ask those around me. This was something I would never do when people thought I was a man. Regardless, the work wasn't hard at all. I didn't have to do any heavy lifting since I was a girl and I didn't have to do any heavy thinking either as I was just an associate.

Throughout the day, I would send messages to Matt. The message was either "I am thinking about you," or "I LOVE YOU." I waited for the reply. The replies got me through the day. My biggest headache was my bra straps which kept slipping down my shoulders. I wondered if it was so much trouble because I had the shoulders of a man or that I didn't have boobs to weigh down the cups.

After work, I had to wait for my mother to pick me up. I wished I had a car. But that was impossible, I didn't have a license, not now anyway. There was little to do, but to wait at the curve. She would be here soon.

"I'm sorry, Honey. There was traffic," my mother informed me.

She drove me home. On the way, I messaged Matt for the umpteenth time. "You are the best boyfriend," I told him. "I LOVE YOU!!! :P "

"I'll love you forever," Matt messaged me back.

"I can't wait to see you."

"Me neither."

I subconsciously readjusted my pants to be more comfortable during the chat.

When I got home, dinner was ready. My Mom had prepared it before, it only took a moment to heat it up.

"Take your pills first," Mom reminded me.

"I don't want to take them."

"The doctor said you should take them with food."

"I mean I don't want to take them anymore."

"But you have to take them."

"What do they do?"

"You know. We've been over this." Then she listed my various ailments. They included both physical, emotional, and psychological problems.

"I think I'm all better."

"Only the doctor can make that determination."

"What?"

"Only your doctor can tell."

"I know myself. I think I'm alright."

"Just take them now. When we see the doctor, she'll tell us if you still need to take them."

"No, I'm going to stop taking them now."

"You can't do that."

"I'm an adult. I can do what I want."

Mom knew that legally I wasn't an adult, but she wasn't going to bring that up. I had been legally declared incompetent under the guardianship of my parents.

"I'm sorry Honey but you have to take your pills."

"I won't. Also, I've been thinking. I want to learn to drive."

"Drive? What brought this up?"

"I think I should be able to drive. I don't want you to have to drive me all over or to take buses."

Mom believed that I didn't have the attention span to drive. She believed I would get distracted so easily and then I would be in a wreck. I could hurt myself or hurt others. It was negligent of her to let me drive for myself. But this wasn't the time to discuss that.

"If you don't take your pills, then you can't learn how to drive!" Mom explained indignantly.

"I'm going to stop taking my pills and I'm going to learn how to drive."

"What's gotten into you today?"

"Nothing."

"We'll discuss it after dinner."

"Fine."

I started to eat. The food was tasty. Mom apparently was a good cook.

When I was finished I went to my room. Mom came up a short time later.

"Honey, will you take your pills now?"

"No!"

Then Mom had an idea. "If you don't take your pills then I am going to take away your phone privileges"

"You can't do that. I won't let you."

"I can suspend your service."

"No!"

"I don't want to do it, but you have to take your pills. It's doctor's orders. We can see her and see what she says, but even if she agrees with you that you should stop, I'm sure you can't do it cold turkey. She'll have to ween you off of them."

"What does ween mean?"

"It means she'll have to do it slowly over a long while."

The threat of suspending my cell service which would make it impossible to talk to Matt got me to relent. I reluctantly took my pills. My mother made sure I swallowed them.

After dinner, I went to my room and got out of my work clothes. I was most pleased to get out of that troublesome bra. It was tight around my torso under the cups, but at the same time, the straps kept falling off my shoulders.

I found a pair of Minnie Mouse pajamas (different than those I was wearing this morning) and logged onto my computer. I contacted Matt through Messenger. I chatted with him for several hours. He made me feel good. I wanted to tell him about my day (how I woke up in someone else's life) and the problems I was having with my mother. But I didn't want to upset him. I certainly didn't want him to think I wasn't his Jordan. I loved him so much. The other Jordan, if there was one, didn't deserve a man like Matt. He's the best!

I woke up late the next morning. I went to the bathroom to pee, brush my teeth and my hair, and do the usual things. Then to the kitchen to have breakfast. Mom was on the phone when I got there.

"Do you know who that was?" Mom asked.

"No."

"That was Mrs. Greene. She said there was a problem with you at work yesterday."

I recognized the name. Michelle Green was on one of the business cards in my wallet. She was apparently my social worker.

"What? Everything was fine yesterday."

"That's not what she said. She said your supervisor called her and told her you were daydreaming. That you had to be told over and over where to be and what to do. You couldn't keep focused."

"That's not true!"

"So she is lying to me?"

"It's just that." I couldn't tell my mother that I really wasn't the Jordan Baird who is her daughter. That I am really a man. If she knew, she would think something was really wrong with me, and then I wouldn't be allowed to see Matt. I had to see Matt, he was the one good thing in all of this. I never knew a person could make me feel so loved as Matt did. I never knew I could love someone so much.

"It's what?"

"Nothing. I'll do better."

"Have you already stopped taking your medication? You know saying you are taking them but not?"

"No, I've taken all my pills."

"I don't know. I'm calling Dr. Morris and making an appointment for tomorrow. We'll get to the bottom of this."

Dr. Alisa Morris is my therapist/psychiatrist. She was always the first to be called when there was a problem. She monitored the medication I am on as well as which specialists I should see.

"NOT TOMORROW! I've got to see Matt tomorrow," I begged.

"I'm sorry, but you can't see Matt until this is all cleared up. I don't like the way you are acting."

"But I have to see Matt."

"I'm sorry."

"I just have to," I started to cry. I couldn't help myself. My heart was aching.

"Honey, I'm not trying to be mean, but something is wrong. We have to get to the bottom of this."

"Can I see Matt after we are finished with Dr. Morris?"

"If the doctor says so and we aren't done too late then OK."

I determined to be "a good girl" from now on. I had to see Matt. I just had to!

"Did you take your medication this morning?" Mom chided.

"I'm about to take them now."

"Good girl."

I saw my pills on the table in a plastic cup, I poured them in my hand and swallowed them one at a time with some soda. I finished breakfast quickly, went to my room, and phoned Matt immediately.

"This is killing me to say," I told Matt, "but I have to see the doctor tomorrow. I might not be able to see you."

"Oh no, I've been looking forward to your coming over."

"Me too. I love you so much. But there was a problem at work and my social worker was called, now I'm in trouble."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you."

"You can tell me anything. I like worrying about you."

"You're so sweet. How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?"

"Maybe it was your Fairy Godmother?"

"Yeah, that's it," I giggled.

I talked to him for a long while. Matt made me feel so much better.

"Honey, it's time to get dressed. You're working today," my mother told me as she entered my room.

"But I thought the thing with Mrs. Greene."

"No, you still have your job and your shift, but you had better be very alert today."

"I will. I promise."

"Good, now get off the phone and take a shower and get dressed. I'll take you when you are ready."

"I have to go now. I LOVE YOU."

"Bye, I LOVE YOU MORE."

I hung up the phone and got ready for work. It was easier this time, as it wasn't the first time. I knew what to do and what to expect.

I took the robe from the closet as well as a pair of panties from the drawer. I knew where everything in my room was now. I walked to the bathroom to get ready. The first thing was to pee and brush my teeth. Everyone thought I was a girl now, so I sat on the toilet to pee. It really wasn't any big deal. I needed everyone to think I was normal so I could get to see Matt soon. Not that I remembered or cared about wiping my dick after peeing.

I turned on the shower and washed up. While showering I remembered what my mother said about shaving my legs yesterday. I decided to do that now. It was the first time I had ever done so. In the end, I did nick my legs quite a few times, but there wasn't anything for me to do about it now.

I dried myself off after the shower and combed my hair. No one said anything about me having such short hair or having a boyish hairstyle. I didn't worry about that too much.

Returning to my room, I fetched the clothes I would need for work. I grabbed a bra first, that was mandatory. Then I went to the closet to get a top and pants. As long as they were black (and for the pants they couldn't be jeans) anything would do. I had even seen employees at the Stop and Shop wearing black leggings. I wondered if I should do that.

"What the hell," I thought and returned to the drawer to select a pair of leggings. I found a shirt that was appropriate there also. They were pretty lax with the dress code, black clothes under a yellow apron with my name tag were fine. I could even wear sneakers if I wanted. Most associates did because they were on their feet all day. Very little sitting jobs in a supermarket.

I took my pills at the kitchen table without having to be reminded. I ate whatever my Mom made and was on my best behavior.

On the way to work, I texted Matt and told him that while at work he couldn't contact me or I would get into trouble.

"I'll miss you all day," he texted back.

Then I ended my message with the usual. "I LOVE YOU!" and "I LOVE YOU MORE!"

The day at work was uneventful. I did everything anyone asked of me. I didn't have any problems. I even took my medication during my lunch break. I was determined to be 'a good girl'.

My mother picked me up after work. "Mom do we have to go to the doctor tomorrow? I promise I'll be good. Let me see Matt instead."

"I'm sorry we have an appointment. Besides Mrs. Greene and your supervisor already filed a report, something has to be done."

My mother had lied. She knew something was wrong and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. She did love me. I was her only child.

Later when my phone rang, I thought it was Matt, but the phone ID said it was Marisa instead. Marisa Bortell was one of my friends that I didn't know. I saw her name and picture while I was inspecting my life on Facebook yesterday, but other than that I didn't know much about her.

I debated not answering the phone. In the end, I decided I had to answer. I had to seem as normal as possible if I wanted to see Matt.

"Hello?"

"Hey girlfriend, how ya been?" Marisa asked. She didn't have a lisp in her voice exactly, but I could tell by how she talked she was as autistic as people thought I was. It made sense that all or at least most of my friends now would be as mentally challenged as I am.

"OK, I guess."

"Come on tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"About that boyfriend of yours? Tell me what's going on there?"

Marisa wanted to know about Matt and me. She wanted to know how my relationship was progressing. I was all too happy to tell Marisa all about it. I told her about how I was supposed to see Matt tomorrow, but it had to be called off because of a doctor's appointment. I didn't tell her why I had that appointment. I told her all the times I talked with Matt and everything we talked about. I told her everything. I even repeated myself several times. Marisa didn't mind, she was one of my best friends. She was happy to hear things were going well for us.

My conversation with Marisa started a chain of conversations as the details of my relationship were being spread to all my close friends.

"What should I wear?" I asked my mother in the morning.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever is comfortable. The doctor is going to run a full spectrum of tests. It's going to take a while. You might as well be comfortable."

"OK."

I wanted to give a good impression. Maybe I should wear a skirt or something pretty. I had to convince the doctor that I am perfectly fine. Maybe if I do well they'll take me off the medications. I hoped so. But I would do anything just to be with Matt. Being apart from him was tearing me apart. I loved him so much.

After showering, I looked to get dressed. In my mind, being a good girl was equated with looking pretty. I decided to dress up nicely. As far as underwear was concerned I picked out any old pair of panties and a bra. It didn't matter to me. No one was going to see my underwear anyway. Next, I decided I would wear a skirt so I picked out a pair of pantyhose to go with it. I sat on the bed and tried to put them on. It wasn't as easy as I had thought, but I did manage to get them rolled up my legs without ripping them.

Looking in my closet, I wasn't sure which skirt went with which top. "If they were the same color, then they probably could be worn together," I surmised. I chose a skirt and top that were both a light cyan color and tried them on. They seemed OK to me. Finally, I put on some shoes. White shoes would be best with a light-colored outfit. The shoes I chose had a small heel which seemed to be right too.

I wanted to put on a necklace or maybe some bracelets, but I didn't know what was appropriate with this outfit. I never was a girl before, no matter what everyone else thought.

"How do I look?" I asked Mom.

"You look beautiful...but you didn't have to go to such fuss. I told you to be comfortable."

This was the first time anyone had ever called me beautiful. At least to my face. Matt had said such things many times over the phone or in text messages. I liked being called beautiful. "I'm comfortable. But, should I change?"

"No, it's fine."

We went to the doctor's office and waited to be called. My mother had already told the doctor what's the problem.

This was the first time I was wearing typically feminine clothing. I wore a bra and panties for the last two days, but the panties weren't much different than male briefs. They were cotton and white. The bra was different and I didn't like it, but that was hidden under my shirt. Only a small bump from the cups could be seen. The shirts and pants I was wearing were mostly unisex. They were nothing special, but today I was wearing a real blouse with a v-neck and puffed sleeves with a skirt. My legs were clearly covered in pantyhose. There wasn't any doubt I was dressed en-femme for the first time in my life. Even my shoes had a girlish style and heel. They weren't just sneakers.

No one gave me a second look in regards to my feminine outfit.

I wondered for the first time since I was wearing shoes with heels, "Am I walking like a girl?" Probably not, since my hand isn't flapping loosely in the air and my butt isn't wiggling." It didn't matter much anyway. No one cared.

I didn't see the doctor immediately. Instead, nurses and technicians administered the various tests. I wasn't told which was used to assess which skill. But the tests did assess things like: 1) How do I listen and pay attention and what I understand. 2) How do I eat, dress, and practice personal hygiene. 3) What household tasks could I perform. 4) How do I interact with others. 5) How do I demonstrate responsibility and sensitivity to others. 6) How do I use my hands and fingers to manipulate objects. 7) Can I complete tasks without getting distracted. and other skills...

There were also specific tests for my unique health afflictions based upon previous assessments.

The testing took all day. Each test was done at its own time with my mother and me waiting between tests.

A nurse also took a blood, urine, and hair sample for lab testing. While I giving the physical samples, my mother was discussing the results of my test with the doctor. Dr. Morris was giving my mother complete information on my condition without holding anything back.

Welcome Jordan," the doctor said as I entered her office. "I hope the tests weren't too much of a bother."

"No, they weren't any problem at all," I said with a forced smile. I wanted the doctor (and everyone else here) to like me.

"Great, everything looks good. You're in about the same condition as the last time I saw you," the doctor announced.

I didn't know what to think. I wanted to seem normal. But normal for me as far as the doctor was concerned was of an autistic girl. What other problems the girl was supposed to have, I didn't know.

"Great! Mom, does that mean I can see Matt tomorrow?" I asked hopefully.

"Sure thing."

I jumped out of my seat and hugged Mom. I was going to see the love of my life tomorrow. All I had to do was to continue to be good.

When I calmed down I asked, "and the medications. Do I still have to take them?"

"You have to take them now, but I'll check your lab tests and let you know in a few days."

"OK."

I was on cloud nine as I left the office. I messaged Matt right away. "I can see you tomorrow. I CAN'T WAIT!"

All was set, tomorrow I would go see Matt. It was the happiest day of my life. Despite seeing Matt tomorrow, I talked to him for hours tonight.

"Hey, Jordan, when you come, can you wear that red dress?" Matt asked.

"Which red dress?" I asked as I went to my closet to look at my clothes. There were three or four dresses which were red or reddish. I didn't know which one.

"I don't know how to describe it. It was the one that you wore when we went to Allison Park last spring."

I didn't remember going to the park with Matt, but I did remember seeing myself in a red dress with Matt in my Facebook photos. I looked at the pictures there. I found several of Matt and me in that red dress at Allison Park. "I know the one," I told him. "Let me see if it's still in my closet. It was there, I smiled broadly. "I have it!

"Great, will you wear it?"

"Of course, anything you want."

When it was time to get dressed, not only did I wear the red dress, but I found everything else that went with it. The dress, the thin belt, the shoes, and I was wearing tights on that day. I also found the necklace I was wearing and the barrette I wore in my hair. I wanted to look exactly as I had because Matt liked me that way.

Since the dress was strapless with a sweetheart neckline, when I took my shower I shaved my chest as well as my underarms. I wanted to look perfect.

I wished I knew what lingerie I had worn, but there wasn't any way to determine that from the pictures. I looked in my lingerie drawer and found a pair of red satin panties in a bikini cut. I didn't know if these were the panties that were worn on that fateful day, but these panties were certainly red like the dress. I decided to wear them. This was the first time I put on panties that weren't plain white granny panties that looked like my old briefs. I had never worn red underwear, never mind anything that was as smooth and shiny as these were.

"Mom," I called, "can you help me put on some makeup?"

"Sure thing."

"I want to look like this," I said as I showed her the picture of Matt and me from the park.

"I can help you with that."

What happened during the date I'm not sure. I was just floating on air just being with him. I felt so loved and in love while with him. It didn't matter what I did. All he had to be was be with me. I wasn't allowed in his bedroom, of course, his mother was at home. But as long as he held me, I didn't care where I was or who was around.

Time flew by fast. Before I knew it, my mother was at the door. She drove me home.

A couple of days later, my mother called me.

"I just got the test results in from the doctor. Do you have anything to tell me?"

"No, what?"

"Are you sure you don't have anything to tell me? The doctor told me the whole thing."

I was baffled, what could it possibly be. I did everything they asked of me.

"The doctor told me," my mother explained, "that you hadn't been taking your medication for weeks."

"I uh."

"Well."

I didn't know what to say. Before last Sunday, I was actually a different person. I was a man who didn't need medication.

"You have to take your meds every day. Every single one of them. If you don't you could get sick or hurt. I don't mean to be hard on you, but you just have to do it. You can't stop. You need these pills. You don't know how bad things could get without them."

"I'M SORRY."

"I'm going to have to watch you more closely. I have to know I can trust you."

"I promise, I'll always take my pills from now on."

"Good girl."

I decided I didn't want to screw this up. Matt was worth any hardship. No one ever made me feel the way I did when I was around him. "Am I gay?" I started to wonder.

I was wearing feminine clothing. I looked down my torso at my crotch. There wasn't any hint of breasts on my chest, except for the slight indentation caused by the t-shirt bra I wore underneath my top. It looked like my natural male chest. Below that, I could see the expected bulge under the leggings I was wearing. That proved I'm not a girl.

"No, I'm not gay. I'm sort of a girl here, at least Matt and everyone else thinks so. I DON'T CARE! I love him. No one thinks I'm a man, so I guess as far as anyone is concerned I'm not gay. Besides what does it matter."

I got to my room, logged onto messenger, and started chatting with Matt. I watched the same TV program with him and discussed it. It didn't matter what we chatted about as long as I was chatting with Matt.

At 10:30 PM, the computer disconnected from the internet, and a message screen flashed.

"Mom, what's this?" I asked.

"The doctor said one of the reasons you have this new hormone imbalance was that you aren't getting enough sleep. So I set all your electronic devices to shut off at 10:30 PM," Mom informed me.

The computer had a NetNanny type software installed, the TV had a V- CHIP, and the phone was set to deactivate at 10:30. Mom had all the passwords that controlled these devices. There wasn't anything I could do about it.

"You can't do that! I was talking with Matt."

"You can talk to him in the morning."

"It's not fair. I'm not a child. I'm 26. Stop treating me like a child."

Mom didn't remind me, but in the eyes of the law, I was a minor. My parents had full legal guardianship over me. They could treat me as if I was thirteen if they wanted to. I had all the legal rights of a ten- year-old. I could only hold a job with their permission. I couldn't own a credit card or open a bank account without my mother being on the account. My mother could ground me like any teenager.

Legally I was incompetent and needed to be protected by a responsible adult. If I ran away, the police would look for me and return me to my parent's home.

"I'll stop treating you like a child when you stop acting one," my mother said without raising her voice.

What my mother said wasn't fair. I hadn't been doing anything like that, but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

"Can I at least log back on for five minutes just to say goodbye to Matt?"

"No, it's late, get ready for bed and go to sleep."

I looked at her with fury in my eyes. But I controlled myself. If Mom could set my bedtime at 10:30, she could set it to 9 if she wanted or not allow me to use the computer at all for a week or a month.

"OK," I said dejectedly. "I'll get ready."

As I changed out of my clothes and put on my pajamas, I thought, "She can stop me from talking to him tonight, but she can't stop me from thinking about him."

Then I changed the way I was thinking. "I'll be good," I decided. "If I'm really good, I'll see if I can get her to change the time my devices go off until midnight." (I refused to call this my bedtime.) "But I have to be good."

I got into bed and went to sleep. I dreamed of Matt naturally.

In the morning I woke up early. I had to wait until my computer would start to work again. When I did I messaged Matt, "My mother has me on a fucking curfew. It cut me off at 10:30."

It was only then that I noticed that my typing had been edited by the NetNanny software. Where I typed 'fucking' was replaced on the screen by '#######'. Looking back over older messages, I saw the same thing repeated over and over.

When I tried to go to some adult websites, I found my path blocked.

A couple of minutes later, my mother was in my room. "JORDAN, we've already had a discussion on sites that are off-limits to you!" she said calmly but firmly.

"I'm sorry," Mom." was all I could say.

"Jordan," my mother asked one day, "have you started your monthlies?"

"No, Mom."

"OK"

About a week later, my mother told me, "Hey the doctor needs a urine sample. Can you fill this up?" My mother gave me a specimen cup with a green screw-top lid.

"What's it for?"

"Nothing important," my mother lied. "The doctor just wants to compare this with the one he took when you saw him last."

"Sure thing, Mom"

I filled up the cup and screwed the top back on. I gave it to my mother.

My mother took my sample and was off. She took it to the bathroom. She returned with a relieved look on her face.

"I'm going to drop this off at the doctor. I'll see you later."

"Want me to come with you?"

"No, don't bother. I'll be back soon."

I was so worried about other things, that I didn't consider what was going on. My mother thought that I might be pregnant. I hadn't had a period in a while and I was seeing Matt. Matt's parents had assured Mom that I hadn't been alone, but she wasn't so sure. She used a home pregnancy test to see if I was pregnant. Obviously, I wasn't. But when she called the doctor, she suggested Mom bring the sample to her.

A few days after that. "Jordan, the doctor said you should start taking an extra pill. He said you have a hormone imbalance."

I didn't concentrate on the cause, I was just bothered that I had to take more medication. "Another pill?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal. I'll just add it to the rest. Don't worry about it."

"Alright."

My medications had always included a birth control pill, but due to what the doctor said was a hormone imbalance, the strength of the female hormones was increased and a testosterone blocker was added. These would give me the proper hormones typical for a young woman.

A week later, my mother wanted to speak with me.

"Yeah, Mom."

"Jordan, you were invited to Hannah's birthday party. I saw you aren't going."

"That's right."

"I think you should go. You are spending too much time either with Matt or alone. You don't see your friends anymore. It's not healthy."

"I love him."

"I know you do. But what about your friends. You haven't spent any time with them."

She was right. I didn't care about Pam, Hannah, Justine, Christina, and the rest of my friends. Only Matt mattered. They had called, I didn't want anything to do with them. My mother had been watching me more closely since returning from the doctor.

"I've been busy."

"Don't lie to me. They're your friends, they want to see you. What about Emily, you had been friends with her since you were five. She deserves more than your cold shoulder."

"I guess I haven't been seeing them enough."

"Go to the party. All your friends will be there. You'll have a great time."

"OK, I'll go," I said reluctantly.

"Hey, I'm not telling you to work in a salt mine. This is a party, it'll be fun."

"I guess."

"We'll go out and buy you a new dress; my treat."

"Fine," I said without much enthusiasm.

"Great, phone Hannah and tell her you are coming."

I really didn't want to. But I had to be good. If I didn't see 'my old friends', my mother might punish me. She wouldn't do that, but that is what I thought.

I was going to be spending lots of time with my friends at the party. I didn't want to seem like a fool so I looked them all up again on Facebook. I needed to recognize the faces and put them together with their names as well as some of the things about them.

I looked up Hannah first for no reason. She was mentally challenged just like the rest of my friends but I couldn't tell from the pictures or from her posts. There were lots of pictures of her with her friends, including me in her photo gallery. Lots of posed pictures all happy and smiling. They're mostly taken at people's homes or in their backyards, I supposed. There were also a few pictures with filters like hearts and flowers. Almost all of the pictures were of her with her female friends. She must not have a boyfriend, I guessed. I looked closely and found a small group of pictures that had a boy in them too. But the boy was wearing the same green shirt and in a couple of the photos, there were her friends too, so it wasn't serious.

I looked to see if she had a boyfriend out of curiosity. It said she was single. I looked over her general information, it said she was born about four years after me. It listed many mutual friends. I looked through her posts and found I had attended her birthday party last year. That she went to an Easter event. There was a picture of a dog, but I didn't know if it was her dog, or if the dog was new. It was a cute dog though. There was a video of a friendship circle for kids with special needs. There was a post that began "This is the week of SPED (Special Education), Autism, Dyslexia, processing disorder, and ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) awareness." It went on and on.

Next, I moved onto Justine's page. She had lots of videos of her putting on music and dancing to pop songs. The videos started with her turning on the recorder. Then there could be minutes of her pressing buttons to select music. In one she ran out of the room to get something leaving the video running on the floor. There wasn't any editing done on these videos. She needed good video editing software. She did seem to be having a lot of fun though. The videos could last over half an hour.

I looked through Justine's information trying to gauge what type of person she was. I liked that she listed under nicknames "Just".

Marisa was a pretty girl, but I could tell by looking at her face that she had a mental problem. There was something slightly off about her face. She, unlike Hannah and Justine, liked to wear cami-tops that showed off her shoulders and upper chest. She was alone in almost all of her pictures. There were graphics of unicorns, crowns, and flowers in her photo section. Then moving down, there were what seemed like hundreds of pictures of plates of prepared meals. She had taken pictures of her plates from restaurants before she took a bite of the meal and posted them. There were steaks, chicken dishes, bowls of soup, burgers and fries, cheesecake, and all sorts of other meals. "If she likes taking pictures of what she is about to eat, who am I to complain?" I thought.

I checked Marisa's relationship status, she was single too. None of my friends (so far) were as lucky as I am to have a boyfriend.

Most of Marisa's posts were of her changing her profile pictures. I didn't know much about her, except she likes to take pictures of food and wear camis.

Christina went from boyfriend to boyfriend. Saying she loved them with all her heart, just to break up and find another. She couldn't love a man as much as she professed I didn't think. I had thought and said similar things about Matt, but I meant them. I would never break up with him, certainly not after a few weeks.

Rebekah was the prettiest of my friends. There wasn't any hint of mental infirmity in her looks or what she said. But I knew she was just one of the girls in my group. She was the most likely to be wearing a dress in pictures.

Michelle was older than the rest of us. She was in her early forties, but she was still part of the gang. She liked to do arts and crafts like sewing and took many pictures of her projects.

I looked up the rest of those who seemed my closest friends. They were different people, but they all shared one thing in common, they were all mentally challenged girls.

"Jordan, time to get that dress of yours," my mother called out.

"Coming Mom."

I got into the car and were off. I didn't think I needed a new dress for the party. I had plenty of outfits in my closet. But my friends had seen me in all of them. I didn't care, but girls had a different opinion of those things.

Instead of driving directly to the store. Mom turned into a neighborhood. In front of a house waiting for us was Justine and Rebekah My mother stopped in front of them. They got into the car. My mother hadn't told me that they were coming along. She decided that it would be good for me and invited them.

I was annoyed at my mother. She invited Justine and Rebekah without telling me. It wasn't as if I didn't like these girls, they were 'my friends'. But my mother didn't even ask me if I wanted them along.

It might be a good idea to spend some time with these girls getting to know them before the party. But my mother should have asked me first. She was yet again treating me like a little girl. It wasn't even my idea to buy a dress in the first place.

I put on a brave face and greeted my friends. It was a good thing I had just spent time seeing who my friends were and what they looked like.

"Justine, Rebekah, hey. I didn't know you were coming."

"Your Mom phoned us, we hadn't seen you in such a long time we had to come. Plus I love looking for new outfits," Rebekah answered.

"Rebekah was so pretty," I thought. "If you didn't have a boyfriend that you loved so much, I wouldn't mind spending time with her. I might even let her know that I wasn't really a girl. She was so hot." I knew I couldn't do or say anything about that though, I could never jeopardize my relationship with Matt. Telling people I wasn't a girl wouldn't go down well either with anyone.

I let my mother and Rebekah guide me when it came to dresses. I put on everything they suggested. Rebekah and Justine also tried on their own apparel. Often the girls and I would be in the same dressing room together. They took off their clothes right in front of me without giving it a second thought. Rebekah was so hot and she had great tits. She was also wearing lace panties in which I could sort of see-through. I tried to avoid looking at her crotch...I wasn't entirely successful.

Justine, on the other hand, could afford to lose a few pounds, but she was still a girl and half-naked in my presence. I decided it was safer to stay closer to Justine than to Rebekah while we were changing.

It was a good thing they wouldn't notice that my dick was getting a bit hard when I looked at them. I kept reminding myself that I was in a relationship with Matt and that these were just my friends. I controlled myself the best I could. But I couldn't help but adjust my panties from time to time for obvious reasons.

Dresses were selected, lunch was eaten and everyone went home happy with their purchases.

When I returned home, I called Matt. I needed to hear his voice. I would never do anything to hurt him or ruin our relationship.

Matt insisted I take a picture of me in my new dress and forward it to him. I was happy to so do.

"You're so pretty," he told me.

Mom dropped me off at the party. It was held in an Italian restaurant. I entered and was shown to the back room where the party was taking place.

I didn't know what to expect. But it looked quite ordinary for a party. There were fifteen people there, four men and eleven women. I recognized them all from photos I saw on Facebook. The room was decorated for a party. It was Hannah's 28th birthday. Pop dance music was playing over the loudspeaker. There was a big table in the middle where I knew everyone would gather around later to eat. The wait staff was passing out hors d'oeuvres to the party-goers. It was like any other party I had gone to.

Ordinarily, at a party, I would get a drink of liquor, but with all the pills I was taking that was out of the question. Instead, I saw pitchers of soft drinks and water on the table. I walked right over since my throat was dry and filled myself a glass of coke. I took a quick sip to wet my throat.

Even though I recognized everyone, I wasn't sure which person belonged to which name. Justine and Rebekah I recognized instantly, I had spent a day shopping for the dress I was wearing at this very moment. It was a sleeveless tank dress with wide straps and a round neck. It had a pleated skirt that dropped down to about three inches above my knees. I wore it with a gold necklace that provided a contrast to the entirely black dress. I didn't mind wearing the dress at all. I had been wearing women's apparel for a while now. But I still hated that my bra straps kept falling off my shoulders. This was especially true since I felt I didn't need to wear a bra at all since I really didn't have any boobs.

I walked over to Justine who was with two other girls. I was greeted and told how pretty my dress looked. Most of the other girls didn't wear dresses, they were in tops and pants instead. I contributed to the conversation as best I could. I tried not to use names until I was sure of the name of the girl I was talking to.

After a while, I realized that I was accepted in this room more than I had been with any other group of people. Everyone was differently enabled at the party. They didn't treat me as autistic or mentally challenged as the other people I was usually around had. Those people could tell just by looking at me that I was special. Not that they could see the real me. But in this group, I was just another party- goer. These were my friends that I had known for many years. It was natural for you guys to be together, whether at school or at events for special people, trips, etc. For the first time, I felt at ease while in a large group.

When we were about to sit down at the table, a picture was taken of the whole group. When I saw the picture later (on Facebook of course) I was disappointed that my dress couldn't be seen. I was in the back since at 6'2 I was the tallest one there.

Justine insisted I dance. I really didn't want to, but I did so anyway. I duplicated whatever moves Justine tried. A third girl joined us, I thought it was Pam, but i wasn't sure. Soon all three of us were dancing together in a circle. Only one of the boys was brave enough to be on the dance floor. He wasn't just dancing he was trying to show off.

When the song changed, I told the girls, "I have to use the ladies' room." I wasn't lying, I was thirsty a lot and peed just as often. It was one of the side effects of the medications I was taking. That wasn't the only side effect though, there were others. I didn't think as fast as I could anymore. Although since everyone expected me to be 'slow' it wasn't noticeable to me. I wasn't asked to do any heavy thinking. There were other side effects I wasn't aware of at all.

"I'll go with you."

"OK."

The two of you, I was pretty sure her name was Pam, walked out of the party room into the restaurant and then into the restroom. I took a stall, closed the door, and pulled up the hem of my dress. Then I pulled down my panties. Since my dress was tight, Mom insisted I wear it with a thong. The thong wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be, although it didn't support my dick at all. I sat on the toilet. After peeing, I still didn't wipe myself as girls do. No one was ever around to correct me.

Pam was waiting for me when I was done. I didn't know if she used the facilities while I did. It didn't matter anyway.

When I returned the music stopped and the group was sitting at the table. The dishes were taken out and people started to eat. I noticed Marisa take a picture of her dish before taking a bite.

By the end of the party, I had 'met' everyone and knew all their names. These girls had truly become my friends. The boys there were more like just acquaintances.

I determined to spend more time with my girlfriends. They were nice and fun to be around. I hadn't realized up until now how much I needed to be with people who thought of me as their friend. My mother was right. People who didn't think I was odd, sick, or challenged. People who liked me and wanted to be with me. People who didn't think they were better than me. These are my friends, and now that I had spent time with them, I liked them too. In effect, I finally realized how lonely I truly was.

From that point on, whenever my friends called, I wanted to talk to them. I looked for reasons to be with them. I even started to call them on my own initiative.

My mother was grateful that I was seeing my friends again. I went to their houses and they came to mine. We would do things together in neutral places.

While Pam was at my house, she suggested that both of you take an art class.

"I don't know," I said hesitantly.

"I know you love to paint. Come on, it'll be fun."

Pam wanted to join the class, but she didn't want to join alone. It was obvious that I enjoyed painting. I had some of my paintings framed on my own walls in my bedroom. I couldn't say, well that was someone else who did them. Besides, the idea did seem like fun.

Pam was becoming the best of my friends. There was something about her I really liked. She was so easy to talk to. If I could tell anybody about what happened, it would be her. But I didn't want to tell her at the same time. I didn't want her, in particular, to know that I really wasn't the Jordan Baird that she knew.

A short time ago, I wasn't sure of Pam's name. Now, she's my best friend.

It didn't take too much persuasion for me to agree to take the class with her. I knew how much she wanted to do it and I felt an obligation to help my best friend.

The time I spent with Matt was heavenly, but getting there was a hassle. I lived in the suburbs but there wasn't a bus that passed by my house. Matt lived 40 miles away in the adjoining state. How I met him isn't an important story. He was worth all the fuss to get there but that didn't mean I liked going to all the trouble.

The first thing I needed to do was get a ride to the railroad. The railroad was two miles away, I could walk, but two miles is a half-hour walk, and if it was raining or something, not the most fun. So I needed a ride to the railroad either by my Mom or dad or by an uber which costs money. I have to take the railroad to the city. During peak hours, the railroad ran quite often, but other times not as much. Plus, since it was peak it was crowded too.

Once in the city, I had to go to the Path Train to Matt's town or thereabouts. Next, I could take another uber or a bus to get to his house. The 40-mile distance usually took about two and a half hours and cost lots of money between the ubers, buses, and trains. Plus, the schedule of each wasn't perfectly synchronized. If I miss the connection and I had to wait for the next train or railroad.

Going to my friends, to art class, or even to my job was a similar hassle. I had to wait for drives or ubers. It would be so much easier if I could just drive myself.

With all that in mind I asked again, "Mom, I really want to learn to drive."

"Honey, we've been through this."

"We saw the doctor. He said I was alright!" I had started to raise my voice.

"He didn't say that exactly. He said your condition hasn't worsened because you stopped taking your medication," she told me in a reasonably controlled tone.

"But I'm taking them now. I can follow directions. I get back and forth to Matt all by myself," I told her with my voice still raised.

"I know and I'm proud of you. But driving is different. You have to concentrate the whole time. You can't let up for an instant."

"I can do that. I promise, I really can. I can do much more than you know!" I felt I needed to convince her. I was trying to control myself, but it was getting harder and harder. I was filled with emotion.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you can. You could be driving along on the highway and your thoughts can wander. I've seen this many times. Then you'll get into an accident and hurt yourself."

Mom continued to stay calm. It was frustrating that Mom couldn't see how important this was for me.

"I'M WILLING TO TAKE THAT RISK! IT'S MY LIFE!" I yelled.

"But what about the person you run into. It's not fair to them." Mom was talking in an even lower more controlled voice than before.

"That'll never happen! I can concentrate. I have a job. I can do what I need to do," I said in a slightly lower tone as I tried to get a bit of control over myself.

"You don't know if you can concentrate the whole time. You might get distracted and then...you know..."

"That could happen to anyone. It could happen to you! You aren't perfect."

"No, I'm not. But we aren't talking about me. I have a lot of experience driving."

"I'm taking painting classes. My teacher says I'm doing very well. It takes a lot of concentration to paint. You have to pay attention to detail. I CAN DO IT!"

"I know you think so. But I'm not so sure. But as I said, driving is different. You can't let up for an instant. You have to be totally focused. You can take a break from painting. You can fix your mistakes. Some mistakes in driving you can't fix. You can get hurt or hurt someone else."

My frustration was bringing tears to my eyes. "LET ME TRY! YOU AREN'T BEING FAIR! I CAN DO IT!"

"I don't think you can. I'm not going to let you. I'm not trying to be mean."

"I CAN DO IT! I'M NOT A BABY! I CAN DO IT!"

"I know you think you can, but you have to listen to me."

I had lost all control over my emotions. "WHAT IF THE DOCTOR SAYS I CAN?"

"Well then maybe."

"GREAT! LET'S SEE THE DOCTOR!"

"We just saw him, we don't have another appointment until October."

"I DON'T WANT TO WAIT THAT LONG. I WANT TO SEE HER NOW!"

"You have to. That is the best I can do." Mom never raised her voice once during the entire conversation. She had trained herself to keep calm during my tantrums.

I saw that arguing with Mom was pointless. Tears had started to roll down my cheeks. I had to rub them off my face with my semi-closed fists. I turned away from Mom and ran to my room. I threw myself on the bed and let the tears flow. It took me a while to calm down.

Once I could think rationally again, I realized at least there was hope. I would have to wait. But it was very frustrating. I remembered having a driver's license before all this began, now I have to beg my mother to try and get one again. I knew I could drive, I wished she would give me a chance to prove it. All I needed was a chance.

This wasn't the first time I lost control when my mother wouldn't let me have what I wanted. It was happening more and more often actually. I blamed my mother for provoking me or the situation I didn't realize that it was me who was changing. I would have never had a tantrum before. I might get angry and raise my voice, whatever. But never a full-out temper tantrum with crying.

At one time, I was on the verge of having a similar incident with my supervisor at work.

My mother had noticed the increase in my outbursts. She thought that some therapy could be used to help me calm myself and keep control. She wanted to see what the doctor would say. In many ways, I was regressing.

A couple of days later, when I was calm Mom told me, "I've changed my mind about driving?" She wanted me to see the doctor about these mood swings.

"I can take lessons?"

"No, I mean we can see the doctor and see what she says. If she thinks you can handle it, then I'll see about getting lessons for you."

After the doctor spoke to me (and my mother in private) she referred me to an occupational therapist to assess my ability to stay focused...and to help me control my emotions.

"It's possible," the therapist announced.

"GREAT! so I can start driving?"

"No, that isn't what I meant. If you have therapy specifically focused on your attention and your mood swings. You can't get angry while driving. That'll cause you to lose focus. If we can keep you focused and control your emotions, then you might be able to start learning to drive. I'm not giving you any guarantees, but it is possible. Many people with your disabilities have overcome their handicapped and learned to drive. You might be able to also,' the therapist explained.

Now the therapist was saying I can't keep focused. It seems I'm having the same conversation time after time.

I couldn't help myself, I threw myself into the therapist's arms to hug him. I started therapy immediately. That very day.

In time, occupational therapy was mixed in with physical therapy. The therapist noticed I wasn't as steady on my feet as I should be. Soon I was learning to be more sure-footed and graceful. I learned to walk smoothly on heels as women do.

Without me noticing, my entire life became completely structured. I woke up at exactly 7:30 AM and I went to bed at exactly 11 PM. After waking up, I put on my glasses, there were always on the nightstand by my bed where I left them the night before. I immediately went to the bathroom and relieved myself, brushed my teeth, and brushed my hair. I could take my shower now, but I never did because I had to have my morning pills. The pills had to be taken with breakfast so that always came first.

By 8:30, I was finished with everything I needed to do in the morning, I had peed, brushed my teeth, eaten, taken my morning pills, showered, brushed my hair, gotten dressed, and applied any makeup I needed. I did all these things in exact order and it had to take exactly an hour.

The next half an hour was used to communicate with Matt and my friends. My phone and computer would start working at 8:30. The time Mom set it to. I had exactly half an hour to finish my communications because I had to be out of the house at 9:00. If I wasn't out of my house at 9, I would have trouble making it to my painting class on time if there was traffic or some problem. Painting class was only two days a week, but I also had physical and occupational therapy three days a week at the same time as painting and church on Sunday.

Lunch was always at noon and I had to be at work four days a week (Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday) from two to seven. Tuesdays and Thursdays I could see my friends during the day.

Dinner was always at 7:30. TV programs I started to watch at 8. They could be recorded during the day, or previously, or they could be on that night. This was also computer and phone time. At 10:30, all electronic devices were turned off. I have half an hour to get ready for bed and go to sleep.

Saturday was the only day with 'free' time. That was the day for going to events or seeing Matt. I saw Matt every other Saturday although I talked to him through the day on my 'breaks'. The other events that took place on Saturdays had to be planned days in advance. I became anxious if anything was sprung on me at the last minute.

My Mom arranged the schedule without me noticing that was what she was doing. The doctor had told her, that keeping a routine was important and comforting to adults with autism. Not following the schedule that first day, was what concerned my mother. She never had to wake me up for church before that day. Between all my activities I was rarely at home. But all in all, I was happy.

Months later, one morning like any other I woke up. My room had changed but I wasn't cognizant of that fact. My bedroom was back to the way it was before that fateful morning when I became Jordan the 28- year-old autistic girl. Instead of the 28-year-old guy, I really was.

I didn't recognize that the blanket on me wasn't the one I went to sleep under. That all the paintings were gone and the TV wasn't in a wall unit, it was hanging directly on the wall. The dimensions of the room hadn't changed, but all the furniture and carpeting had reverted to what they once had been.

I wasn't even aware that I wasn't wearing the pajamas I had put on the night before, I was only wearing a t-shirt and some male boxers. The nail polish I had been wearing for some time had also vanished from my fingertips.

I instinctively put on my glasses. They were thin framed and the lenses were much smaller now. I didn't need them to see distances anymore.

It was morning and I had to pee so I trudged over to the bathroom. I turned around such that my butt was facing the toilet. I pulled my boxers down, without looking at them, over my clean-shaven legs and sat down to pee. Sitting down had become my regular way to relieve myself. I didn't even need to point my penis down with my hand, I let gravity do it for me. It had become totally natural. When I was done, I stood up and pulled up my boxers. I still didn't wipe myself as girls normally do.

I walked over to the sink and looked at myself in the mirror above it. My hair had grown and had been styled in a feminine manner. It still wasn't long enough for me to need a scrunchy or a rubber band to control it, but it was getting there. I would brush and style it later after my shower.

The bigger concern was the acne on my face. It was all over. I didn't know that it was a direct consequence of taking hormones. Before leaving my home, I religiously used concealer and foundation to hide the zits. I had also started to wear blush and other cosmetics to 'pretty' up my face. But that was for later, now I had to thoroughly cleanse it to minimize the acne problem. I did so right after brushing my teeth.

The hormones had also caused changes to my body other than giving me a few zits. My chest had started to develop. My new boobs weren't large enough to fit the bra I was still wearing, but I wasn't flat chested anymore. My hips and butt had also expanded and rounded to take on more feminine proportions. There were also several other barely noticeable changes that I had grown used to.

I ran a brush through my hair and headed towards the kitchen. I would better prepare for the day and take my shower after breakfast and medication.

On the way, I noticed people in the living room. They were sitting in chairs. There were my real parents (the ones that knew me as a man,) my brother (when I was thought of as a woman, I didn't have any siblings), and my best friend, Scott.

I looked around and none of my current friends and more importantly Matt was among the people here.

A man I didn't know said, "You want to come on over and have a seat with your family and friends?" I sat down and crossed my shaved legs subconsciously in a feminine fashion. The physical therapist I had been seeing, had 'improved' my posture as well as the way I walked and sat. I no longer ever sat with my legs apart.

The man continued, "We've all been talking, Jordan and I'm just hearing from a bunch of people who love the heck out of ya. They all think you need some professional help."

"But..." I tried to interject.

"Wait a moment, they are going to say what they want to say. And you are going to say what you want to say. And then we're done. OK?"

I was silent. I couldn't explain what was happening.

My brother got up first, "Jordan, I don't know what has come over you but you have changed and I don't think for the better. Your not the man you used to be. Whereas you used to... "

My foot started to tap nervously, I wasn't listening to what anyone was saying. I had to have breakfast. I needed it now. If I didn't my entire schedule would be thrown off. Today was the day I had art class with Pam. I had to be there on time. She expected me. Pam would be disappointed if I wasn't there. I needed to eat breakfast now. The pills that I always took with breakfast, was so much a part of the meal now, that I considered them all the same thing. If I didn't start breakfast soon, that would reduce the time I needed to take my shower. I could take the 'short' shower today because my legs and armpits had been shaven about a week ago. But I still had to get going. I couldn't just sit here and wait.

My foot started to tap faster.

Didn't they understand, if I delayed the start of my shower, then how would I put on my concealer and foundation? I had just seen the acne on my face, I had to cover them up. It was also taking longer to dry my hair. It was much longer now. I had already considered waking up five minutes earlier so I would have time to dry my hair. I was going to tell Mom soon that I wanted to eat breakfast five minutes earlier. I hoped she wouldn't be upset.

"Where is she?" I looked around the room for Mom. Mom wasn't there. She should have had breakfast on the table already.

"Wait, wasn't that my Mom?" I thought as I saw my real mother. "She doesn't make breakfast for me. I have one Mom. The one who makes breakfast and takes me everywhere."

"I have to go! What is all this talking?" My mind was in a complete manic. I will be late!

I had gone from tapping my foot to knocking my knees together.

"I have to go. I have to hurry. I can't be late for the art class. Pam is there. She's waiting for me. I have to eat breakfast. I have to take my shower. I have to dry my hair. I have to hide my zits. I have to get dressed. Maybe Mom can drive faster to art class. WHERE IS MOM?" The words rushed out of my mouth.

"I need to have my breakfast!" ! shouted.

"One moment, after we are through," the man said.

"NO, NOW. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. I HAVE TO!" I got up out of my seat. I ran to the kitchen. Mom wasn't there. Breakfast wasn't on the table waiting for me as it should be. I'll be late. I rushed to the refrigerator. "Maybe there is something I can eat in there?"

Everyone in the intervention circle followed me. They were gathering at the door of the kitchen. I was in a complete panic.

"MOM?" I cried. "WHERE IS MOM!"

"I'm right here," my mother said.

"NO, NOT YOU! MOM. I WANT MY MOMMY!" Real tears were flowing down my cheeks now.

This was worse than anyone expected.

I found an apple and bit into it. I had to be on time. I didn't have time for a full breakfast anymore. I ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Back in the living room, everyone except me was gathered. I was in the bathroom taking my shower. I was still eating the apple at the same time. This was tough as the soap was liquid soap. I couldn't hear what they were saying.

"Oh my god," one of the interventionists said.

"What should we do?"

"I think we have no choice. We'll have to call an ambulance and have him committed. You know those 72-hour thingies."

"I think so too."

"You had better call. You're his mother."

My mother picked up her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.

End.