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“I am NOT gay, I like girls. I really, really like girls. I am NOT A SISSY.”He was panicked, frightened and close to tears. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not… a sissy… I just might have a strange fetish.”That fascinating disclosure emanated from my then eighteen-year-old nephew, David, while he was standing in front of me in the middle of my own bedroom.~ ~ ~I am the Chief Executive Officer of a financial company located on the umpteenth floor, high up in one of those tall buildings in Lower Manhattan. We are a small operation compared with the Wall Street powerhouses but we serve a loyal cliental and perform with enough business acumen and insight as to garner respect, even down here among some of the world’s best financiers.In an area of town some describe as the pulsating heart of the city’s financial empire, our building is located at the corner of Nassau and Pine Streets, a block north of the New York Stock Exchange and a block east from the historic Trinity Church. A convenient location; where corporate sin and spiritual salvation are within an easy walk of each other.My nephew David is the son of my sister Janice and I have known David since he bawled his way into existence, three weeks prematurely at the Oneonta General Hospital in upstate New York. My sister Janice is married to a man who manages a fancy ski resort up there in the Catskill Mountains. While my sister embraced the pastoral rolling hills of Delaware County, I chose the concrete roller coaster of the New York City business world. Both of us are happy and content with our respective choices.Janice and I converse often on the phone and visit each other when the mood strikes. Her mood generally strikes when she feels the need to descend upon the seasonal sales events in Bloomingdale’s up on Fifty-Ninth and Lex while I occasionally settle for the quietness of her home for a brief respite from business. I do stress ‘occasionally.’Picturesque countryside it certainly is, but rolling green pastures, quaint farms, and the questionable delights of rural perfumery; the ever wafting agrarian scents of stables, wildflowers and eau de bovine rockets my hay fever into orbit. I find it somewhat distracting to appreciate the gentle pastoral surroundings with a Flonase inhaler inserted in my nostrils.Janice’s home may provide a temporary place to decompress, but my heart and soul will always remain firmly embedded in the cosmopolitan concrete of Manhattan.In this particular instance, a phone chat with Janice informs me that her only child, her brilliant son, David, has just successfully graduated from Oneonta High School. She goes on to tell me that David has been accepted into Fordham University in the Bronx, starting with the fall semester. The reason for her phone call being, could I possibly accommodate David with temporary shelter and sustenance for a few weeks while he finds himself some student quarters near the Uni.Of course, Janice’s inquiry was also her not-so-subtle way of determining the suitability of my home before subjecting her darling boy to my care. What my sister is really inquiring about is whether I am currently sharing my bed and kitchen table with anyone. She knows that ever since my ultra-brief and forgettable marriage of a few decades past, I have lived alone in my four-story three-bedroom townhouse in Midtown Manhattan. I assume that in deference to her son’s upstate innocence and delicate sensibilities, she is scouting out the territory regarding the possibility of my being ‘shacked up’ with someone.A quick check of the single body indentation in my pillow and mattress would have confirmed my status at that time was decidedly lover-less and unsullied. I was not currently shacked up with anyone, and furthermore, it was none of her damned business.So I said, “sure, no problem, send the kid on down and I’ll provide him with a temporary roof and food for a week or two.”Several weeks later, my nephew stepped off an Adirondack Trailways bus and into the Port Authority Bus Terminal on West Forty-Second Street and Eighth Avenue. I had already spoken with David on the phone prior to his leaving home instructing him to simply grab himself a cab and have the driver deliver him to my address.I could not help thinking, ‘Welcome to the big city young David, and stand by for an education.’ The education to which I allude to would include the relative cloistered safety of a college campus and academic education as doled out by Fordham University, but more importantly, the more practical education received from living for a year or two in metropolitan Gotham.David and I are not strangers. I have entertained his mother and father many times over the years, and likewise, I take the occasional trip upstate, so it was far from David’s first trip to the city. He and his mother visit a couple of times a year, his mom goes shopping and David usually hangs around me.Actually, the last time that David and his father visited the city and stayed with me was only four months earlier. They came down to see the National Hockey League playoffs between the New York Rangers and the Boston Bruins. I admit I like ice hockey so we all went and had a good time.My nephew David is an attractive young man, a compatible blend of my sister’s English-French genes and her husband’s Swedish ancestry. He is slender, close to being six foot, blonde and blue-eyed, but noticeably on the shy side. He might be quite the lady’s man someday when he grows up and gets dry behind the ears.On his arrival, he quickly made himself at home in one of the guest bedrooms. I fixed sandwiches and we sat around the kitchen nattering about family things for a while. David always enjoys wandering around my house. It is a Side escort bayan Victorian four-story brownstone that has its own unique history and charms; I would not wish to exchange it for some soulless condominium.His favorite room is my home office and library where he can always find something to read and he enjoys the photographs hanging in there. There are several photographs of his mother and me taken when we were young and one of him with his parents taken when he was fourteen visiting the Bronx Zoo. There are also many miscellaneous photos of me taken when I was in France and when I lived in England for a while.“Who is this woman in this picture with you?” He called out from the library.I looked at where he was pointing. It was a photograph taken in Central Park, of me in the company of a slender young woman with long flowing light brown hair.“She is a good friend,” I replied. “Her name is Jeanie.”For his first full day in the city following his arrival, I took David to my downtown offices for a few hours in the morning. He seemed fascinated by the comings and goings, the different offices, phones ringing, computer screens blinking and printers humming.For lunch, I took him down by Battery Park and we sat on the benches nibbling hero sandwiches and drinking sodas as he looked out towards the Statue of Liberty and watched the Staten Island ferries coming and going from the terminal. It also made a nice change for me; at least I was not entertaining a client or stuck in some working-lunch business conference.Assuming that busy offices were not his idea of exciting surroundings I told David that I would cut him loose so he could wander about downtown for a few hours by himself while I worked the afternoon. At his age, he ought to be able to tell north from south and streets from avenues. Nobody can get lost in Manhattan. Surprisingly, however, he wanted to return to the offices with me, saying how there were great views of the city from the windows. Okay, no problem.A little after five o’clock I had had enough. A few associates and staff continued working the phones and faxes, as it was still mid-afternoon on the West Coast. After leaving the building, David and I descended into the bowels of the New York subway system and joined in the forced physicality of a crowded, rush hour Lexington Avenue Express uptown to where I live. It is a short trip.David seemed thrilled by the city and its prospective new challenges.The morning of day two, after I had fixed a juice and bagel breakfast, I took off for my office leaving David at home with his college paperwork scattered across the kitchen table along with lists of possible student apartments near Fordham University.It was a busy morning at the office and I spent most of my time arguing on the phone with someone in San Fransisco and placating someone else in Chicago. Perhaps it was it the other way around; anyhow, it was one of those mornings. Either my diplomatic skills were failing or my new shoes were too tight. Whatever the reason; come lunchtime I had a thumping headache and felt the need for escape.I thought perhaps I would collect David and find a nice sidewalk café in midtown to relax and talk over his plans for college accommodations.I made an executive decision.I am allowed to do that.As the office walls appeared to be closing in on me, I prescribed a mental health break for myself. My staff was going about their tasks in their usual exemplary fashion so there was very little I could do at my desk that afternoon that I could not accomplish while goofing off at home or relaxing at a midtown café.So I was feeling smug with myself. I would trip the old psychological safety valve and flee the financial jungle for the remainder of the day.So I enter my townhouse at a little past noon, and lo and behold, I walk into… what?What is it they say about never going home unannounced!It appeared that during my morning absence, my visiting nephew had absorbed himself in something other than finding himself some student accommodation. It was patently obvious that he was absorbed enough not to hear me returning home because I discovered my nephew standing in the center of my bedroom.While I considered his presence in my bedroom alone to be a significant invasion of my privacy, the fact that he did so while wearing one of my office skirts and a pair of ankle-strap high heels did rather beg some further explanation.I am seldom without words, but this qualified as one of those times.~ ~ ~I should have stayed at the office.Now I am a city girl and perfectly at ease living in a cosmopolitan environment, which means I have a collection of friends and acquaintances that most assuredly would be considered eclectic and multicultural. They encompass most ethnicities, genders, professions, eccentricities, religious beliefs, colors, sizes, stripes, and persuasions.Someone walking down Fifth Avenue wearing a gorilla suit, or the naked cowboy busking in Times Square wearing a guitar and jockey shorts does not faze me one iota. Seeing a male with a full beard and mustache wearing a halter-top and miniskirt is also no big deal to me. I fully accept the fact that the world is full of, he’s, she’s, and wannabe whatevers.Proof, I think, that I am far from being a prude.However, I most certainly have strong feelings about honesty and personal privacy.Observing the state of my nephew, my first instinct was anger. I really did not want to deal with this. I wondered if I could do a Doctor Who and step back a day in time. Where is a Tardis when you need one!I did think that some kind of a massive screaming fit was in order. I work hard and have a business to run and I do not want to deal Escort manavgat with this.It really isn’t fair.What I wanted was to kick off my painful new shoes, plop my behind on the sofa and quietly sip something atomically alcoholic while listening to some soothing classical music. Special emphasis to be placed on the soothing aspect. It was for sure not the moment for Gustav Holtz, seven-movement orchestral suite, The Planets, but perhaps a muted string quartet playing, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker ballet might be more appropriate.The Nutcracker! How Freud would have loved that.It was not going away, my headache or skirting David.One immediate solution rushed to mind.I seriously considered screaming a few choice obscenities at the top of my lungs and then kicking him, base over apex out of my home and onto the city sidewalk. He could just sit on his suitcase while I called his mother to come down and retrieve his silly ass.Undignified perhaps, but a quick resolution and effective.David had not moved an inch since I first discovered him. He stood frozen in place from sheer fright.I left him standing there seemingly comatose and walked through the bedroom and into my walk-in closet. Everything appeared to be in order. On the left wall were hung my business suits, straight office skirts, and blouses. The right side wall for my dresses; light summer frocks, ankle-length formals, casual skirts, and slacks. The back of my closet is shelved and pigeonholed for my sweaters, shoes, purses and various accessories.It was on my return to the bedroom that I noticed that all of the dresser drawers were partially open. The top drawers contain undies and bras, the middle drawers my full and half-slips and the bottom drawers hold my stockings, pantyhose, and nightgowns.The open dresser drawers leaped out at me. They signified the grossest invasion of my privacy.My emotional status moved from simple annoyance to extremely angry.I walked back into my bedroom, took a deep breath and calmly walked around my nephew in a slow circle looking him over carefully from his ears to my high-heeled shoes.“So what am I to surmise about this?” I finally asked him.He was ashen-faced and did not respond.I continued to circle around him. “So David… young nephew of mine. Is there something about you that I ought to know? In the few short hours that I have been at my office has my nephew David stepped out for the afternoon and been replaced by my niece Dorothy?”He stood frozen.“Is there someone else lurking in my bedroom closet and I have stumbled onto a private moment?”David opened his mouth but no sounds emerged.“Do you have a boyfriend lurking under my bed?”He stuttered something unintelligible.“SPEAK UP DAVID!”“I am NOT gay, I like girls. I really, really like girls. I am NOT A SISSY.”Not a sissy he declares, and yet he has the temerity to be standing there wearing my clothing.“Are you a panty-boy? David wants to be girly! Do you wear your mom’s skirts and panties at home, do you?”He seemed immobilized and in shock.“Well, DO YOU?” I snapped.He was frightened and close to tears. His voice dropped to a whisper.“No, I don’t wear my mom’s things. I’m not… a sissy… I just might have a strange fetish.”If his appearance alone failed to elicit my curiosity, the whispered, `I might have a strange fetish’ seemed to invite the need for a tad more clarification.Oh, he actually thought that he ‘MIGHT’ have a strange fetish! Let’s see now; he was standing in the middle of my bedroom wearing one of my office pencil skirts and a pair of my three-inch heels and he thinks that he MIGHT have a strange fetish! Good grief was THAT ever a priceless observation under the circumstances.In this humble layperson’s opinion, there was no ‘might’ about it.David’s tall slim build meant he has a good few more inches in height than I do. On average the hemline on my business skirts usually hit me about two-inches above the knees. On David, that hem went up considerably higher.The skirt fitted him just about perfectly, mid-thigh hemline and snug around his waist, backside, and hips.I could also see the edge of something white and lacy underneath.“What’s underneath the skirt?” I asked.“A p-p-p-pair of your panties and a s-s-slip” he stuttered.“Oh, well that’s a relief. Nice to know you are not suffering from being under-dressed then.”He stood still and unresponsive.“So, David. Why are you dressed like this?”David gave me an extremely stupid, lop-sided grin. “It was just for a laugh.”It was at that moment when I lost it.“DON’T YOU EVER BULLSHIT ME, YOUNG MAN!” I yelled.“When I ask you a question, I expect a straight answer. Now, why are you wearing those clothes? Are you a transvestite, gay or simply gender confused today?”Whether from my rare outward display of anger or his own stupidity, he seemed unable to respond.“Okay … let’s find out what you have on here.”“No Auntie, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered.“LIFT UP THAT SKIRT!”He reached down, took a hold on the hem and pulled the skirt up over his hips and onto his waist.“Oh, my. Well isn’t that just too cute.”Underneath the skirt, David was wearing one of my narrow, lace-hemmed, white nylon half-slips.“Now lift up the slip!”He clutched the hem of the slip and pulled it up onto his waist.I beheld a pair of white nylon hi-waist panties that matched the slip.From his waist on down he displayed the full ensemble. A black pencil skirt, accompanied by a white half-slip and white satin panties. As a crowning touch, he also wore a white garter belt.Now wasn’t that just darling?My skirt and undies; I felt violated.I really wanted to kick him into the street and throw his suitcase after him.Then he alanya escort started crying. He looked positively mortified, vulnerable and pathetic standing there.What do I do?Okay… I was a big girl and so I swallowed down the anger and tried to deal with the situation rationally. It was not as if I didn’t have a few friends that cross-dressed.However, this was a little close to home.I walked around him again. The situation presented some farcical observations as in when I saw the girdle he wore. “You do know of course that you don’t require a garter-belt when you are not wearing stockings.”“I… know Auntie. I… j-j-just wanted to wear it.”His wearing that garter belt without hose jarred my sensibilities. It simply appeared ludicrous to me, which in itself, considering the overall situation, was ludicrous in itself.“You are also wearing it back to front.”I absolutely cannot explain why, but I stood behind him, unhooked and removed the garter belt. Then twirling it slowly in the air, I continued my inspection.“Aside from that fashion faux pas, I notice that you did choose for yourself a matching half-slip and panty set. Top dresser drawers, right side, David?”He nodded.David did not move an inch. He remained immobile, standing there clutching the slip and skirt up around his waist. The bulge in the panty made by his private parts was minimal. Probably shrunken up underneath his armpits and caused more by sheer fright than cold.I stood in front of him and gestured with my hand that he should lower the bunched up clothing.“Pull those things down, David. I think you would agree that this situation calls for a little chat?”He let go of the slip and let it fall to where the lace hem circled his legs about six inches above his knees, then wriggled the pencil skirt over his hips and smoothed it down over his backside and legs.“Should I t-t-t-take these things off Auntie?”“No, for the moment stay as you are and follow me.”I walked into the living room with David trailing behind me and took a seat on the sofa.I pointed to the easy chair opposite me.He sat as any male would sit with his feet planted flat on the floor and knees about twelve inches apart. I could not help feeling amused watching him.“Close your legs, David. Under the circumstances, it isn’t thrilling for me to be looking up my own skirt.”He moved his feet and knees together and smoothed the back of the skirt underneath him. I wondered if he had unconsciously done that, or was emulating me.“Alright, David. Before you put yourself back on the upstate bus, give me ONE good reason… WHY?”He took in a deep breath and replied in a rush. “I love you, Auntie… I always have.”Oh, my aching feet. Well, I had not expected that for an answer.~ ~ ~I have often looked back on that moment and questioned my own incredulity. It was the simplest answer he could have given me, but one I would never have entertained.My immediate impulse was to laugh, but I am forever grateful that I did not. His admonition served as a valuable point of personal comeuppance for me being confronted by that which I least expected.Now, what was I supposed to do?I mean, I can except that most eighteen-year-old boys are, at any given moment of the day or night, ninety-seven percent hormones accompanied by three percent brain cells and that three percent resides in the little head hanging between their legs. I get it. Now, where do I go with a rather pathetic, ‘I love you?’Was I simply unable to grasp the notion that he was actually being serious or did my cynical interpretation of his admonition see it as a conniving way to elicit sympathy?If the sentiment is genuine, when someone uses those words to you in that manner for the first time, don’t you rather hope they are spoken over a nice glass of bubbly in a fancy restaurant, or while gazing at the moon after a long kiss?Not usually while they are wearing your clothing.Moreover, not by an adolescent nephew.I am a broad-minded individual who was trying to evaluate the situation in a thoughtful manner. With friends and acquaintances, you make room for their idiosyncrasies or dismiss them from your life.With family… that is a little trickier.This turn of events was a bit close to home and seeing him wearing my clothing certainly made me overly sensitized. Let me be honest here. I felt violated.If I cut to the chase, the immediate solutions appear simple and obvious. He forgets college and returns home directly, or I communicate with his mother and arrange for him to stay at some reasonably priced hotel near the university. In that case, I will have to conjure a reason as to why David can no longer stay with me.However, this is my nephew David.I am not naïve and I understand male curiosity. I have even known a few individuals who obtained their dubious pleasures going through laundry baskets. My mind hastens back to college dorm life and public laundries, and yes, I understand all of that pheromone claptrap.While I cannot recall my ever wanting to dig through a person’s laundry in hopes of discovering a worn pair of jockey-briefs, I guess some others may have. I am reasonably intelligent but I do not have a panacea for all of life’s little bumps and wrinkles,So what about David?Is he a kid, an adolescent, teenager or young man? He is neither one by itself, and he is all of them together.I asked myself if I was a little paranoid. Was I worrying unduly about having to hide my laundry, and affixing locks on my bedroom door? That if freed from the restrictions of his own home, will he simply dress up in my clothing and go parading down the street?No, from his frightened demeanor, I did not think he was inclined to take his little problem public.I needed to come to grips with my skirted nephew.“I won’t lie to you David. I am extremely upset. So talk to me, young nephew. Pray tell your old Aunt why you are wearing my clothing.”I waved a cautionary finger in his face.“And don’t ever bullshit me, young man. Start telling me the truth or get back on the bus and head back to the hills.”
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