Ballerina Boy Erin - Chapter 3

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Instead of high school, I home-schooled with my mom. This allowed us to spend at least two hours a day in the dance studio, not to mention six hours per week taking classes at the regional company school in the city. Mom really stepped up her own dancing and began to take on classes and small roles with the company herself. I cannot express how important her teachings in dance were to me. Since I spent most of my time at home, mom continued to encourage my "exploration". I learned to set my own hair, and I always kept my nails well-manicured and polished.

Since I spent at least a third of each day in the dance studio, I spent all of my at-home time when I wasn't dancing wearing jumpers, swing dresses, poet's blouses, and big sweaters over my tights. Mom bought me tights in all colors, and let me wear them when we trained at home. Of course, for classes at the dance company, I had to resort to traditional black. Many a postal delivery person and UPS man that came to the door  responded to my arrival at the door with "I have a package for the  Hendricksens, miss." But it wasn't ever like I was trying to "be a  girl". It just felt "right" to wear what I felt comfortable in.

Friday nights at our house were "luxury nights", and mom and I both took long baths, did our nails, and mom would give me a facial.  It felt so good.  You might ask, did I wear my jumpers and the like to town, or even to dance class?  No, I wore sweats and jeans.  Except for the one time that  I went out with three of the girls from my Saturday ballet class to the mall.  They thought that it would be cool if I let them "transform" me into a  girl for the afternoon. I wanted to make friends, so I called mom and told her that I would be going to the mall and that I'd be getting a  ride home around dinner time. I told her that I'd be going with a few friends from class.

I think mom was quite pleased since I didn't socialize much since my days at the private academy.  So we drove in  Belinda's car to Whitney's house. There, they took me into Whitney's room(her parents were out) and began their handy work. They had me strip down to my dance belt and were amazed at how hair free my body was especially my legs. "You don't shave your legs now, do you, Erin?"  Belinda asked. "They look so smooth". "Well", I stammered feebly "yes, I  do.

I hate to have any hair showing through my dance tights for recitals". "Well, that's kind of odd now since the last time you needed to wear white tights was four months ago when we did the Nutcracker.  Didn't your hair grow back, or do you regularly shave them for that silky smooth look when you wear sheer hose with short skirts?" said  Barbara in a mocking tone. "Maybe this isn't such a great idea," I said,  but Belinda chimed in with "It's okay Erin, we love you just the same.  It'll save us from shaving you ourselves, although I think Barbara was looking forward to it. Anyway, my aunt is Debby Dexter, and she told me all about your visits to her salon.

How did you think we came up with this idea? We kinda figured you might like it. Everybody knows that  you're "special" in many ways." All three girls giggled. "It's okay,  really". So we proceeded on. They began with sheer black pantyhose, a  first for me.  "I actually bought these this morning myself for you when  I was restocking for myself. It looks like I found the perfect size.  Your legs are so long and well-defined for a guy, Erin" Whitney stated in masked admiration. "They really look pretty. Some girl must have gotten your legs when the stork made his deliveries, and you got hers.  Boy, did she get robbed!" They then proceeded with a short pleated skirt in black.

"This is my older sister's skirt. It looks great on you"  Whitney said. "She's not into dance and isn't as petite as moi, but she's a perfect match for your size, Erin. Let's try a bra on him,  girls. It's only fitting that Erin experiences as much of the "real  thing" as we can provide." I quickly offered "Why would I need a bra,  Whitney, I don't have any breasts". Barbara responded quite firmly  "We'll fill your bra with nylon stockings for today, Erin, so that you can add some "shape" to the form-fitting blouse I've picked out for you to wear. I bet all those times when you've had your hair, makeup, and nails done by Debby you must have entertained the thought of becoming a  "real girl", complete with your own breasts? Come on, be honest with us!" "No, you guys, really I never did.

I never wanted to be a "girl", I  just like being an "individual", that's all". "Yeah, right, Erin" chimed in Barbara. "Barbara shut up. Erin is a sweet guy with a unique perspective. Let's help him today explore the possibility that it might be nice to be a "girl"...right?" said Belinda. The girls all nodded and winked. So after the bra was on, the stockings stuffed into both cups, I  was given the blouse to put on. Since I had worn billowy poet blouses at home, I was able to quickly button this blouse, which of course had buttonholes on the opposite side as a guy's shirt does. "Hey, Erin"  Whitney observed "you really buttoned up that blouse with ease.

Maybe this isn't the first time you ever wore a girl's blouse? Do you "dress up" like a girl often?" "No, I guess I'm just pretty dexterous with my hands." "Sure you are" all the girls echoed together. "The clothes fit very nicely, Erin. How about a clunky pair of Doc Martens? My sister is about your size and she has a really feminine pair complete with a sexy ankle strap and 2-inch heels in black patent leather." Whitney said. So on went the shoes. "Walk, to see if you can maneuver in those heels,  sweety," said Belinda. I took a turn around the bedroom with aplomb.  "Wow, you walk like you've been wearing heels as long as we have.

You would think you'd been a student of pointe the way you balance on your toes. Don't tell me, this is the first time you've ever worn heels,  right?" Barbara said doubtingly. Little did they know, mom had been teaching me toe dancing for over a year by then. She thought that it would be helpful in my career...I wasn't sure why, but I never ever doubted my mom's wisdom. But I wasn't about to disclose the fact that I  probably was as good toe dancing as they were to these three, at least not now. "No, I guess it's just all the years of ballet, girls, really."

So now it was time to sit down, while Belinda did my makeup, and Barbara took out a curling iron to add fullness to my hair through some strategically placed curls. Barbara said as she was finicking with my bangs "I've got to tell you, Erin, I do love your hair. It is so full and shiny. Even though no boy should have hair that looks this beautiful, it  most certainly looks good on you." "Thanks, Barbara, I like it too," said  I. As Belinda did my eyes, she noticed my lashes. "Erin, you genuinely have girls' eyelashes! They are so long and pretty. And look at the natural curl in them. I can't wait until I finish with your face. What a  rosy complexion you have. You have soft, flawless skin. Any girl would die to have your dimples. You are gonna turn out so pretty!

I think I'll do your lips in a pink that matches those feminine fingernails of yours. I've never seen a guy's hands that could pass for a girl's hands like yours can. Are you letting your nails grow longer? When you were partnering with me this morning I felt something dig into my torso on a lift.  Were they your nails, dear? How long do you plan to let them get? Not too long, I hope, or Miss Tingly will have you in pink tights and toe shoes being lifted into the air by Hans, that handsome exchange student from Finland.

He's a dream! You're still a better dancer though." "No,  Belinda, it's just that I have to file them tonight when I get home. I'm  not planning on letting them get any longer." After the three finished primping my hair and face, we tried on a short black bolero-style jacket. "There, all done Erin. Let's go to the mall," said Whitney. The mall was out of town, and most people didn't know me, but the girls went out of their way to introduce me to as many friends as they could possibly run into on a Saturday. Did they tell anyone that I was a guy?

No, but I'm not so sure that our "secret" remained as such after they dropped me off that evening. Before we went in I pleaded with them not to run into any guys, and to their credit, they lived up to their word.  We ate lunch first and then went from store to store trying on clothes.  Did I join in? Why of course. That was part of their plan.

Did I wind up buying anything? As part of their deal to keep their word about my identity, I had to buy a makeup kit and promise to come to every  Saturday ballet class with my face made up(they acknowledged that I only had to lightly do my eyes; a little eyeshadow and mascara, my cheeks; a  little light powder, and lips; just enough color for them to notice). I  think they thought that I wouldn't be capable of such deeds, and would either renege on my part of the promise or overdo the job and embarrass myself in front of Miss Tingley.

What they didn't know was that by now I  was quite accomplished at makeup, thanks to my mom's guidance, Debby's instruction, and lots of practice at home, and had no trouble accommodating their wishes. Although they never asked to dress me up again, the girls actually bonded with me and felt comfortable taking me in as a friend. We often went out for pizza together after class, and I  don't have any evidence to suggest that they told anybody about our  "special Saturday". Eventually, I even invited them out to my house one Saturday after dance and showed them my sunroom studio, and introduced them to my mom.

They loved my private ballet studio space, and all quickly did a grand jete'  across the floor to the barre by the full-length mirror. "This is so great, Erin," said Barbara, "I wish I had this studio at my house!" As I  went to my room in order to get a CD for us to listen to out in the studio sound system, the girls inadvertently followed me. Belinda noticed the sewing machine sitting on my desk. "Erin, what do you have a  sewing machine in your room for?" The other girls quickly turned to me with wide eyes and questioning stares. I responded matter of factly  "Well, my mom taught me to sew when I was really young, and I've enjoyed doing it for years now.

I take a lot of pride in being able to start out  with some material and a pattern and ending up with something I can  wear". "Show us something you've sewn, will you please?" Whitney inquired. So I opened my closet and pulled out a few vests. "They're very nice, Erin. I'd love to wear that dark green satin vest myself. But what else do we see in your closet? Do I see jumpers in there? Is that a  velvet swing dress next to that coat?" I guess it was meant to be. I  really felt no shame in how I dressed, or how I chose to wear my hair,  or whether I chose to polish my nails or not ever before, so why start now.

Was I going to try to hide something that I felt to be "natural"  for me? I did the honest thing, as I always did, and showed the girls all of my stuff. "Wow, Erin, we thought that when we dressed you up, it was a "first" for you. Seems like you've been a "girl" for a long time at home" Belinda exclaimed. "No Belinda, I've never seen these clothes to be worn as "girl's things". I know that sounds really insincere and far-fetched, but it's really true. The clothes that I create are just to wear at home over my dancewear when I'm relaxing. Please believe me.  When you girls put me in pantyhose, and a bra, that was definitely a  first for me". "Sure, whatever" said Barbara. "Let me ask you Erin if you could, would you want to be a girl all the time.

I mean like have breasts like us, neat things like menstruation, not!, and to lose that thing you keep in your dance belt? Seems like you're most of the way  there now!" "Barbara, I never really thought about it. You three are really the first people my age that know anything about my home life".  Then Whitney jumped in with "Erin, what is a pair of Capezio toe shoes doing besides your bed? Are they yours, by chance? Are you going to tell  us that you actually dance en pointe?" "Yes, my mom has been teaching me here at home for over a year now. She thought that I would benefit from the training." Whitney replied "well then, Erin you must show us right now!

What say you lace up those pink satin ribbons and show us what you  can do?" "Wait a minute, girls, let's just stop for a second, Erin,  this is a whole bunch for us to take in all at once" spoke Belinda in a  serious, solemn tone. "I want you to know that no matter what you do, I  think that you're a nice person, and I will always be your friend, no matter whether you stay a guy or become a girl, or even somewhere in between. Thanks for your honesty with us. And I think I can speak for my friends here that we will not make any kind of issue out of this.

We always knew you as a great dancer, a little distant, and very strange.  We knew about your beauty salon trips, and of course when we first got to know you. I mean how many guys does one meet that comes to ballet class with his hair in a bun and pink fingernails. So I guess even though we're kinda stunned by what you've shown us, we really can't be that surprised. But over the last few months, you've shown us that although on the outside you're really odd, I mean really odd, on the inside you are a genuinely beautiful person".

Barbara chidingly uttered  "On the outside, he is genuinely beautiful too" "Stop it", Belinda  continued "But we still like you, right girls?" All three nodded their heads and I offered a hug to each. "I do have to say", Barbara chimed in  "that if you ever decide to become a girl, you will definitely make a beautiful one!" Little did she know what a few years would bring forth. I never forgot that day, and I have promised myself that I will visit my friends soon and rekindle our "kindred" friendship.

As steted above, I went back to Debby for additional "salon treatments" pretty regularly.  I even experimented with a spiral perm once. My mom's suggestion. Although I was entranced by it at first, it took way too much maintenance to make it look just right, and it was so difficult to put it into a bun for ballet. I was glad when the curl finally went away, although it took months, and even some professional straightening. Never again. Belinda, Barbara, and Whitney stayed close,  but as school activities and boys took up more and more of their time,  they each stopped dancing. So our meetings became quite a few and far between. Over those high school-aged years everyone who knew me acknowledged my being "different", but they also acknowledged how talented I was. I felt no shame in my appearance or in my actions. I  was a dancer, first and foremost, and received the love I required from the one who knew me best, mom.

I'm 20 now. I moved to New York, with mom's blessing, and spent the first 2 months of my stay looking for work. I auditioned for four different companies and was unsuccessful in my quest to land a position as a dancer. The general complaint has been that although I am very skilled, and extraordinarily graceful for a male dancer, my body shape is a major deterrent. I was always on the small size growing up, but when you're a little boy, it's considered cute. If a ballerina's torso is disproportionate to her legs, she is rejected. The companies have told me that I have a ballerina's body, that is my legs are too long and my upper torso too small.  Am I upset about the prospect of not dancing with a major ballet company?

Well, I did land a position in an experimental ballet collective and have enjoyed my experience, but I  miss classical dance, and this group doesn't pay anything. Yes, I really do feel cheated out of my career,  but there is a silver lining.  You see that six months ago when I first got here, I met a woman in a  coffee bar who is changing my life in ways I never ever contemplated,  although Belinda, Barbara, and Whitney did.  She's a wonderful,  compassionate, understanding human being, and I have come to adore and love her. And she loves me. I moved in with her shortly after our first meeting. Her name is Ingrid and is originally from Germany. She is 26 and is a fashion photographer.

She in fact does quite well professionally, and is widely respected as "the one to call". If ballet has been my passion, photography is her's. In fact, I have been the subject of much of her personal work. She has done a series of photographs with me as her model. It started out as just some shots around the studio so that she had a record of my existence, and also for me for my portfolio (you know, that publicity shot in full Don Quixote costume in the middle of a leap). But as she started taking pictures,  she noticed something that intrigued her. She exclaimed "Erin, you are a  complete natural in front of the camera.

You come alive in my lens! You  are wasting your time dancing every day, come work for me!" I had no idea what she meant at first, but am I unhappy that I said yes? No, not at all. It's as natural now to me as when I started my journey into ballet. As I told her my life story, as I have outlined in small detail to you,  Ingrid looked at me and said "It seems so natural for you to have experienced growing up as you have.

I really feel so comfortable with you. You are like no other guy I have ever met. And it's what captivates me the most about you. Would you allow me to mold you into that special  someone I think that we would both find contentment and satisfaction  with?" "I have fallen deeply under your spell" I uttered in a loving daze, "I am at your will, dearest Ingrid. You have my permission to do anything you wish. I trust your judgment completely. But may I ask what you have in mind?

I'm not sure I understand what it is you are talking  about." Well, read on. So do I still dance? Yes, we have set up a space in our third-story Greenwich loft with mirrors and a barre for me to work out, and I do so most days for at least an hour and a half. In addition to the experimental collective, I even take a class downtown on Tuesday nights.  Except that it's class in pointe. Toe dancing. Mom taught me en pointe at home when I was a teenager, but I never ever got to put it to use as a male dancer. But now, that's not a problem. To the women in the class,  mostly young professionals who had taken ballet during their youth but only toyed with dance while they trained in finance and economics in the best institutions of higher learning in order that they might come to New York to take on Wall Street.

I'm Erin, an 18-year-old female who does some fashion modeling. I'm very comfortable dancing in that class because, above all, it's ballet...it's not about being a guy or a  girl it's about being a dancer. So after years of donning the standard dancewear: white tee and black tights, I now get to put on the black leotard and pink tights, and those excruciatingly painful but beautiful pink toe shoes.

Ingrid has documented my "development over the past five months thru a  series of photographs, and the changes are quite astounding, yet as I  recount the days mentioned in my youth earlier in this story, so seemingly natural for me.

It really becomes clear that this path that  Ingrid has accelerated my journey upon really began under the most beloved "nurturing" of my mom. And that first day where I "bared all",  showing the world that I could don the tights and acknowledge that I was a boy in ballet, was as important an event as a person could have in their life. What do I look like now? Well, when you look thru a JC Penney's catalog,  or Newport News, Belmont Fair, Land's End, or a few others, you will see  me. Could you tell me that I'm not really a female? I wouldn't bet on it.

Am I happy in front of the camera? Yes, I am. How do I feel when I'm walking down 5th avenue in a stunning Armani suit with a billowy silk blouse, short skirt, sheer black hose, and 3-inch heels? Like a beautiful woman, how else? Do the people I model with know? No, they don't. Do I  think that eventually, they will find out? By the time that happens, I  don't think it will matter. I am what Ingrid and I choose to be; whether it be a ballet dancer, a model, or a loving partner.

Step by step, Ingrid has taken me through a period of change that on the surface appears quite frantic, but in actuality is thought out conscientiously with patience for my feelings and for the apprehension that I originally had about the permanence of everything that is now fading remarkably quickly. It's one thing to have your hair cut and styled into a very feminine style a shoulder-length page boy with a  body wave that curls my ends under as they gently rest upon my shoulders.

I do so love the feeling I get when I turn my head and my hair moves so gently, swinging from side to side. I guess I never really got over having that dutch boy cut. And regularly wearing makeup, setting your hair, and doing your nails, even letting them grow quite long...that by the way makes typing quite a new adventure. I often think about that Friday night when I was twelve and had my first "beauty makeover"...would Debby approve of how I've done my hair, face, and nails now? But all of these things can be undone, removed, or expunged. Not so with the other things.

First, when we went and had my ears pierced. I know that many men have pierced ears today, but to me, it was still a feeling of permanence.

A month later Ingrid set me up with regular appointments for electrolysis. I have very little hair anywhere, but she did want me to rid myself of any facial hair forever. For someone who thought that dancing en pointe was painful, I developed a new tolerance for pain thru electrolysis. But as I felt so strange on that fateful day that I put on my first pair of tights, I revisited that feeling when the technician finished up with my eyebrows, and showed me her handiwork in the mirror.  I probably came within a cat's whisker of actually passing out.

It was at this time, gazed at the reflection of my face which now is complete with fine, femininely arched brows that can never be undone. A month ago  Ingrid had me visit a plastic surgeon for collagen implants in my lips.  I cannot believe the difference in my appearance, the addition of full lips, "pouty, sexy lips", she calls them. Ingrid is completely taken with my new look. As I am. It is more than I could ever have imagined. I  can always tell when she is pleased. She always grabs her camera and takes rolls and rolls of pictures of me.

What is it that makes me feel so wonderful most recently, even more, alive than with the changes that I have previously described? That  Ingrid, in her love and support, has daily for the past 3  months been blessing me with hormones to "reshape" my body. As proud as  I am about my dancing, I am like that same little child that came out of his first ballet lesson with excitement and awe about my developing breasts. Small, yes(my mother was slight...great for a dancer...so my hopes don't rest on large expectations), but definitely developing.

It's so wonderful to feel the sensitivity, the nipples especially, and the vision in the mirror as I watch my areolas darken and increase in size. Ingrid can actually cup my breasts in her petite hand and is ecstatic about doing so. It brings us both great joy. Have we considered the expected loss of my male function due to the large consumption of estrogen? Yes,  and it is the feeling of both of us that our lovemaking is tender,  passionate, and usually very feminine. Ingrid actually prefers me to satisfy her as a woman would, and I feel quite comfortable with that. We use a dildo, but we spend most of our lovemaking using our tongues,  lips, fingers, and imagination, in a gentle interplay of feminine synergy.

What about mom? Does she know? Of course, she does. We visit her often.  She recently came to New York and stayed with us for a couple of days.  She mentioned to me just yesterday "Erin, you are becoming the beautiful person that in my heart I always knew you were inside. I don't know why,  but I just always knew it would turn out like this. I guess I always dreamed of you as a beautiful daughter. And I suppose I should take much of the responsibility for "nurturing " you in a way that made it so easy for you to accept and welcome the "changes" that Ingrid has so suitably provided for you. I only hope that you are as happy as you've made me  proud, for the wonderful individual that you are." With tears in my  eyes, and my mascara running, I hugged my mom tightly, saying only "I  love you forever."

The End.