Chapter 5: Camping with the Brownies

Sunday Afternoon – Coming Home

The car pulled into the driveway, and before it even stopped, Karen and Katie stepped outside, their faces lighting up at the sight of Emma. Sarah and David climbed out first, warmly greeting them while Emma turned in her seat to release the seatbelts holding the girls in their seats. After the girls climbed out, Emma pulled them close and hugged them tightly. “I had the best time with you two.”

“Come see us soon, okay?” Erica asked, squeezing Emma’s hands.

Jessica nodded eagerly. “Promise?”

Emma smiled, brushing a stray curl from Jessica’s face. “Promise,” she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her sapphire eyes, she held up both fists, extending her pinkies.

“Here, let me show you something special. This is a pinky promise. It’s not just any promise—it’s the most serious kind. When you make one, you can’t break it.” Their eyes widened with curiosity as they quickly hooked their pinkies with Emma’s.

“Now we say, ‘Pinky promise’,” Emma instructed.

“Pinky promise!” Erica and Jessica echoed in unison; their voices full of excitement.

Emma chuckled, giving their pinkies a playful shake before releasing them. “Now, that means I have to come see you again.”

Erica grinned. “And we have to make sure you do.”

Sarah and David watched the interaction unfold, exchanging a knowing glance. It was such a simple thing, yet it held so much weight. In just a few days, Emma had become more than just their babysitter—she had become someone the girls trusted unconditionally. With one last hug, she stood and stretched, feeling the weight of the weekend settle over her.

Katie immediately grabbed the garment bag holding Emma’s extravagant dress. “I’ll take this inside. Wouldn’t want you getting it dirty, Your Highness.”

Emma rolled her eyes but grinned. “Thanks, Katie.”

She grabbed her suitcase and overnight bag, Karen stepped forward to take the smaller bag from her hands. “How was it?” Karen asked warmly.

Emma hesitated, her grip tightening on her suitcase. Where do I even begin? She had been a babysitter, a guest of billionaires, a debutante at a gala, and—somewhere in between it all—she had been something more.

“I’ll tell you after I get settled in,” she said softly, flashing a small but sincere smile.

Karen nodded in understanding. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

Katie, carrying the garment bag, followed Emma upstairs. Her mom followed with the overnight bag, placed it on the bed next to the suitcase, and stepped aside. Katie carried the garment bag into the closet. “I’ll put this in the closet—plenty of room on the boy side.”

Emma rolled her eyes but let it go, knowing the ’boy side’ was the only place left with enough space.

She unzipped her suitcase and methodically began to unpack. Dirty clothes went straight into the laundry basket, shoes were returned to their proper place in the closet, and toiletries went back into the bathroom.

Katie emerged from the closet, dusting off her hands as she smirked. “You know, for someone who barely had any girl clothes a week ago, you’re taking up a lot of space in there.”

Emma smirked right back. “You’re the one who made me buy all that.”

Katie grinned. “And you’re welcome.” She winked before disappearing down the hall.

With her suitcase empty, Emma lifted the laundry basket and carried it to the laundry room. She sorted the lights from the darks, set the first load, and started the washer before heading back downstairs.

As expected, as soon as I returned to the living room, Karen and Katie were already waiting, their faces alight with expectant curiosity. Over the past three days, Sarah had kept them well-informed, sending updates, pictures, and even videos—everything from the amusement park rides to the stuff sent by Vivian at the gala. One would think that Emma was in her own reality TV show.

“Alright, spill. We saw the pictures. The fancy dress, the shoes, the jewelry...” she wiggled her eyebrows, “and that kiss!”

Emma leaned casually against the back of the couch, crossing her arms with an amused smirk. “Oh, so you saw everything, huh?” she drawled, tilting her head playfully. “Then why do I need to tell you anything? Seems like you’ve already got the highlight reel.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Come on, Em, you know it’s not the same! We need details—how did it happen? What did you say? Were there fireworks? Was it awkward? Did he sweep you off your feet, or did you just stand there like a mannequin?”

Emma snorted, shaking her head. “Well, at least you didn’t ask if her slipped me the tongue,”she muttered dryly.

Katie gasped dramatically, her mouth dropping open like she’d just been handed the juiciest gossip of her life. “Oh. My. God. Did he??” she demanded, sitting up straighter, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Emma’s face exploded into flames. “KATIE!” she shrieked, grabbing a throw pillow and launching it at her sister, who dodged effortlessly, cackling like a wicked villain.

Karen sighed, rubbing her temples. “Girls, really?”

Katie, still grinning, raised a hand in defense. “What? I need to know these things! It’s my duty as the older sister!”

Ema groaned, covering her face. “You are the worst.” She mumbled into her hands.

Katie smirked. “I try.”

Emma huffed, shaking her head as she tapped a finger on her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm ... Well, I could tell you...” She dragged out the pause, watching Katie lean in eagerly. Then she grinned mischievously. “Or, I could let you keep rewatching the videos and wonder about the parts you didn’t see.”

Katie groaned dramatically, throwing herself onto the couch. “Ugh! You’re impossible!”

Karen chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, alright, let her breathe, but really, Emma ... was it special?”

Emma hesitated for just a fraction of a second before her expression softened. A small secretive smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah,” she admitted quietly, “it really was.”

Emma exhaled dramatically, shaking her head as she moved around and flopped on the couch. “You two are relentless.”

Katie grinned. “You love us.”

Emma shot her a wry look. “That remains to be seen.”

Karen chuckled, sipping her coffee. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. You know we’re just excited for you.”

Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight back a small smile tugging at her lips. “You already saw everything. What’s left to tell?”

Karen gave her a knowing look, leaning back against the recliner. “Oh, there’s always more to tell.”

Emma sighed, her hands clasped in her lap. “Fine. Let’s see ... I outwitted some rich guys into donating four hundred grand, got dragged into a world of power and money, might have accidently come out to a room full of billionaires...” She paused, feigning deep thought. “And at the end of it all, was the all-important kiss.”

Katie laughed, clutching her chest like she’d been struck by lightening. “And?”

Emma raised and eyebrow. “And what?”

Katie leaned in, eyes alight with curiosity. “How was your first kiss? Details this time.”

Emma groaned, rubbing her hands over her face. “Why is that still your first question?”

Karen chuckled, setting her mug down. “Because it’s the one we’re dying to hear about, sweetheart.”

Emma sighed, knowing there was no escape. She leaned back against the couch cushions, crossing her legs as Karen and Katie watched expectantly. “Fine,” she relented, running a hand through her hair. “It happened on the balcony.”

Katie’s eyes practically sparkled. “A balcony?! Like, full-on romantic, moonlight, city skyline. Expensive champagne kind of balcony?”

Emma shot her a lokk. “There was no champagne, but yes, the setting was ridiculously romantic. Before you ask, no, it wasn’t planned—it just kind of—happened.”

Karen leaned forward slightly, intrigued but patient. “Go on.”

Emma exhaled, sinking into the cushions. “So, after the wager and my little speech about The Trevor Project, eric followed me out onto the balcony. I think he wanted to check on me because he wasn’t expecting me to, you know, out myself in front of a crowd of powerful people.” She paused, fidgeting slightly. “At first, we just talked. He told me he respected me for being honest about who I was and that he admired how I handled myself at the gala.”

Katie nudged her. “And then?”

Emma swallowed, glancing down at her lap. “Then ... he told me he still liked me.”

Karen and Katie both blinked in surprise. “Wait,” katie said slowly. “So, he knew you’re trans and still made a move?”

Emma nodded, her voice quieter. “Yeah. I told him it didn’t change the fact that I’m not interested in dating.” She hesitated, rubbing her thumb over her palm. “Then he said something that got to me. He saif he didn’t care about the label—boy, girl, trans, whatever. He said I was what mattered.”

Karen’s expression softened, but Katie just stared at her. “And then he kissed you?”

Emma took a deep breath and let it out, nodding. “Yeah. He stepped closer, lifted my chin, and ... it just happened.”

Katie practically squealed, grabbing a couch pillow and hugging it. “Oh my god, that’s straight up storybook romance material! And you—you kissed him back, didn’t you?”

Emma groaned and hid her face in her hands. “I don’t know! I mean, I didn’t push him away immediately, so I guess that counts?”

Karen chuckled. “How did it feel?”

Emma hesitated for a long moment before admitting, “Terrifying.”

Katie’s excitement dimmed slightly. “Terrifying? Why?”

Emma finally looked up, meeting her mother’a gaze. “Because ... for a moment, I liked it.” She swallowed. “And I don’t know what that means.”

Karen gave her a warm smile.:It means your human, sweetheart. Kisses can be confusing, especially when emotions are involved, but it doesn’t ean you have to sudden;y know everything. It’s okay to not have all the answers yet.”

Emma nodded slowly, though her mind was still tangled in uncertainty. “I just ... I thought I wasn’t int guys, but now? I don’t knw anymore.”

Katie, still hugging the pillow, grinned. “Ohhh, this is getting interesting.”

Emma groaned again, throwing her head back against the couch. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”

Karen laughed softy, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “You’re figuring it out, sweetheart. No pressure, no rush. Just take it one step at a time.”

Emma sighed, nodding. “Yeah ... one step at a time.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair, still feeling the weight of the weekend’s events. The park, the gala, the kiss—so much had happened in such a short time and she wasn’t sure she had fully processed it all.

“Anyway,” she said, pushing herself up from the couch, “I should go check on my laundry.”

She walked to the laundry room, the rhythmic hum of the washing machine having fallen silent sometime during their conversation. Emma transferred her clothes into the dryer, set the timer, and started the cycle. As the machine rumbled to life, she leaed against it for a moment, the warmth already seeping through the metal.

She closed her eyes briefly, letting the steady sound ground her thought before pushing off and heading back to the kitchen.

Emma stood in the kitchen, watching as her mother set out the ingredients on the counter. Karen gave her an expectant look before gesturing to the cutting board. “Every girl should know how to cook, sweetheart,” she said with a knowing smile. “Especially a babysitter. You never know when a little one is going to demand food at the worst possible moment. Or when you’ll have to babysit through a meattime.”

Emma smirked, rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands. “I don’t demand food at the worst time.”

Karen arched an eyebrow. “Really? Because I seem to recall a certain child who used to whine about being ’starved to death’ five minutes after eating.”

Emma nodded. “That was a long time ago.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Karen handed her a knife. “Come on, let’s start with something simple.”

They worked side-by-side, chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, and seasoning everything just right. Emma found herself enjoying it more than she expected. Cooking warsn’t hard—it was just following a process, much like the careful steps of applying makeup or styling hair, which Emma was getting better at doing. By the time they finished, she felt a small swell of pride as they played the meal.

“Not bad for your first real lesson,” Karen praised, giving her a side hug.

“Thanks, Mom.” Emma smiled, genuinely pleased. Maybe this was another skill she could add to her growing list.

After dinner, Emma retreated to her room, closing the door sogtly behind her. With a sigh, she moved to her dresser, pulling out the bottle of solvent she needed to remove her breast forms. The process was easy—apply the remover, wait for it to break down the adhesive, and carefully peel the silicone away from her skin. As she set them into their storage box, she took a moment to touch her now-flat chest. It felt strange.

With a deep breath, she grabbed a pair of boxers and padded to the bathroom. Once again as Evan, he stepped into the shower, the warmth of the water cascading over his skin, easing the lingering tension from the weekend. He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as the steam curled around him, cocooning him in a familiar solitude.

Reaching for the body wash, he worked a lather over his skin, taking extra care as he ran his hands over his chest. The skin beneath his fingers felt tender, still adjusting after eight days of constant pressure from the weight of the form glued to his skin. He winced slightly, massaging slow circles where the forms had adhered, marveling at how much they had begun to feel like a part of him—like something he was meant to have.

The water streamed down his body, washing away the remnants of glue, the delicate traces of femininity that had shaped his figure. Yet, even as his chest flattened under his own touch, he didn’t feel like he was returning to something familiar. Instead, it felt like he was shedding something real, something that had started to feel right.

Then for the first time in four days, he untucked his penis.

A deep sigh escaped his lips, his muscles relaxing as he let himself breath in a way he hadn’t allowed all weekend. The absence of constraint should have been comforting, yet an odd discomfort settled in his chest instead. He ran his hands over himself, reacquainting himself with a body that now felt strangely foreign.

The familiar weight between his legs grounding him back to his boyhood, an anchor to who he had always been. Yet, at the same time, it felt like a reminder—of what he was supposed to be, of what the world expected him to be.

He braced his hands against the tiled wall, the warmth of the water pooling at his feet before swirling down the drain. Am I Evan pretending to be Emma, or am I Emma pretending to Evan?

The thought lodged itself deep in his mind, heavy, relentless. It had lingered at the edge of his consciousness all evening, but now, alone in the shower, it wrapped aroind him fuly. He didn’t know anymore.

The answer wasn’t as simple as it should have been. It should have been clear-cut—he was Evan Wilson, a boy, always had been, but the name felt like something worn thin, something fragile and ill-fitting.

And Emma? Emma had felt effortless. Natural. Was it just an act, or was it something more?

Evan let the water run over his face, his fingers, still sporting the acrylic nails, tightened against the wet tile. The answer didn’t come, but for the first time, he realized that maybe ... just maybe ... he wasn’t ready to find out just yet. He was clean, refreshed, and relaxed, but something deeper, something unsettling stirred within him.

He finished drying off, pulling on his boxers and wrapping his hair in the towel. He completed hi nighttime skincare routine he started when he first became Emma, brushed out his wet hair, working it into his usual bedtime braid that always gave it that wavy look in the morning. Then, climbing into bed, he turned off the light and pulled the covers up.

And yet ... he couldn’t sleep. The ceiling stared back at him as he shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t just restlessness—it was a wrongness, a sense of unease that pressed at him from the inside out.

With a frustrated sigh, Evan sat up. He ran a hand over his chest again, then looked down at his boxers. That feeling ... it wasn’t right.

Moving with a strange sense of certainty, she slipped out of bed. The boxers came off and instead of putting them in the dirty clothes basket he tossed them in the trashcan beside the computer desk. Pulling out a clean pair of panties, he tucked himself back in and quickly slid the cotton panties up his legs and settled them into place. He removed the t-shirt the had felt off and replaced it with a silk thigh-length nightgown. As the fabric whispered against his skin, a sense of ease settled over him, smoothing out the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding.

His attempt to going back to being Evan was a colossal failure. Now Emma again, she climbed back into bed, adjusting the covers again. She let out a slow breath, feeling ... right. This time, she drifted into sleep without trouble.

Monday Morning

The loud blaring of Emma’s alarm pulled her from sleep. Groaning, she pulled the covers over her head and stretched, rolling over and reluctantly throwing off the covers and sitting up. “Alright, alright! I’m up!” Emma shouted over the alarm as she reached over to sut it off for one more day. The memory of today’s schedule—the appointment with the gender specialist—nudged her further awake.

With a deep breath, she stood, the cool morning air made her shiver. Her sheer nightgown and panties doing nothing to protect her bare skin from the chill. Looking in the mirror, she ran a hand through her hair, which had loosened from its braid overnight. Time to start the day.

Emma padded into the bathroom he shared with Katie, going through the motions of her morning routine. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and hair, and carefully applied her skincare products just as Katie had dtrilled into her. By now it was second nature.

As she stepped into the bedrrom she noticed her laundry basket was missing, she paused, frowning. The laundry.

She had completely forgotten about it in the dryer last night. With a sigh, she made her way to the laundry room, retrieving the now cold bundle of clothes. Carrying it back to her room in her basket, she dumped it all on her bed, she’d deal with it later—after breakfast.

The smell of bacon and fresh coffee drifted through the house as Emma waling into the kitchen rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her mom stood at the stove flipping pancaked with practiced ease, her expression unreadable as she glanced at Emma. Katie was already seated at the table scrolling through her phone with a smirk.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Karen greeted.

“Morning,” Emma mumbled, sliding into her chair.

Before she could relax, her mother turned and handed a spatula to Emma. “You can help with breakfast.”

Emma blinked. “What? Why?”

Karen arched a brow before repeating what she told Emma last night. “Because every girl should know how to cook—especially babysitters.”

Emma huffed but didn’t argue. She took over watching the bacon while Karen finished with the eggs. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to cook at all, but this felt like a lesson she hadn’t signed up for.

When everything was ready, they sat down to eat. Emma was mid-bite when Karen casually remarked, “I heard you getting your clothes out of the dryer this morning.”

Emma froze. “Oh ... yeah.”

Karen took a sip of her coffee. “And where are they now?”

Emma hesitated. “On my bed.” Katie snorted, but a sharp look from her mother silenced her.

Karen sighed and shook her head. “Then you’ll jave to iron them.”

Emma nearly dropped her fork. “What? Mom, I don’t know how to iron.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m here to teach you,” Karen said smoothly, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

Emma groaned, slumping back in her chair. “Can’t I just ... hang them up and hope for the best?” Karen’s unimpressed look said it all.

Emma sighed dramatically. “Fine, but some of my clothes are delicate—silk and stuff. I don’t want to ruin them.”

Karen nodded approvingly. “That’s why I’m going to show you the right way to do it. You don’t just learn to iron by pressing a hot plate to everything. Gifferent fabrics require different settings and techniques. Every babysitter should know how to take care of clothes properly.”

Emma muttered under her breath, stabbing at her eggs. “Babysitting didn’t come with this many responsibilities before.”

Katie smirked over her coffee. “Welcome to womanhood, sis. Besides, last week was a crash course in walking, talking, sitting, and othe behaviors to get you ready for the weekend. Now you will get lessons in the domestic side of being a woman. Things most girls learn over the years as they grow up.”

Emma shot her a look, but deep down, she knew this was just another step forward. Whether she liked it or not, Emma was learning more than just how to take care of herself.—she was learnig how to be heself, and today’s lesson ... ironing.

Last week was a crash course in womanhood—behavioral edition. This week it a crash course in womanhood—domestic edition. What’s next? Childrearing?

After breakfast, emma resigned herself to the inevitable. She was not looking forward yo ironing, but she knew better than to argue with her mother. Karen had made it clear that, like cooking, housekeeping ws an essential skill—not just for babysitters, but for any girl.

Which is how Emma, still dressed in her silky, sheer nightgown and panties, found herself standing in the laundry room, blinking at three laundry baskets filled with clothes.

Karen crossed her arms. “Lesson one—separating laundry. Do you know the categories?”

Emma gave her mother a blank stare. “Uh ... clean and dirty?” Katie, leaning against the doorframe with her coffe, burst out laughing.

Karen sighed. “That is such a “boy” answer, Emma. Lghts, darks, colors, and delicates.” She reached into a basket, pulling out one of Emma’s silk camisoles. “This goes in delicates. It doesn’t get thrown in with towels or jeans unless you want to ruin it.”

Emma groaned. “I already miss the days when I could just toss everything in and hope for the best.”

Karen raised a brow. “And you wonder why your old t-shirts used to feel like sandpaper.?”

Emma pouted but started sorting, quickly realizing that half of what she had been doing before was wrong.

Emma, shocked to hear that laundry wasn’t her only lesson for today, was told that her next lesson was housekeeping. By mid-morning, she had been assigned vacuuming the living room, dusting the bookshelves, and—her least favorite—cleaning the bathrooms. At least Katie got kitchen duty.

“How does a bathroom even get this dirty?” Emma muttered as she scrubbed the sink.

Karen checking in on her progress, smirked. “You live with Katie.”

“That’s fair.”

It wasn’t difficult work, but it was tedious. Emma had spent the last week learning how to walk in heels, sit gracefully, and eat like a lady. Now she was learning that being a girl also came with the unglamorous side—housekeeping. And the worst part? She had a feeling her mom was going to make this a regular thing.

After changing the bedsheets and finally finishing the bathroom, Emma was ready for a break—but no. Karen led her to the ironing board, already set up in the laundry room, with a pile of wrinkled clothes waiting.

Emma crossed her arms. “I bet Eric Johnson doesn’t know have to iron.”

Karen smirked, “Eric Johnson isn’t a babysitter. Now, pay attention.”

Emma sighed but watched as her mother demonstrated. Silk blouses required low heat. Cotton needed steam. Press, don’t rub. Move in sections.

After ironing three shirts, Emma frowned. “Why does this feel like another babysitter test?”

Katie, walking past, grinned. “Because it is.”

Emma groaned but didn’t argue. Babysitting wasn’t just about watching kids—it was helping around the house, too, and like it on not, this was just another part of being Emma.

By noon, Emma collapsed onto the couch, exhausted. Katie plopped down next to her, smirking. “So, how’s womanhood treating you?”

Emma pulled a couch pillow over her face. “I think I liked the crash course in walking and makeup better.”

Karen walked by, a satisfied look on her face. “Don’t get too comfortable, young lady. You still need to fold and put away your laundry.” Emma groaned loudly, making Katie laugh. This is going to be a long day.

After folding and putting away not just her laundry, but everyone’s, Emma finally escaped to her bedroom. She stripped off her nightgown, tossing it into the laundry basket, and grabbed a fresh pair of panties, a bra, a camisole, and a loose fitting T-shirt to wear after her shower.

The hot water was heavenly. She scrubbed away the morning’s sweat and dust, taking extra care with her skin—still slightly tender from wearing the breast forms for so long. As she massaged shampoo into her hair, a thought nagged at the back of her mind—today’s therapy session.

Was she supposed to go as Evan or Emma?

The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. The idea of sitting in front of a gender therapist dressed as Evan felt ... wrong. Like she’d be lying about what she was going through, but going as Emma felt like she was making a statement she wasn’t even sure she was ready to make.

She finished her shower, dried off, dressed. Running a towel through her damp hair, she made her way downstairs. Finding Karen and Katie in the kitchen. Katie looked up first, “You finally done playing house?”

Emma rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yes, but I have a question.”

Karen set down her mug. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Emma hesitated for a moment before speaking. “The therapist—do I go as Evan or Emma?”

Karen and Katie exchanged a look before Karen asked, “Well ... how do you want to go?”

Emma bit her lip. “That’s the problem. I don’t know.” She gestured vaguely. “If I go as Evan, it feels like I’m hiding what I’ve been experiencing, but if I go as Emma, it feels like I’m saying something that ... I don’t know if I even believe yet.”

Katie leaned forward. “Okay, let me ask you this—when you picture yourself sitting in that office, whch version of you feels right?”

Emma looked down at her hands. “Emma.”

Karen gave a small, knowing smile. “Then there’s your answer.”

Emma exhaled slowly. “Yeah ... I guess it is.”

Katie nudged her. “You don’t have to figure everything out in one session, you know? Just go in, be honest, and see how you feel.”

Karen nodded. No matter what you decide, we support you.”

Emma smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. “Thanks.”

Katie smirked, “So, does this mean we need to pick out a cute therapist outfit?” emma grinned, but for the first time all day, she felt like she was making the right choice.”

(Monday, 2 p.m.—Dr. Morgan Reese’s Office)

The drive to the therapist’s office was quiet, a contrast to the usual lively conversations between Emma and Katie. The weight of the afternoon settled on Emma’s shoulders as Karen pulled into the parking lot of a modern, single-story building with tinted glass windows and a blue sign that read:

Dr. Morgan Reese, Ph.D.—Licensed Psychotherapy & Gender Specialist

Emma swallowed hard, nerves making her stomach feel tight. “You okay, sweetheart?” Karen asked as she shifted the car into park.

Emma stared at the sign. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

Karen reached between the seats to grab Emma’s hand in the back seat, gently squeezing it. “We’re right here. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Katie, in the front seat, grinned. “Think of it this way—you already talked about all this with Mom and me. Now you just get to say it again but to someone who actually gets paid to listen.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “That doesn’t help, sis.”

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Karen said, opening her door.

Inside, the waiting room was warm and inviting. Soft instrumental music played in the background and a fish tank filled with colorful fish added a calming presence. A few chairs lined one wall, along with a polished wood coffee table stacked with magazines.