The Understanding Babysitter

by Ami Lamida

  

I'm told that people with uncomfortable or painful childhood memories often repress them for years. I don't know if this is one of these cases, but recently a particular event has reasserted itself in the foreground of my mind. It is something that happened many years ago, and I was very young, so I can't be assured that all the details are accurate, but this is what I seem to remember.

My parents were always active, god-fearing folk, and that meant that they were often involved in activities down at the church or out with friends from church. Of course, kids weren't always welcomed, so my parents would find us a babysitter. I never much liked the babysitters they would find us, as they were often girls from church, who were often snooty or hypocritically evil.

But one day, they decided to give our next-door neighbor's daughter a shot. She was a very sweet, teenaged girl. Her family was from somewhere in South America (I think it was Brazil). The parents didn't speak English very well, but the daughter was fully Americanized. Oh yeah, and she was beautiful and very feminine. I remember she always wore dresses – something I liked to do myself.

Now, as a boy in a family of three young boys, you can imagine that a dress-wearing brother was not to be tolerated. So I learned to hide my inclinations and my feminine apparel. I actually became quite good at it. Even if some of my secret wardrobe were found I always had a backup stash. But that is neither here nor there.

On this night when Constance Cruelho (I swear that was her name), came to baby-sit so my parents could go do whatever they did, I was in for some pleasant and unpleasant surprises. I knew immediately that something was different about Constance. She walked through the door with an air of pride that was unusual for a teenaged girl, especially one who looked as if she were a bit of a nerd, if her name hadn't already decided the issue.

But her name and her appearance were in direct contrast with her personality. Though she was a kind, soft-spoken young girl, she seemed to overflow with confidence. She immediately did something that no other babysitter yet had done with us boys – she gave us her full attention. She started out by getting to know us each as individuals - asking us questions and responding with glowing praise. All of us fell in love with her from the start.

As the evening wore on, she entertained us and played games with us. She soon found that I had a gentler nature than the other boys. I didn't like the roughhouse games that they did. Being the caring individual that she was, she started to try to discover what I enjoyed doing. While the other boys occupied themselves tackling each other and jumping from furniture, she got me alone in the bedroom I shared with my younger brother.

She put her arm around me and got me talking. She knew just what to say and do to get me to open up to her. Eventually, I found myself confessing that I liked to wear girl clothes. She didn't even bat an eye, but took it fully in stride. It was the first time in my life I ever felt like my deepest, darkest secret didn't make me a total freak.

I remember her asking, "Do you like what I'm wearing?" "Yes," I admitted. "I think it is very pretty." "Do you want me to bring you an outfit like this to wear the next time I baby-sit?" "I'd love it." My mind reeled with the thought of actually getting to wear something that this beautiful, kind young girl had worn.

Much too soon, it was time for bed. Constance very subtly managed to get my brothers to all sleep upstairs so I could be alone. After getting the others settled, she turned her attention back to me. "Would you like to wear some girl clothes to bed," she asked? "Yes. I have some that I sometimes wear to bed when I am alone." "Wonderful! Why don't you go and get them?"

I went to my stash and pulled out a silky white slip and some white tights (it was winter, and I always covered my legs at night). I brought them to the bed and looked at Constance expectantly. "Go ahead," she prompted. I got undressed, sporting a bit of wood – which seemed not to phase Constance in the slightest. I slipped into my pretty things and stood in front of her nervously.

"Hop in to bed, sweetie." I did more of a slide into bed, which was always a heavenly feeling in my silky things. She sat at my bedside and caressed my face while she sang a Brazilian lullaby. It was one of the nicest experiences of my life, and I was soon fast asleep.

Later that night, my parents came home. When I awoke to the feel of my mother kissing me I had a moment of panic. I had fallen asleep in my girl clothes, and I knew that my parents would not be pleased. The panic quickly turned to relief when I realized that Constance had somehow changed my clothes while I had slept.

As I floated back off to sleep, I overheard my mother praising Constance for doing such a wonderful job and asking if she would be willing to baby-sit again. My last lucid thought was of the outfit that Constance had promised to bring, and to wonder how Constance would feel about tying me up.

  

  

  

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