The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the blinds of our apartment, casting long, dusty slats of light across the floorboards. For a nineteen-year-old living in an apartment that never sleeps, this silence was a rare luxury. The apartment was entirely mine for the next few hours. Something I was desperately looking forward to.
I stood in the hallway, my heart beating a jagged rhythm against my ribs. At 5’7″, I was tall and slender—a frame that mirrored my older sister, Elena, almost perfectly. She was twenty-one, just two years older than me.
We shared more than just a family resemblance; we shared a height and a build that I had secretly come to view as my greatest asset. Since I was very young, I was attracted to Elena’s outfits and I would secretly try them on when no one was around.
Two weeks ago, while helping Mom clear out the storage closet, I had unearthed a relic from a Halloween party two years prior: a shoulder-length, jet-black wig. I had slipped it inside my pants when Mom turned her back, and later hiding it in the bottom drawer of my desk under a stack of old textbooks. Since then, it had burned a hole in my mind.
Today, everyone was gone. My parents were at work, and Elena was at a university lecture until four.
I took a shaky breath and stepped into Elena’s room.
The air smelled faintly of vanilla and hairspray. I moved quickly, driven by a hunger I couldn’t quite articulate. I opened her dresser and then the closet, my hands trembling as I selected the pieces I had been eyeing for weeks.
I started with the basics, shedding my oversized hoodie and jeans. I took out a pair of her silk panties and a matching padded bra. I hesitated for a bit. I had never worn my sister’s under garments before, only her outfits. I knew once I put them on, there was no going back.
I took a deep breathe and slipped into them. The feeling was something I had never experienced before. My whole body was trembling with excitement. Because of our similar builds, the fit was snug but comfortable, hugging my frame in a way my boxers never did.
Next came the outfit. I chose a shimmering party top that draped loosely over my chest but cinched at the waist, and a grey mini skirt that was daringly short. Finally, I sat on the edge of the bed and slid my feet into a pair of her golden high heels. They were three inches high, forcing my arch up and my calves to tense, instantly changing the way I held myself.
I stood up, wobbling for a minute before finding my center of gravity. I walked over to the full-length mirror behind the door, the heels clicking sharply against the hardwood.
I looked at my reflection. It was convincing, but incomplete.
I hurried back to my room, retrieved the black Halloween wig, and returned to the mirror. With practiced care, I tucked my short brown hair back and pulled the wig on, adjusting the bangs until they sat just above my eyebrows.
When I looked up, I gasped.
The person staring back wasn’t me. It wasn’t even “Leo in a dress.” The figure in the mirror was a girl—tall, leggy, and confident. The dark hair framed my face, softening my jawline, while the heels elongated my legs, making them look miles long beneath the mini skirt. The transformation was absolute.
I turned side to side, watching the skirt flare and the light catch the sequins on the top. I felt a rush of euphoria so potent it made me dizzy. I posed, hand on my hip, chin tilted up, completely lost in the image. I wasn’t hiding anymore; for this moment, in the safety of the glass reflection, I was real.
I began to walk up and down the small room, practicing my strut, imagining I was walking down Fifth Avenue rather than a cramped bedroom in Queens. I lost track of everything—the ticking clock, the traffic outside, the reality of who and where I was.
Click.
The sound was distinct. The heavy deadbolt of the front apartment door sliding back.
I froze. The blood drained from my face. I checked my watch—it was 3:45 PM. Elena was early.
“Leo? Mom? Anyone home?” Elena’s voice floated down the hallway, accompanied by the rustle of shopping bags being set down.
Panic, cold and sharp, seized me. I was in her room, wearing her clothes, trapped.
“Leo, are you here? I forgot my laptop charger,” she called out, her footsteps moving toward the kitchen first.
I had seconds.
I kicked off the heels, grabbing them by the straps. I couldn’t go out the door; she would see me. I looked around wildly. The closet? No, if she needed clothes, I was dead.
The bathroom. It was connected to the hallway, right next to her room.
Moving as silently as a ghost, barefoot on the wood, I slipped out of her room and into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it just as Elena’s footsteps turned down the hallway.
“Leo?” She knocked on the bathroom door.
My heart hammered so hard I thought she must hear it through the wood. I deepened my voice, forcing a groggy tone. “Yeah? I’m in here. Stomach ache.”
“Oh,” Elena said, her voice right against the door. “Sorry. Hey, have you seen my black heels? The ones I wear to the club? I wanted to lend them to Sarah for tonight.”
I looked down at the shoes dangling from my hand. My knuckles were golden.
“Uh, no,” I choked out, clearing my throat desperately. “Check… check under the couch? I think I saw you kick them off there yesterday.”
“Weird. Okay, I’ll check.”
I heard her walk away, heading back toward the living room.
I didn’t breathe. I stripped the clothes off in a frenzy. Skirt, top, bra, panties—all balled up. I pulled the wig off, my own hair a messy bird’s nest underneath. I threw the wig and the clothes into the bathroom hamper, burying them deep under a pile of dirty towels. I would have to retrieve them later tonight when everyone was asleep to wash and return them.
I splashed cold water on my face, scrubbing at my cheeks to bring down the flush of adrenaline. I pulled my gym shorts and t-shirt back on, unlocked the door, and stepped out.
Elena was in the hallway, holding the heels. She had found them right where I said—because I had kicked them under the couch the last time I tried them on, a detail I had luckily remembered.
“Found them,” she said, smiling. She looked at me closely. “You look pale. You okay?”
I leaned against the doorframe, my legs still trembling from the phantom feeling of the stilettos.
“Yeah,” I exhaled, managing a weak smile. “Just something I ate. I think I need to lie down.”
“Feel better,” she said, heading into her room and closing the door.
I walked back to my own room and collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My heart was still racing, the adrenaline coursing through my veins. It had been terrifying. It had been reckless.
And as I remembered the girl with the black hair in the mirror, I knew exactly one thing:
I couldn’t wait to do it again.
Submitted by Leo
