51e Lipstick Discipline

The Art of Petticoat Punishment

by Carole Jean

Part 51e - Amber P. and Daphne's Lipstick Discipline

ALL NEW AND EXCLUSIVE TO PETTICOAT PUNISHMENT ART

That night at Kathy’s house proved a disastrous turning point in my life. Previous to that fateful evening I had some faint hope that my mom would get bored with her little game and that I’d be allowed to resume something of a normal life. But after Mrs. Wade drug me into my own home – before my own mother! – wearing little more than a pair of her daughter’s panties and an apron, well, things just didn’t go well for me. Not well at all . . .

Mom, of course, was elated! In the days that followed she refused to let up, insisting that I continue with our 'agreement' and keeping me under her thumb with even greater determination than before. Any progress I’d made toward regaining my manhood was completely destroyed. Of course, I begged her to give me another chance, promising to keep my nose clean and do everything she said.

"I promise, Mom, I’ll do anything. Just please stop being mean to me!" I begged.

"Good! Then you won’t mind getting back into your girlie clothes now, will you?"

"I thought you said you were going to do everything I said?" she shot back. "Were you lying to me just now? Is that what you are now, a liar?"

I had do something, and quick! If I didn’t, I'd be wearing high heels and panties and taking care of the house as long as I lived under her roof!

"I’m not lying . . . Please, Mom, I’ll do anything . . . everything . . . but that . . ."

"Live in my house, live by my rules," she preached with a smile. "You certainly didn’t mind running around in panties at your little girlfriend’s house. Why shouldn’t you do the same in your own home. Believe me, little man, I’m going to make sure you get plenty more of the same."

"But, Mom," I tried to stop her one more time, just for a second. That was a bad mistake.

SLAPP!!! The palm of her hand was across my face faster than a bolt of lightning.

"Do not interrupt me, mister!" my mom said with a tone in her voice that truly scared me. She actually sounded as though she was enjoying herself!

"You better be. Now you listen to me and you listen good, little man," she said with a frightening smile. "You’re going to learn to do as I tell you if it’s the last thing I do on this earth. If I say you're going to wear lipstick, then you're going to wear lipstick. If I send you to school in a dress, you're going to wear a dress and like it! If I put you to work cleaning house, you’ll clean house. You're going to learn to do everything I say and you'll do it with no questions asked, do you understand me? And don’t even try to argue with me. After your little shenanigans the other night, after Mrs. Wade brought you home in your girlie-girlfriend’s panties and lipstick, you’ve shown me what a little sissy you really are. So you may as well learn to enjoy yourself, sweetie, because that's just the way it is."

See what I mean? There was nothing for me to do but give up. So that’s what I did. I gave up.

There was no end to the obstacles in my path. Even though I was a freshman in high school now and I had all sorts of homework and projects to do, my responsibilities around the house were increased dramatically. Laundry was done every day and everything was kept spotless, thanks to ‘Pamela’, who suddenly acquired a little black dress and a matching lace apron. I couldn't believe it! The first time I was presented with these monstrosities I had a premonition that Mom had actually gotten me employment as a maid.

"You . . . you got me a job as . . . as a maid?" I couldn’t believe my ears. Was she crazy?

"Of course I did," my mom said with a big grin. "I told you I was going to, remember?"

I felt the pit of my stomach fall and for an instant I felt dizzy. "I really have a job as a maid . . .?"

Mom took a sip of her coffee and nodded. "Two jobs, actually. Mrs. McCuddy and Mrs. Johnston are both willing to pay you good money for your time. All you have to do is go to Mrs. McCuddy's house on Mondays and Wednesdays pick up a little and run the vacuum. Oh, and maybe on the occasional Saturday help with her bridge club. You do the same for Mrs. Johnston and Rita on Tuesday and Thursday. Except for the bridge club, of course. The rest of your free time you can spend helping me!"

Mom grinned that grin when she knows I’m miserable. "Doesn't that sound just great?"

I nodded, then shook my head as the full realization of what she’d said sank in.

"But . . . a maid? In a dress? In that dress???!!!" I suddenly felt dizzy. "In front of Mrs. McCuddy . . . and . . . Mrs. Johnston . . . and Rita . . .?"

Mom shrugged her shoulders. "So? It’s not like you haven’t worn a dress to see either one of them before."

I took a deep breath. I really hated arguing with my mom. She always won and I always ended up worse off than before. Maybe that was the point of the exercise.

My mother smiled a crooked smile. "Come on, what is it? Spit it out . . . you have homework to do, you know. Let's get on with it."

I looked at the ugly black dress and shivered. "Well, it’s just that . . . I'll look like a . . . servant or something . . . in that thing. I can’t walk through the neighborhood in it. It is so embarrassing looking, Mom. Please, don’t make me wear it . . . it’ll cause problems."

"Your problems are not my problems." My mom smiled. "Deal with them. You're smarter than you give yourself credit for."

The solutions to my problems weren’t easy to come up with. The first few days were as mentally demanding as they were physically taxing. As soon as I got off the school bus I’d run home, change in to my 'work clothes' and head off for my job.

I was desperate to keep this a secret, so I came up with a disguise of sorts. Digging through my mother’s old things, I found a gray wool coat that fit over my maid’s dress rather well. I also found a hat that worked pretty good, too. Add to all that my purse and heels, I looked pretty much like any other female you might see walking through our neighborhood on a given afternoon, or at least I hoped so. From the instant I stepped off our front porch and headed down the sidewalk I fretted over the possibility of being discovered. Combine that with having to walk a mile – both ways! – in a pair of heels and you can imagine the kind of stress I was under.

My new maid’s outfit was a big hit with both Mrs. McCuddy and the Johnstons. Mrs. McCuddy was especially excited to have a servant at her beck and call and she made me work for my money. "Picking up a few things and running the vacuum" – as my mother promised – quickly turned into a whole new world of chores I’d never even heard of! That old lady had me polishing her silverware and sorting her linen and ironing her clothes and cleaning the toilets and on and on and on. Dusting, to her, was an art form and she insisted that I remove every knick-knack and trinket on every shelf in every room and clean it by hand before putting it back in its proper place. She even bought me an old-fashioned feather duster and would follow me around the house like the queen of the castle to make sure I did my job properly.

"This house once required five girls just like yourself to keep it going," the grand old lady would say at least a dozen times during each of my visits. "You are just going to have to work harder if you want to keep up. Come along, Pamela, don’t be a lazy girl!"

Adding insult to injury, I’d have to make tea and bake some cookies and serve them to my employer at the end of each day. She would then make me sit and listen to her ramble about "the good old days" for about half an hour before allowing me to leave for home. It was always so tedious and I’d be itching under my girdle and my feet would be sore. But, still, I did as I was told. A mere boy in a dress, I didn’t know what else to do.

That first time I helped out at one of Mrs. McCuddy’s Saturday bridge club meetings was a day of misery, as you no doubt predicted. I arrived at nine sharp and was immediately put to work setting tables and chairs and arranging dishes. The caterer came by and dropped off enough food to feed an entire army. Mrs. McCuddy immediately put me to work setting up the buffet, directing my every move with the precision of a Marine Corps drill sergeant.

"I normally have to pay Georgio for setting everything up," she croaked in her little old lady voice. "But now that I’ve got myself some cheap hired help, I don’t have to do that anymore."

I was worn out when guests starting arriving, but that was when the real work – and humiliation! – began. There were at least a dozen old ladies, some blue-haired, some silver, some with dyed hair and wigs, all reeking with little old lady perfume and painted with lipstick and dripping in old fashioned jewelry. Everyone seemed impressed to see me standing at the door, dutifully taking their coats and directing them into the parlor.

"Irma’s got herself a hired girl," one of them muttered with a wicked smile. "Very pretty, very cute."

I wanted to say, "No, you moron, I’m not a girl!" But a glance in the mirror was enough to change my mind.

The party wasn’t over until three, by which time I was worn to a frazzle! It wasn’t too bad an experience, but I was physically drained and emotionally taxed. The worst thing that happened was that while Mrs. McCuddy would refer to me as her ‘girl’, she occasionally called me by my real name, which caused more than a little confusion. Enough people noticed this that I suddenly became the top topic of gossip. Unfortunately, more than one old lady just happened to know my mother and it was only a matter of time before I was confronted with the truth.

"I know Mrs. Palmer who lives on Crescent Avenue," one old lady said, shaking her finger at me, "and she’s got a boy named Greg who looks an awful lot like you. She used to dress him funny for Halloween every year."

Well, that got everyone excited and I was suddenly trapped in the middle of a swarm of smarmy smiles and gloating glance. Mrs. McCuddy looked like the proverbial cat that ate the bird, so I had no help from her. Finally, I sighed and gave up. As much as I dreaded doing it, I reluctantly confessed to the entire company that, yes, I was indeed Greg Palmer – "Yes, ma’am, the one who lived on Crescent Avenue," – and that yes, I was a boy.

Well, that announcement caused no little amount of snickers and grins, and the conversation at each table was ripe with phrases like "such a pretty boy" and "he looks just like granddaughter." More than one old lady commented that "it was about time boys learned how hard women’s work can be!" and I just grinned and nodded and kept my mouth shut while I continued to serve drinks and snacks.

Mrs. McCuddy kept on me throughout the afternoon, making certain that I served each and every guest on time and with proper manners.

"Don’t wait to be asked to do something, girl!" she said for the umpteenth time. "Watch and anticipate what someone might want. I’m not paying you to stand around and look pretty."

"And stop looking so miserable. You’re causing a scandal with that sad look on your face. Smile, like the pretty girl you’re pretending to be! I’m paying you good money for quality help, not some sour-faced lazy boy to pout and mope about! Do you want me to call your mother?"

Forcing myself to smile as best I could, I shook my head in earnest. "Gosh, no! Please, don’t call her. I’ll do better. I promise!"

Funny … how something like a smile can affect both the smiler and those who see the smile. As miserable and unhappy as I felt in that stupid dress and waiting on all those stupid old ladies, the mere act of smiling made things at least seem a little better. Especially when it came to talking with the old ladies. They would see me smile and they would smile back, which made me want to smile even more. I still got my share of teasing – "How about coming to work for me, pretty boy?" and "I wish my grandson was here with me … he loves flirting with the hired help!" – but it was not nearly as bad as the teasing I would have gotten at school from my so-called friends.

Probably the most humiliating thing I had to do was wait on Mimi, my employer’s spoiled pet poodle. Mimi had her own crystal food bowl, which Mrs. McCuddy insisted I bring into the parlor so everyone could "ooh" and "ahhh" over it. That stupid dog seemed to know exactly what was going on and she would yip and yap and snap at me every minute of the day.

"Looks like Mimi enjoys bossing around your pretty little maid," one of the ladies proclaimed. A titter of laughter swept through the room. Keeping in character, I just nodded and smiled and pretended this was the way things were supposed to be.

The real humiliation came when I had to take Mimi for her walk every half hour, to keep her calm and make sure she didn’t make a mess on the carpet. This single chore along was enough to wear me out! Try walking your dog around the block in a pair of three-inch high heels if you ever wonder why!

As our guests finally took their leave, I got more than my share of compliments. Mrs. McCuddy insisted that I fetch everyone’s coat, one at a time, and stand by her side as they left the house. I got my cheek pinched so many times, it was painful! And to hear all those comments, everything from "Remember, I need a pretty boy maid to come work for me" to "Good thing he’s not working for me or I’d have him looking really pretty!" The worse one was something like, "If you ever get lonely, pretty miss, just let me know. Have I got a boyfriend for you!"

Some of those old ladies had a mean streak in them, too! At least two of them gave me a smack on the bottom as they headed out the door. And one even flipped up the hem of my skirt! Not knowing how to react, I just kept silent as they all chuckled to themselves and minced on down the front steps toward their cars.

After the party was over, it took me nearly two hours to clean up the mess, to include washing and drying the plates and crystal and washing the linens. I felt like crying, but I kept my servant’s smile, just in case my employer was looking.

At long last I headed for the door, my mother’s coat in one hand and my purse in the other.

"Here’s a little something for your trouble, girl," Mrs. McCuddy said gruffly.

I took the piece of paper and saw that it was a check. It was for a lot more money than I expected. Enough to make me think that my time hadn’t been wasted. More than enough for me to smile for real.

"Um, thank you, Mrs. McCuddy," I said sheepishly. "This is a lot of money … just for one day’s work."

"You worked hard and you deserve it. Put some of it away and buy yourself something pretty with the rest," Mrs. McCuddy said when she saw my reaction. "A good girl deserves nice things."

As much as I hated, well, I didn’t hate that little old lady, just the things she made me do . . . I couldn’t resist giving her a little hug. It was only the polite thing to do.

"Yes, Ma’am," I croaked. I looked down at the check again. It was more money than I’d ever been given in my entire life. As much as I hated wearing that stupid maid’s outfit, well, I couldn’t help feeling good about what just happened.

In contrast to taking care of Mrs. McCuddy, the experience in the Johnston house was completely different. Twice a week I’d show up to an empty house and follow a list of chores that included everything from doing laundry to preparing supper for Mrs. Johnston and her family. I was especially nervous about showing up at the Johnston house in that goofy maid’s dress, as they had a teenaged boy who could very well make my life a living hell.

Fortunately for me, the first few days went rather smoothly. It turned out that Mrs. Johnston was less interested in my dusting and cleaning skills than she was engaging me in conversation during my sessions at her home. While I put the kitchen in order or folded underwear, she would chit-chat endlessly about the dumbest things, and expect me to reply, of course. Most of her conversations had to do with how pretty I looked and how well I carried myself and how much it meant to my mother for me to play along with her ‘little game’. Occasionally she would tease me a bit by saying how she knew I was just pretending to hate having to dress up and how she couldn’t wait to see my taste in boys. At first I protested such comments, but she would shush me and go on as though I hadn’t said a word. After a while I just gave up and nodded and smiled and bided my time until it was time to head for home.

"I am just going to have to introduce you to my son, Kevin," she’d say every once in a while. "Too bad he has football practice every afternoon. I keep hoping that you’ll run into each other, but you two keep missing each other. It’s actually rather funny. I think you would hit it off quite well."

I knew Kevin, of course, from when Rita used to babysit me and my little brother. We'd never really hung around each other much because of the difference in our ages. And now the mere idea of bumping into him terrified me! Nearly two years older than me, Kevin was popular and athletic and smart, just exactly the kind of guy that I wanted to avoid. Especially if I was wearing a dress!

"Um, I don’t think we’d get along," I’d invariably say. "Guys like Kevin don’t . . . don’t hang out with people like . . . me."

"Maybe not, ‘Pamela’. But you don’t give yourself enough credit. All your hard work is paying off. You’re becoming quite the fetching young lady. You two could be a cute couple."

All of my hard work? Cute couple? Was this woman crazy? Didn’t she listen? Didn’t she know how much I hated being forced to dress up and act like a girl? What was she, blind and deaf????

I kept all that inside, of course. I just smiled and folded the laundry and nodded like the good girl I appeared to be.

Between my new job and school and homework and whatever chores my mother had for me around the house, my life was busier than ever. The problem was, none of it was what I wanted to do. Oh, sure, I was making money like crazy, but I never had time to spend it and whenever I did, Mom made sure it went to things like lipstick and panties and not comic books or soft drinks.

I was also somewhat lonesome. My friends at school were sparse and none of them were boys. The few guys I ran into thought I was a fag, and I made sure to steer clear of them. The one boy I was apparently destined to be friends with, well, his mom saw me more as a date than as a buddy. That was enough to push me over the edge. Many was the time that I’d be in the middle of some menial task, like dusting one of Mrs. McCuddy’s ceramic kitties or cleaning Mrs. Johnston’s toilet, and I’d just start crying for no apparent reason. Well, yeah, sure, I had plenty of reasons, chief among them were the too-tight girdle I was wearing or the long walk home that was still ahead of me or a combination of both.

"Why are you crying?" my mother asked me one night as I came through the back door. "You better not be in trouble with Mrs. Johnston!"

I shook my head and just stood there. Looking down at my feminine attire, I burst out in a fresh wave of tears. Here I was, a fourteen year old boy, kicked off the little league team and stuck doing girl’s work every day after school in a dress! What wasn’t there for me to cry over???

"Poor baby," my mother said with genuine affection. "I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you go take a nice douche and I’ll pour you a hot bath. Afterward we’ll get into our ‘jammies and have a quiet supper, just you and me."

"Oh, you don’t know how you feel, silly girl!" My mom gave me a stern, yet playful look. "Just do as I say and don’t worry your pretty little head, all right? It’ll make you feel so much better. Promise me, I know what I’m talking about! Poor, poor ‘Pamela’, I don’t know what you’d do without me."

Despite that fateful night at Kathy's house and all the madness in my own home, my life at school remained fairly uneventful. I kept to myself most of the time, went to class and tried my best to stay out of trouble. Occasionally I'd bump into somebody who remembered me from Sadie Hawkins Day and teased me about it, but that didn't bother me much. I'd just laugh and roll my eyes and take my lumps, and then go on with life. Todd and Joe, of course, still gave me a fairly hard time, but I stayed out of their way as best I could. I'd hear about them picking on other kids sometimes and count my lucky stars that they didn't bother looking me up.

Perpetually trapped between being a professional maid and my mother’s favorite ‘daughter’, I spent most of my time doing my homework and hiding in my room. That was when Mom began insisting we spend quite a bit of ‘quality time’ together. This would entail us working on each other’s hair on Friday nights, cleaning house on Saturday mornings – if Mrs. McCuddy didn’t need me, of course! – and then Saturday evening shopping or going to a movie or dinner on a 'girls’ night out'.

On some weekend afternoons my mother would have me sit next to her and watch a romance or musical on television, or if I was really unlucky, I’d have to read from one of her favorite romance novels. I hated that, especially when it came to the kissing scenes, but Mom enjoyed it, so I gritted my teeth and did as I was told.

"You read that like you were really getting into it," she said one night."Maybe you’ll have pleasant dreams tonight, ‘Pamela’."

She pointed to the muscular hero on the cover of the book in my hand and giggled. "Don’t you think that would be fun, kissing a big strong man like that?"

The sound of her laughter haunted me the rest of the night! The sad part was, I did start having dreams, just like she predicted. More often than not I’d be on the run, clad in little more than a slip or my stupid girdle, stumbling down a corridor in a pair of high heels, pursued by shadowy figures that laughed and whispered ugly words, sending chills down my spine and causing me to tremble anxiously. Occasionally, I’d feel a hand pull at my clothes or grab me by the arm or caress my bottom. Once in a while one of the shadow figures would pull me close and try to kiss me on the mouth. I remember waking up in the middle of the night more than once after such a dream. I’d be sweating like crazy and chilled, both at the same time. I’d spend the rest of the night laying there, torn between fear and curiosity as I struggled to go back to sleep.

Anyway, trapped in all this confusion, life at home got kind of lonely, but I made the best out of a bad situation. Kinda. Except for Kathy and Rita and a few of my mom's friends we never had any visitors at our house. Well, I never had any visitors or friends at our house. That was a blessing actually. I knew good and well if any of the guys from my science club came over to shoot off rockets, or if somebody wanted to trade comic books with me, they'd be met at the door by a very upset boy in a dress, apron and high heels. Knowing my mom, she'd have us give each other makeovers or something equally asinine. I had bad dreams about that kind of thing happening and I was desperate to make sure they never came true.

Then something really bizarre happened. Something that shook me up really bad. Want to hear about it? Of course you do.

It all started in the school cafeteria with a simple "Mind if I sit here?"
I usually sat with Kathy and her friends during lunch, but if she couldn't make it I usually sat by myself. That's the way it was since I'd made my debut in lipstick and high heels on Sadie Hawkins Day. Most of the guys I knew from junior high didn't have time for me anyway, not since I'd dropped out of baseball. And because of the way Mom had been acting I was afraid to make any new friends. Not that it would have made any difference. Guys my age were kind of fussy about who they were seen with; to be perfectly honest, I wouldn't have wanted to hang around a boy whose biggest claim to fame was having cute legs.

Anyway, on this particular day I looked up from my salmon croquette and Mexican corn to see a face that I should have recognized, but didn't. What I did see was a slender, dark-headed boy with a spattering of freckles and a big grin on his face.

"Um, hi," I said awkwardly. This guy looked familiar, but I couldn't place the face.

"Oh, you know, the Sadie Hawkins thing!" The youth rolled his eyes and glanced over his shoulder as though he thought someone would be spying on us. "Remember? I wore the blue gingham dress? You beat me in the pageant?"

The blue gingham . . . Omigosh! The pageant! I felt my face getting hot. The sophomore boy in the blue gingham dress! So that's where I saw him before . . .

"I . . . I didn't recognize you," I said lamely. "I mean, you look a lot different . . . now, I mean."

Danny grinned. "Well, you don't. Except for the lipstick and ponytail, you look about the same. Maybe not quite as cute."

We both smiled, me somewhat nervously, of course. I felt the heat from my face spread to my neck and I wondered how red it looked. Talking about Sadie Hawkins Day wasn't exactly my favorite topic, but this was different. I could tell that already.

"Mind if I sit down?" The slender boy asked for the umpteenth time. He finally took a seat without waiting for me to answer. "I usually see you here with your little girlfriends, but since you're alone today I thought you might want some company."

My new friend turned out to be pretty neat. He was a sophomore, all right, fifteen years old, despite being a couple of inches shorter than me and at least ten pounds lighter. I'd thought he'd looked kinda young that day in his dress, for a sophomore, I mean. He looked more like a freshman, but it turned out he was a whole year older than me.

Anyway, Danny asked me how I liked high school and we chatted for a while, you know, gossip about teachers and classes and stuff like that. I discovered he was a bit of a bookworm, more interested in art and music and history than baseball. Still, we seemed to hit it off okay anyway, since we liked the same kinda movies and TV shows and such.

While we talked a million questions raced through my mind, things I'd thought about ever since that traumatic day Mom sent me to school as ‘Pamela’. I remembered seeing the shy sophomore in his dress that day and I thought about what I wanted to ask him at the time. Now I had my chance, but I was much too terrified to do it. The problem was that he might ask me something, too, and then what would I do?

"Okay, enough small talk. Let's talk about something really interesting. Like," – he looked around for eavesdroppers and then whispered – "girl stuff!"

"Um, girl stuff?" I could feel my face burning red again. "What kinda . . . girl stuff?" I whispered.

"Oh, you know, girl stuff. Like lipstick, nail polish . . . high heels." Danny grinned at me like he was about to bust out laughing. "You really like that stuff, don't you?"

"Oh, come on. You know . . . I mean, take those high heels you had on Sadie Hawkins Day. You wear them a lot, don't you? I bet you put them on the minute you get home from school every day!"

I could have died! Talk about nerve! It was bad enough when Kathy quizzed me about my girlie clothes, but now I had some boy asking me stuff like that. Talk about uncomfortable!

"No, I do not! I don't wear them at all." I tried to sound hateful, but I don't think it was working. "That was just a costume. For that day only. You oughta know. You were wearing one, too."

"Yes, I was, wasn't I? That's why I know about you and those shoes. They're impossible to walk in. Put one of these guys in a pair of heels like that, he'd fall down like a ton of bricks." The freckle-faced boy gave me a long look. It was like he could see right through me. "But you didn't have any trouble. You've had a lot of practice. Enough to look like you know what you're doing."

"Yeah, well, just 'cause I did it once doesn't mean I dress up like a . . ." - I lowered my voice to where it was barely audible - "like a . . . a fruitcake all the time. I mean, you don't, right?"

My question was met with a long, deliberate silence. I felt my mouth go dry. I had a feeling that this wasn't going anywhere near where I thought it would.

Like I said before, the ironic thing was ever since seeing Danny dressed like a country girl I'd been wondering all sorts of things about him, whether he wore girls' clothes at home and if his mom had anything to do with it. I wondered if he dated anybody - girl or boy - and I even worked out in my mind what his home life might be like. It pleased me to think that there might be someone else out there that was in the same boat I was in, and I relished the thought of some other boy knowing as much about girls and girlish things as I did.

It turned out that Danny apparently had been wondering the same kinds of things about me!

"Come on," he goaded me. "Tell me the truth. And I'll do the same. I bet you wear lipstick every chance you get, too!"

"I . . . I don't know what you . . . you're talking about," I stammered unconvincingly. "Sadie Hawkins Day was . . . you know, just a joke."

The freckle-faced boy gave me a skeptical look. "Yeah, sure. A joke. Real funny. I saw what was going on. I saw you touching up your lipstick between classes. You acted more like a girl than anybody I've ever seen, including me! Your mom showing you how to put on lipstick once or twice doesn't do it. C'mon, man . . . it takes one to know one."

Danny looked over his shoulder and then back at me again. His expression was almost serious.

"It means, it takes a sissy to spot a sissy. I know about you. I mean, I don't know everything, but I know enough. You know how to wear high heels. You handle yourself really good in girls' clothes. And you definitely know a lot more about putting on lipstick than you let on. A real guy doesn't do any of that stuff, right? So, that makes you a sissy!"

"I'm not a sissy," I whispered hoarsely. "Don't call me that! I can kick your butt if I wanted."

"I doubt that," my new friend said with confidence. "I'm a lot tougher than I look. But that's not the point. Look, if you don't wanna talk about it, tough guy, then fine . . ." He reached for his books and started to get up. "See ya 'round."

I often wonder what would have happened if I'd kept my mouth shut. I guess my life might have turned out a different. A lot different. But I didn't, so I guess we'll never know.

"So," he said, his voice a bit more in control than before, "let's talk. But you start, okay? Tell me all about you and . . ." he whispered, "lipstick."

Well, to make a long story short, I confessed. Right there in the school cafeteria, with guarded whispers I told this wide-eyed, smiling fifteen year old boy my darkest secrets. Of course, I didn't tell him everything, just enough to let him know that he was at least partly right about me. I told him pretty much what I'd told Kathy, how my mom had been curious about what if I'd been born a girl and how she'd helped me put my costume together for Sadie Hawkins Day. I even told him a bit about how she put lipstick on me when I was little. Not the whole ugly truth, but just enough to catch his attention. He really ate it up, too.

Needless to say, I didn't dare tell him at that very moment I was trapped in a stupid panty girdle, or how that afternoon ‘Pamela’ would have to dress like a maid and clean house for Old Lady McCuddy. I only told him what I thought I had to, and tales of lipstick and ponytails turned out to be more than enough.

"Wow. Your mom showed you how to do all that stuff?" Danny's eyes glistened. "You're lucky."

"I guess. She gets a little carried away sometimes. Sometimes . . ." – I took a deep breath – "sometimes she wants me to do stuff I don't wanna do. That's kinda tough."

I thought for a moment. I didn't want to say too much and give everything away. "Oh, I don't know, chores, housework, babysitting my little brother . . . you know, girl stuff."

"Girl stuff," Danny repeated. "You sound like that's bad. I don't know why . . . my mom died when I was little. I still miss her. I'd love to have her around showing me how to do stuff like that."

There was another awkward silence. I hadn't expected an answer like that. I shifted in my seat, not sure what I should do next. Danny, again, saved the day.

"So, you do wear lipstick and heels at home, right? What else? What about skirts and dresses? I'll tell you if you tell me."

I felt dizzy as I nodded my head. I had a feeling I shouldn't be telling him anything else, but I couldn't help myself. I was in too deep. "Yeah, sometimes, I guess," I said. My voice was raspy with emotion. "Dresses, maybe a skirt or something. It all depends."

"I think you're making that up." My new friend gave me a skeptical look. "Your mom doesn't really make you dress up, does she?"

"Hmmm . . . Well, still, I bet you look really cute in a dress," Danny said, not at all smiling. He looked over his shoulder. Nobody was paying us any attention at all.

"Well, it's my turn." He took a deep breath and sighed. "I've never told anybody else this but . . . I dress up as often as I can. My mom didn't make me. She didn't have to."

My new friend gave me a sly look. "After she and my dad died, well, my aunt took me and my sisters to live with her. They have a ton of things they let me wear whenever I want. I've been doing it since I was in kindergarten. First it was just in the backyard garden, playin' house and dolls and stuff with my sisters. Then it was for Halloween, and then church plays and now just about anywhere I can get away with it. It’s loads of fun and I love it!"

I blinked. "You . . . you’re serious?" I whispered. "You actually . . . you really . . . love it?"

Danny blushed – which made him look oddly feminine – and grinned. "I do LOVE it! I really do! Greg, I tell you, I'd wear girls' clothes to school if I could. Shoot, I'd give up being a guy if I could, that's how much I love it."

I was stunned. It never occurred to me that someone would want to go that far. I thought that was kind of extreme. "Give up . . . being a boy . . . forever? Are you serious?"

Danny's enthusiasm made his green eyes shine. "Oh, sure. And why not? Girls can do everything boys can do. They get the best seats, the best clothes, and all of the attention! Think about it . . . girls can play ball or dance ballet . . . they can take karate and wear lipstick! They can wear jeans and mini-skirts and nobody thinks a thing about it! Talk about lucky!" The freckled-face scrunched up into a mischievous grin. "Like I said, why not? I mean, wouldn't you if you could?"

"No, I wouldn't!" I had to fight to keep my voice low. I thought about my mom and what she'd have to say about our little discussion. "I . . . I'm a guy. I like being a guy, and I'm going to stay a guy!"

Danny laughed. "Okay, okay, tough guy, I get your point. You're a boy. Congratulations. Still, I know you dress up, so 'fess up. Isn't it fun, playing in girls' stuff? I mean, don't you just love putting on pretty clothes and pretending to be someone else? Just for a little while at least?"

I thought for a minute, and shyly nodded my head. "I guess. A little bit. Maybe"

Danny grinned. "Oh, sure. Maybe. Like the way you were mincing around here a couple of weeks ago, like you were one of the girls? You didn't enjoy that?"

"Well, you're a heck of an actor." The petite fifteen year old looked at me for a minute. "Or just a big liar."

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. The cafeteria burst with activity and my new friend started laughing. "Oh, you are, too! You big fibber! I know better than that. I've seen you in action. There's a lot more to you and your little game than you're letting on, and I'm going to figure it all out! See you tomorrow!"

Oddly enough, my new buddy and I seemed to bump into each other a lot more over the next few days. While part of me was fascinated with the idea of knowing another boy who wore dresses, another part of me was terrified. Against my better judgment, I found myself giving in to the dark side, so to speak.

It turned out that Danny and I had the same study hall together, so we would try and get seats together as often as we could. We only ate lunch together when Kathy and her friends were busy doing other stuff. We kind of downplayed our association together, though it didn't seem to make much difference to anybody else that we'd become friends.

Most of the conversations we had were pretty innocent. We stuck mostly to regular guy stuff and we even talked about schoolwork, believe it or not. Danny was really good at math and he explained some things about algebra to me that made a lot more sense than what my teacher ever said. In fact, my grades went up to a ‘B’ because of his tutoring. I felt really good about that.

Occasionally our talks strayed over to the thing that originally brought us together. Danny usually broached the subject first, mentioning how much he hated being a boy and putting up with the way he was treated and stuff. His dad hadn't been quite as rough and tough as my dad, but it was apparent that it was his mother and aunt that he identified most with. I shared a lot of his point of view, but I was afraid to say much of anything for fear of being overheard and teased. Life was hard enough without reinforcing my less-than-masculine image.

"How about me coming over to your house sometime?" he suggested one day. "I'd like to meet your mom."

I fought a wave of panic. Like I said before, I hadn't had a friend over to visit since the previous school year and I had no idea what my mom would do if I brought somebody home. With my luck she'd make me change into my punishment clothes. Holy cow . . . she’d probably make me put on my maid’s costume and make me do housework in front of my guests! There was no way on earth I’d ever live down something like that! Nope, it didn't seem like a good idea any way I looked at it.

"Um, I don't know. She's awful busy, you know, with work and stuff. Probably not a good idea."

Danny nodded. "Okay, you come over to my place. My aunt's gone all the time, and my sisters won't bother us. We can talk and stuff. It'll be fun."

I thought about my obligations to Mrs. McCuddy and Mrs. Johnston. Surely that was enough to get me out of this predicament. I shrugged my shoulders. "Maybe. I got a lot of chores to do after school. I'll have to ask my mom. Maybe I can come over after I get my work done, but I doubt it."

It took me forever to ask, of course. Part of me was dying to go visit Danny and part of me did not. Lord knows I was starved for friendship, especially with a guy for a change. Even if it was a guy who shared my shameful secret. I finally decided that it wouldn’t hurt as long as it was on Danny’s territory and not mine – or better yet, my mom’s. At least that way things wouldn’t get out of hand. Maybe.

But how to do this . . . that was the problem. The solution turned out to be simple. After giving it some thought, I just went to my mother and I explained that Danny was my math tutor, which wasn't too far from the truth. Mom knew I was having trouble with my grades and when she saw how far I came with Danny working with me at school, going over to his house for longer sessions was easy to sell. I just had to promise to stay out of trouble and come straight home when I was done.

"You can go over on Friday, how’s that? That way you can get your work done for Mrs. McCuddy and Mrs. Johnston, all right?" Mom gave me a curious look as I nodded. "Don't you dare let me find out you're up to no good. You do, and you'll be so sorry, you won't know what to think."

It had been a long time since I'd been to anybody's house . . . well, since I'd been to anybody's house as "Greg," to be more accurate. I was so excited when Friday finally came, I could hardly stand it! I was pretty happy to be out from under my mom's scrutiny, and it didn't even bother me that Danny and I spent an hour going over my homework so, as he put it, "We don't have to lie about what we're doing."

Once we were done studying, Danny asked if I wanted to go see his room. I was a little nervous at first, but imagine my surprise when I saw it was a typical boy's bedroom, complete with movie posters and model rockets, a lot like my room once looked. Not much sports stuff, but lots of other neat things. I don't know what I expected, but I was relieved anyhow. At least there wasn't any "Hot Buns" poster to embarrass the heck out of me.

We sat around and yakked about typical teenaged guy stuff for a bit. It was kind of like old times; we whined about school, our parents, girls, you name it. I even said 'shit' a few times, just like I used to do with my old gang. I found myself hoping that it would never end.

My friend grinned. He then did a very odd thing; he took me by the hand – yeah, that's right, he took my hand! – and he led me out of the room and down the hall. I tried pulling loose, but couldn't. Stopping at a closed door, he turned to me and grinned. "You're going to love this," he said, squeezing my hand tightly.

He opened the door and my heart dropped to my stomach. It was a girl's room, of course. An older girl's room, very feminine, very frilly and very ornate. I felt a queer thrill shoot through my body as we stepped through the doorway. The smell of perfume and fabric softener sent a familiar chill over me, and I could feel my knees go week.

"This is my sister Judy's room. She's off at college, so I get to come in and use whatever I want whenever I want." The grinning boy shrugged. "Which is just about every day."

I nodded. This isn't good,I thought frantically. This isn't good at all!

Danny drug me over to the vanity and pointed. "Check it out! She's got a little bit of everything."

It was true. Laying out like a colorful army of toy soldiers, neat rows and columns of lipsticks and nail polish and cosmetics of all sorts covered the top of the vanity. Funny thing, as self-conscious and uncomfortable as I was, I recognized every single thing there. I felt an unexpected glow of pride, which I immediately blocked out of my thoughts.

"Here, try this on." My friend picked up a silver tube, opened it up and started painting his mouth with a dark red lipstick. "Just for fun. Judy won't mind. She's got tons."

Danny pressed his lips together and made a popping sound. I remember thinking how that color actually looked kinda good on him. He grinned and said "Oh, stop being such a spoil sport."

The silver tube hovered in front of my face. I looked at it a second, then up at Danny. He had a pouty look on his face so pitiful I had to force myself to not laugh out loud.

"Oh, come on. I did it. Now you do it." He made that pitiful pouty face again. "Please?"

I took the lipstick and turned to face the vanity. I felt so stupid. Then I proceeded to apply the waxy color to my mouth. It took a second, but I did it perfectly, pulling a tissue from a decorative box and blotting my lips, just like ‘Pamela’ did hundreds of times at home. I studied the result and nodded.

At first I thought I did something wrong. Danny looked at me kind of funny, like he was thinking really hard about something. No, more like he was daydreaming . . . yeah, that sounds better. His eyes were locked on mine and his mouth had just a hint of a smile, as though something serious was on his mind.

"Looks perfect. You, uh, do that pretty good." The grin on his face was gone and I could have sworn he was blushing. "Here, pick out some eye make up. Let's see what else you can do."

Sighing heavily, I started to protest. Then I looked at Danny. Dammit! He had that look on his face again. A few minutes later I was staring at myself in the mirror, lamenting how foolish my new friend probably thought I looked. Between the eye shadow and a regrettable amount of mascara, I was starting to look an awful lot like ‘Pamela’.

Danny nodded . . . then shook his head. "Wow," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will you do me? You do eyes a lot better than I do. Heck, you do eyes better than any of my sister do!"
I was in the middle of working on Danny's face when I heard someone behind me clear their voice. I about had a heart attack when I turned around and saw a girl about my age standing at the door with her hands on her hips.

"Looks like our little princess finally found himself another fairy to play with." The grin on her face was like a spotlight. I felt like crawling under a rock and hiding, but I forced myself to sit still and keep quiet.

"Be nice," Danny said. He looked at me and sighed. "That's just my little sister. Don't pay her any attention. She's just jealous 'cause we look better in girls' stuff than she does."

"Oh, that's Judy who's in college. This is Christine. She's a freshman, too, just like you."

I nodded. His sister was a freshman? I thought for a second and blinked. Then it hit me. She was indeed a freshman, all right! I remembered seeing her in a different homeroom with some of my old baseball buddies. Great, that meant she knew most if not all of my friends – the few I had left – and my classmates, too!

Danny was more interested in his lipstick than talking about his household. "Oh, there’s no more sisters. Judy and Christine are enough, believe me! As for Aunt Marlene, she works downtown at the library. She won't be home for another hour or so."

"Can I watch?" Christine asked, plopping down on the edge of the bed. I don't know why she asking for permission. The way she was acting she wouldn't have left for a million dollars.

She made an ugly face. "I just want to know, how is it that you know how to do all this stuff so good? I’m fourteen, too, and it’s taken my entire life to figure it all out."

"Greg was the one who took fourth place on Sadie Hawkins Day," Danny said proudly. He was actually bragging on me! "Remember, the red polka dots and short shorts?"

The blond girl did a double take. "Oh, I know all about Greg." Her eyes went up and down my body and locked in on my face. "Ever since that Sadie Hawkins Day, everybody knows all about you. Man, you were looking good. For a boy, I mean. What did you do with those shoes? Do you still have them?"

"Well, you better watch out. From where I was sitting, a lot of boys were talking about you that day. They were all pretty sure you were a real girl and not some boy wearing lipstick and high heels. I'm surprised you didn't get asked out."

"They especially liked the way you wiggled your butt when you walked," she said with a giggle. "But I guess that’s what you wanted, huh? For them to look at your butt like that, fairy boy?"

"Christine, don’t be mean!" Danny yelled. "Don’t pay her any mind. She’s just jealous ‘cause you’re a prettier girl than she is!"

I so wanted to tell both of them to shut up, but I couldn’t. Tears welled up in my eyes and I knew darned good and well if I said anything, I’d just start crying. So I just sat there and endured all those biting little comments while I concentrated on my handiwork. It was a really awkward situation; I felt so stupid making another boy up to look like a girl to begin with, and doing it in plain sight of his little sister made things even worse. Especially when she was so mean!

Over the next little while Christine sat and chatted while I worked on Danny's face and hair. I noticed after a few minutes that she got awful quiet. It seemed that she was taking in everything I was doing to her brother.

"You’re actually pretty good at this," she whispered at one point. "For a dumb boy, I mean."

"You guys want a soft drink or something?" Christine tossed me a sweet smile, one that made me feel really warm inside. "Um, you're not going home yet, are you?"

I shrugged again. "Uh, no . . . I’m supposed to be here until my mom comes to get me around seven-thirty. Sure, I’ll take a drink, I guess."
The grinning girl nodded and skipped out of the room. I turned toward Danny. I was about to say something about his goofy sister when he interrupted.

The next thing I knew, Danny stood up and stepped toward me, so close I could smell the cinnamon from his chewing gum. I looked up just in time to see my new friend's face move in close to mine. He paused, just for a moment, but long enough to give me a smile that I'll never forget. His eyes were about half closed, and as his nose bumped mine, I closed my own eyes and braced myself hard.

The kiss was brief, but unmistakably warm, wet . . . and very nice. Just as nice as the ones Cathy gave me only a few days before.

Aw, jeez . . . He’s kissing me! I tried to pull away, but my knees were too weak. Ew-w-w, yuck! I’m getting kissed by another guy! Oh, gosh . . .

I could have made a big scene about it. I could probably have even pushed or punched Danny and run away like an idiot. But I figured it would only last a second and then he’d laugh and say it was a joke or something and that would be that, so I let it go for a little bit. And then I let it go one a bit more . . . and I let it go on . . .

He’s a good kisser, I thought guiltily. I remember his tongue pressing against my lips and thinking how pleasant that felt. How is that possible? How can I like kissing a boy as much as I like kissing a girl?

At long last he pulled away. When I opened my eyes I saw Danny’s face mere millimeters from my own. He had a satisfied, though somewhat embarrassed look in his eyes. I . . . Me . . .? Well, I wasn’t too sure what I felt. I mean, I know what I thought I was supposed to feel. But for some reason I didn’t react the way I thought I would. I mean, at least I wasn’t running screaming from the room.

Danny gave me a weak smile. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself. Ever since you put on that lipstick, I've been dying to do that. Like I said, I couldn't help it . . . it was just a friendly little kiss."

"It didn't seem very friendly to me," I said. I wasn't sure what I meant by that. It just came out.

He then leaned forward and kissed me again. I closed my eyes, sitting there like a dummy. Not that I could do anything about it, I mean. I just sat there and took it. This time I could feel his mouth open and mine did the same, as though it had a mind of its own. When his tongue entered my mouth, mine rose to meet it, and for a brief moment in time they danced together, playfully mixing it up as though they were old friends.

We’re French kissing! I thought to myself. It’s just like with Cathy . . . only better! I’m French kissing . . . a boy???

I knew I shouldn’t be enjoying myself, but I couldn’t help myself. I took a deep breath and resumed the kiss.

When we pulled away, Danny caught my tongue in between his teeth and he pulled on it, sucking between his lips as we parted.

It was during the third kiss with my new friend that I thought I was seeing stars. I opened my eyes and – holy crap! – it turned out to be the flash of Christine’s camera! I was so dizzy with confusion, so overwhelmed, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry once I realized what was going on.

I looked over at my new friend and was somewhat surprised to see him smiling at me. I mean, here I was, all upset about his stupid sister taking incriminating pictures of us, I couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be just as mad.

"Can’t you make her stop?" I pleaded. "We don’t want her taking pictures of me . . . of . . . us . . ."

Christine interrupted with, "Stupid fairy, what my big brother is trying to say is, he wanted me to take pictures while you were visiting. He’s just so crazy happy about finally getting to kiss you, he can’t think straight. Isn’t that right, Danny?"

I looked at the boy standing in front of me. Even through his makeup, I could see him blushing. And the smile on his face . . . and the look in his eyes . . . well, he sort of looked . . . I could hardly find words for it at the time, but Danny actually looked pretty.

"It’s true," the smiling boy said with a husky voice. "I, um . . . I asked her to do that. Take the pictures, I mean. You know, just for fun."

I blinked. Then I swallowed. Or at least I tried to swallow. It was hard, as my mouth was dry and my throat was frozen with fear.

"Fun? How is this fun???" I finally cried, tears welling up in my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. "She’s not supposed to see us . . . me . . . kissing . . . a guy . . ."

Danny took my hands in his and pulled me close. I didn’t resist as he planted another kiss on my trembling lips, this one just as warm and affectionate as any I’d ever received in my entire young life.

"Don’t cry, Greg . . . please? I don’t want you to be sad," he whispered before kissing me again.

There was a long moment of silence and I wondered if I was supposed to say anything. I couldn’t think of a single thing that would make things better, so I just stood there and let Danny smother my face and mouth with moist, tender kisses. While he did so, Christine chimed in with:

"Danny and Gregory, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then come Gregory with a bay-bee carriage!"

Christine punctuated the last note of that stupid song with another flash from her camera. That didn’t make me feel any better, of course.

"Danny! Does she have to do that?" I sniffed back a tear. "Can’t you make her stop it?"

The thirteen year old girl giggled. "Oh, shut up, Danny. This is for your own good and you know it!" I blinked. I never heard a girl talk like that before. Christine was definitely in charge and she obviously enjoyed having the upper hand on two older boys. "What you have to understand, my dear Gregory, is that my sissy brother is deeply and romantically in love with you."

"Romantic . . . in . . . love . . .?" I choked on the words. "W-w-w-with . . . m-m-me?"

The grinning girl nodded one of those irritating bouncy nods. You know, the kind that just reeks of enthusiasm.

"Oh, yeah! Deep, deep in love. He’s got it bad for you. Remember how I said ever since Sadie Hawkins Day, the boys have all had their eye on you? Well, my big brother is your biggest fan! You’re all he talks about, all he dreams about. Getting you in his clutches is a dream come true, isn’t it, Danny honey?"

I turned my attention toward Danny. He had a weak smile on his face, like he was caught doing something bad. I raised my eyebrow as if to say, "Is she kidding me?" That was all it took.

"I can’t help it. Ever since I saw you all dolled up at school for the contest, and then that night when you wore that red dress at the dance . . ." Danny licked his lips and grinned a bashful grin.

At that point I blushed from head to toe. "You . . . you saw me that night, at the dance . . . in my red dress?"

My new friend grinned sheepishly. "Oh, I was there, all right. I was too shy to dress up, so I just wore a sport shirt and a jacket."

Danny nodded. "Well, see, after seeing you dressed up like that, and acting just like a girl, I couldn’t help thinking about all the fun we could have together. I mean, think about it … what makes better sense? Two boys who like pretending to be girls? Who could be better friends than that? We can be friends as guys and not have to worry about getting teased or beat up. And we can dress up and be friends as girls, too! You know, like we could do each other’s makeup and hair and trade clothes and stuff, just like real girls!"

"I . . . I don’t know," I said quietly. I thought about my mom and how she would react to find out I had a "boyfriend." I imagined an evil smile on her face and a shiver went down my spine. "I don’t think I can do that."

She laid a handful of freshly developed photographs on the table for me to see. I shivered to see that they all showed Danny kissing me – or was I kissing him? – as clear as day.

"How about you just do as you’re told and I won’t have to send these to the school paper!"

I felt the pit of my stomach fall about a thousand feet. "What do I have to do?"

Christine gave me an evil smile. "You have to be Danny’s boyfriend. Or girlfriend . . . or whatever." She giggled at how silly she sounded saying such a thing. "You have to promise to let him love you and you have to love him back. That means kissing and hugging and petting, in addition to playing ‘dress-up’ together and doing each other’s hair and other girlie stuff, too."

My face was burning with shame for having allowed myself to be trapped in such a situation. She actually expected me to kiss and play "dressup" . . . with her brother???

"Then everybody finds out what a faggot you really are, pretty boy!" The girl opposite me giggled and waved the photographs in front of my face. I felt so helpless, I didn’t even try to take them away from her.

"If . . . if you do that, then everybody will know about Danny, too," I said not so convincingly.

Christine shrugged. "True. How about this . . . how about I show them to your parents? I’m sure they’d be proud to see them. Especially Daddy! Fathers just love seeing their big strong sons swapping spit with other boys!"

I nodded. The idea of my parents finding out about all this scared me a lot more than anything else. I wasn’t sure which scared me most, my mom finding out or my dad. Mom would be thrilled while Dad would want to kill me.

"Wha- . . . what about if your folks found out? Wouldn’t that be just as bad?" I took a deep breath and prayed I’d said the right thing.
I could tell from the way Danny shrugged his shoulders that I’d failed.

"I don’t care. My folks already know. It’s no secret you’re not the first boy I’ve ever kissed. I started doing that when I was little. My sisters all realize that I’m . . . well, a little different. And they think it’s cool. So does my aunt." He pursed his lips and shrugged again. "She’ll be happy I finally found a boyfriend."

Christine giggled. "That’s true! He’s been in such a pouty mood this last year or so, maybe you being his boyfriend will make things better." She gave the pictures in her hand a kiss and held them right in front of my face. "Oh, Greg, don’t be such a worry-wart! I think two boys kissing is the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t you agree?"

My knees felt weak and I wondered if I was going to faint. I cleared my throat and whispered, "Well, as long as we keep it secret, I guess . . ."

I couldn’t say another word because Danny was all over me, pressing his open mouth against mine and giving me the biggest, most enthusiastic kiss he could muster. Over his shoulder I could see Christine suddenly holding a brightly colored party dress in each hand. Where they came from I had no idea, but judging from the smug look on her face, she was no doubt feeling quite proud of herself.

"C’mon, guys, you can stop playing kissy-face just for five minutes!" she said with a giggle. "I want to see how Greg looks in something really pretty!"

A cold chill swept over my body and I tried to pull away, but I couldn’t do it. I was doomed. It would be only a matter of time before "Pamela" would be making out with Danny . . . or would it be "Danni"? One thing I knew for certain, there was no way to stop either one from happening. Not with my luck.

Ignoring the smirking teenaged girl dancing with delight before me, I just closed my eyes and continued kissing my new boyfriend. There was little else I could do.

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