by Carole Jean

Lipstick Discipline
by Amber P. and Daphne
Illustrations by Daphne

 

Chapter 37 — A State of Confusion

 

My mother had me in the palm of her hand after my misadventures with Danny and his sister. Energized by the revelations of my latest exploits, Mom renewed her insistence that I spend almost all of my time home from school in heels and dresses. She even went out and bought me new maid's costume, very similar to the one I tried on at Danny's house. I say "costume" because no real maid would have worn such a tiny little thing. Besides being way too tight, the skirt was so short that it barely covered the tops of my stockings, which I found extremely annoying. But Mom said it made me look cute and she insisted that I wear it when doing my homework, my afternoon jobs cleaning the Johnston house and my weekends working as a maid for Old Lady McCuddy.

I knew things were taking a turn for the worst when I came home from school one day and saw Christine's snapshots displayed on the living room mantel. I couldn't believe it! Mom bought frames for all of them and had them sitting out where just anyone could see them. It was bad enough that these were pictures of me and Danny acting like a couple of goof balls in our teenaged girl "pop star" finery, but the ones of me kissing Gary Lowe made me physically ill.

"Mom!" I cried out shamefully. "Please, take those down! I can't believe you put them for people to see! Why in the world would you do that?"

"Oh, hush, 'Pamela.' I think they're cute." My mother shrugged her shoulders in a very nonchalant manner. "I don't know what your problem is, little miss. You're the one who was running around in public dressed like a girl chasing boys. It's pretty obvious that you were having a good time. Can you deny it?"

Judging from the photographs my mother was right. Every photograph from that day showed me either smiling or laughing. Except for the one where I was lip locked with that stupid Gary. A kaleidoscope of emotions swept through my body as I stared and remembered that very exact moment.

"Welllllllll …." I dug my toe in the carpet and tried to think of something intelligent to say. "That's not the point. I mean, okay, we were having a little bit of fun, but that doesn't mean …."

"See, it's just as I expected!" she snapped. "You're a little hypocrite, 'Pamela.' You talk a big talk, play the victim and complain about how I'm turning you into a sissy boy. But then when my back is turned you go and dress like a horny little high school girl and climb all over the first thing in pants you find."

"Mom, that's not what happened!" A cold stare shut me up.

"You little liar! Don't you dare stand there and lie to me! Not unless you want me to get out my hairbrush!"

I felt my stomach churn as I remembered the last time I had a session with her dreaded hairbrush. My bottom ached at the very thought.

"I'm sorry, Mommy," I whispered.

My mother smiled. She then reached out and straightened up the collection of photographs, placing the one of me kissing Gary prominently in front.

"These pictures will stay here as long as I say so. They are a reminder of what my big macho son likes to do when he's with his friends."

"Mommy, please … noooooo …."

"Oh, don't come crying to me, 'Pamela.' You're the one who sneaks around kissing boys. I don't care what you say. Your actions speak way louder than your words, sweetie-pie. Now, why don't you go get changed. I've a long list of chores for you to do."

"Yes, Mother," I said with a sigh of dejection.

 

 

 

The irony of all this was that my household duties included dusting the living room, which meant I had to pick of all those stupid photographs and run my dust cloth over them every day after school. It felt strange standing there in my little black maid's dress and that stupid apron, looking at reminders of that weird day and rekindling a flurry of uncomfortable feelings deep inside me.

"Greg kissed a boy! Greg kissed a boy!" my little brother Dave yelled over and over every time he saw me dusting the photos. "He likes wearing panties and making out with his boyfriend! Greg's a bit fat sissy-girl! Greg's a bit fat sissy-girl!"

"Mom, make him stop it! He's being mean!" I complained.

"Dave, that's not nice! Your brother isn't a big fat sissy-girl." She looked at me and smiled. "He's just a little plump, that's all."

I remember my eyes burning as my little brother danced around and giggled like a maniac.

"Greg's got a boyfriend! Greg's got a boyfriend!"

"Mom, please make him stop it," I pleaded softly. "I'm begging you …."

My mother shrugged her shoulders. "Hey, he's just telling the truth. That's more than I get from you most of the time, 'Pamela.'"

AAAAAAGH!!!

 

 

 

As the days went on the opportunities for me to wear boys' clothes seemed to diminish ever so slowly. Except for school I hardly ever got to wear my pants and sneakers. Mom insisted that I change the instant I got home, even if she wasn't there. I didn't dare disobey as my track record for keeping secrets was dismal at best. I just bit my tongue, nodded my head and traded in my trousers and polo shirts for skirts and dresses.

"Don't even try to sneak behind my back and disobey me, little mister," my mother warned me during a surprise visit one day after school. Despite the fact that I was in my required bra, panty girdle, hose, heels and dress, she still chose to berate and threaten me. "You better be in these things when I come home for supper. If you're not, there'll be hell to pay!"

"I will be, Mom, I promise!" I did my best to reassure her that I was being cooperative, but she always acted like she thought I was lying.

Even during those rare moments I spent alone in my room, I dressed as "Pamela." I might have on nothing else but my bra and panties — and a generous application of lipstick and make up, of course! — as I performed my nightly assigned reading of fashion magazines and romance novels. Inside my head, of course, I dreamed of the day I'd escape this ridiculous existence.

I couldn't keep my mouth shut, of course, and had to complain.

"Mom, I'm fourteen now. I'm not a little kid anymore. Guys just don't do this kind of thing. Can't I stop?"

"Don't lie to me, 'Pamela.' You are still a child and, yes, guys do this kind of thing. I know of at least two, you and your little girlie boyfriend, Danielle."

I took a deep breath. "That's not what I meant and you know it! I hate having to stay cooped up in the house dressed like a sissy all the time! There's nothing to do and I hate it!"

I thought for a second my mom would get mad, but instead she just grinned.

"If you're really bored, 'Pamela,' I can give you something constructive to do," was her response. "We can do like the old days. I still have a whole closet filled with clothes that could use ironing. Or if you really want to do something fun, if you want to get out of the house, you can dress up in your maid costume and go help Mrs. McCuddy with her sewing and mending. She'd love the company and I know you could use the money. I bet she can help you find some interesting work with all those other old ladies, too. We can find a way to keep you busy, poor little misused thing."

"That's not what I meant," I said with tears burning my eyes. "I just want to get out of the house every now and then."

My mother raised and eyebrow and smiled. "Well, don't let me stop you. Why don't you go for a walk around the block? It's nice out. I'll be glad to go with you if you like. You can go just as you are. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Um, never mind, I'm fine," I replied. I plucked at the skimpy bikini panties I wore, adjusted my bra strap and sighed. "I think maybe I need to rearrange my lipsticks or something."

Mom grinned. "What a wonderful idea! You're almost as smart as you are pretty."

"You don't have to be mean about it," I said. "I'm doing what you say."

"Sweetie, I'm not being mean. I'm just trying to help you out. It was your idea to play with your lipsticks, not mine, remember? Just like it was your idea to go seduce handsome young boys."

At this point in my life, well, I just didn't know what to think. With Mom playing mind games with me, "Greg" was slipping away and "Pamela" was taking over more and more in everything I did. And that really scared me. No more ball games, hanging out with "the guys" and doing the kinds of things other boys typically did. Instead, I was trapped in a routine that would have terrified any normal male my age.

 

* * *

 

To complicate matters even further, Danny was now a part of my life — like it or not — which only reinforced all of the other craziness that was going on. I do have to admit that I enjoyed having a "guy" friend to talk with at school, even if he was a bit flaky. His reputation was respectable in contrast to mine. Everyone at school thought he was one of those "quiet ones," you know, studied hard, polite and never caused any trouble. Except for that stupid Sadie Hawkins pageant, he'd never been seen in public dressed as a girl. At least not to anyone's recollection, that is. In contrast to me, he was practically macho in the eyes of our classmates.

When we were alone together or out of hearing range from the other students Danny's secret side would come to surface. He really loved "girl talk" and he had no shame in bringing up the most embarrassing things in our conversations. It was unnerving to have him yammer on and on about some new dress his aunt bought or what kind of bra he liked best; if one of our classmates would sit at our table he'd automatically switch to more mundane subjects like "that movie on television last night" or something similar. Once we were alone again he'd go right back to talking about the silliest, sissiest things you could imagine.

The other thing that bothered me most about my new friend was his increasing affection for me. Ever since that fateful Friday night, he acted like a love-sick girl. It really got to be a problem, especially whenever we were alone. Now, I'm not saying that I didn't enjoy kissing him or anything like that. It's pretty obvious that I did. Just a little, I mean. Okay, a whole lot. I just didn't want anybody to know it. I mean, I was still having trouble understanding this whole boy-boy thing myself at the time.

"Aunt Marlene really likes you," he said one day during study hall. "She thinks we make a great team together. Remember how we talked about moving in together after school and opening up a salon, me doing hair and you doing makeup? Christine told her all about that and Auntie thinks we ought to really do it. She said she'd help me go to beauty school if I wanted. I bet your mom would go for that, don't you?"

"I don't know. Maybe." I wasn't too crazy about the idea of doing anything feminine after high school. I wanted to play on a ball team or maybe be a race car driver. Anything where you didn't have to wear lipstick and skirts!

Danny laughed. "Oh, come on. It would be great! We could dress up like girls all the time and tell everybody we're sisters or something." His grin was almost scary as he went on about his plan. "If we got an apartment together we could mess around with each other as much as we wanted. I know you'd like that! And if we got ever bored, we could even get a couple of real boyfriends to play with! Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea," I whispered weakly.

I couldn't afford for my mom to hear about Danny's idea. I could easily imagine her ruining everything by forcing me to attend beauty school. Even worse, I could see her making me dress up like a girl all the time, just to be mean! Ugh!!! It was enough to make me sick!

"Promise me you'll think about it?" Danny pleaded.

I squirmed as he reached over and gave me a playful squeeze on my thigh. I started to tell him to stop it when he leaned forward and gave me a light kiss on the lips. Thank goodness nobody saw us. At least I didn't think so at the time.

"Promise?"

"I'll think about it," I said quietly.

 

* * *

 

The weird thing about all this was that my so-called girlfriend, Kathy, knew all about my relationship with Danny and highly approved of me having a girlish boyfriend. The weirder thing was that she knew all about our little adventure with Gary Lowe, too, and she acted like that was the most fascinating thing she'd ever heard of! I couldn't believe it! I have Danny's sister, that stupid Christine to thank for all that. Christine told Kathy all about how Danny and I played dress up together every time we got together. To Kathy it was like Christmas and her birthday and next Christmas all rolled into one spectacular afternoon.

Imagine my horror that fateful day when I saw Kathy and Christine talking together during lunch. Kathy looked at me with the biggest eyes in the world while Christine smirked in that horrible, evil way that only she could. I almost dropped my lunch tray when I realized my two worlds were colliding.

"You didn't tell me you had so many boyfriends, 'Pamela,'" Kathy said sarcastically. "What's the matter, did you think I'd get jealous or something?"

I tried to think of something to say, but words escaped me.

"Well, I, uh … I …."

"I can't believe you went out chasing boys behind my back!" she sneered. "I thought you were the shy and quiet type. I thought I was your one and only true love!"

"Your pretty boyfriend turned out to be a slut, Kat!" Christine said with a giggle.

"I, um, I don't know what you're talking about," I muttered clumsily.

Kathy gave me the same look my mother gave me whenever I tried to lie.

"Don't pull that on me, 'Pamela!' You know exactly what I'm talking about! I'm talking about those little sissy fairy kissing games you played with your little boyfriends!"

I couldn't think of anything to say. I felt so alone, so sick at my stomach as I looked from Kathy's fiery expression to Christine's smug face. My eyes burned with shame and guilt as I tried to come up with some sort of explanation.

"Please, Kathy … I'm so sorry …."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she replied. "I really don't mind. You can go out with as many boys as you like. The more the merrier, for all I care."

I sat down across from the two grinning girls, wiped my eyes and sniffed back my runny nose. "But I don't want to go out with boys." I whispered this last part as we were right in the middle of the cafeteria. "I want to go out with you!"

Kathy grinned. "Oh, we're going to go out together all right. You're my best girlfriend, remember?" She turned to Christine and winked. "Greg comes over and helps me with my chores all time. He helped me get ready for a date with Michael one time. He even ironed my dress and straightened up my bedroom. You should've seen him! He looked so cute wearing nothing but my panties and a sweet little lace apron."

"Katheeeeeeeeeeee ….!" I shrieked. "Not so loud! Please, don't …."

"No kidding?" Christine's face beamed with delight. "You helped Kat get ready for her date? That was a very nice thing to do. Not many boys would help their girlfriend get ready for a date — with another boy!"

"That's … not …," I tried to think of something to say. Something intelligent, something that would set everything right. I had nothing.

Kathy giggled. "Oh, don't be so modest, panty boy. You did me a huge favor that night. I'll never forget it."

Christine had to butt in again, of course. "Well, you're certainly right about him looking cute in panties. You should have seen him playing dress up with my brother. He looks prettier than either one of us!"

"Christiiiiiiiiiine!" I cried out in despair. "Please shut up!"

Kathy glanced at me with a knowing smile and giggled. "Oh, I believe you! He's such a cutie in his girlie undies. Like I said, Greg makes a great girlfriend!"

"You guys aren't very funny," I said angrily. "That's just mean!"

"Oh, hush, 'Pamela.' You know you like it," tittered Kathy.

My face burned with shame and fury. "Not so loud," I whispered. "Somebody might hear you!"

"What's the matter, pretty boy, 'fraid somebody might think you're a sissy?" Kathy continued to tease.

"C'mon, you guys … this isn't funny!"

"Oh, lighten up, you fag!" Christine snapped. "Everything Kat said is true. You are a great girlfriend! Danny loves you to death and I know at least one other boy who thinks you're a great kisser!"

There was a moment of silence as I once again tried to think of something to say. Kathy and Christine both stared me down as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I looked around to see if anybody was listening. Thank goodness the cafeteria was in its full daily chaos.

"Really, Greg, you are so full of crap," Kathy said. "I know all about you kissing boys. And don't try and tell us it was just a one time thing. Christine and I have seen you and your precious little Danny making out in study hall every day this week, so don't play that innocent little lamb game with me, mister!"

My face burned hot red. "You … you saw … us? It was just a couple of times …."

"No, but now I know it's the truth!" Kathy grinned. "So you really have been making out with boys behind my back! Oh, my god, Greg, you really are such a faggot! Don't even bother denying it!"

 

 

I almost jumped out of my seat as she slid her foot up between my legs and pressed it against my privates. The sensation was as exciting as it was humiliating. I had quite a large erection, well, large for me, at least. Kathy smiled as she worked her toes against my stiff teenaged penis.

"Mmmm, that's so cute," she sang cheerfully. "My prissy little boyfriend is all excited at the idea of making out with your brother. My goodness! I didn't know fags had that affect on each other."

"See, I told you so!" Christine said smugly. "Too bad my brother isn't here. He'd love to take care of your little stiffy for you!"

The heat from my blushing face spread down my neck and over the rest of my body. The image of Danny touching me between my legs was overwhelming to me. The worst part was the girls both seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. Just by sitting there with a guilty smile on my face I'd foolishly confessed something I never wanted anybody else to know. My stomach was so sour I couldn't even look at my lunch.

"Now that we know the truth, I think we ought to just go with it," Kathy said brightly. "You're a faggot and I'm a girl. Girls don't go out with faggots. Girls go out with their boyfriends and they go out other girls, right?"

"Well, look at it this way — faggots do make great girlfriends," Christine said with a grin.

Kathy took a nibble of her mystery meatloaf. "Well, then there you have it! We can have the best of both worlds. Greg and I can still go out. But only as girlfriends."

"Which means 'Pamela' and you can go out," chirped Christine. "I'd like to go out with 'Pamela' myself sometime. She's a great kisser!"

Kathy laughed. "See, it's just like Christine said, faggots do make great girlfriends. You've already proven that. Don't you agree, Gregory?"

I just sat there and tried not to cry.

"Greg, did you hear me? I said, don't you agree?"

I nodded my head and blinked. My eyes burned with tears.

"So I guess if you want to go out with me … you'll have to go out as a girl!"

Christine giggled. "Makes perfect sense to me," she repeated.

Kathy reached over and took my hand. I looked up to see her dark, piercing eyes looking me in my soul. Her smile was subtle, but firm.

"Poor little thing. Don't fret so. I still like you, Greg. I like you a lot. I just prefer you to be my girlfriend, okay."

"But, I want to be … be your boyfriend," I stammered.

"Oh, I don't think so. I've already got a boyfriend. Boyfriends are easy to get. I don't want another boyfriend. I want a sissy boy to be my little girlfriend. Somebody just like you."

The blood drained from my face. I couldn't believe she was talking to me like that!

"Oh, don't look so offended, 'Pamela.' You know exactly what I'm talking about. We've talked about this before. You're too much of a girl to be my boyfriend. But don't you worry. We're still going to go out together. You're so good at looking and acting like a girl, one of these days I'm going to get you to dress up as 'Pamela' and go on a date with a boy. I can get Michael to with us and we could all double date together!"

"Oh, wow, that'll be great!" Christine squealed. "I gotta see that!"

"You want me to go on a … a date … with a boy?" I whispered, shocked that she'd even think of such a thing. "Um, why would you wanna do that?"

"Because that's what faggoty little girlie boys do," replied The Love of My Life. "I can't wait to see how 'Pamela' handles herself on a date with some big old handsome guy! Maybe Michael can get one of those huge guys from the football team to go with us. I can see it now! Whoever you go out with won't be able to keep his hands off you. Really, I think that would be hilarious to see two boys making out, especially if one of them was you in a dress!"

"That would be awesome!" Christine said with a maniacal giggle. "Somebody better be careful or depending on how excited her date gets, 'she' might get a 'big' surprise!"

Both girls laughed like a pair of idiots as I sat there and struggled with my tears. I felt nothing but shame and regret for all the time I'd spent in my girlish clothes and for the feelings I'd had with Danny. I'd wanted so much to be "normal" — whatever that was — and here in the middle of my school lunch break everything was being flung in my face. The last thing I remember about that conversation was picking through my lima beans and wondering if I was too young to join the French Foreign Legion.

You might well wonder why I even bothered talking to Kathy. You have to remember that this was my first real girlfriend. And as badly as she treated me I still felt warm and excited whenever she was nice to me. You should also remember, this is the same girl who tricked me into wearing a pair of panties while she made out with the star quarterback.

If that didn't make her special then I don't know what would!

 

* * *

 

As horrible as I felt about being called a faggot and teased about being girlish, Danny didn't seem to care if anybody found out our little secret. That really terrified me! Oh, sure, he was pretty discrete in public and all that, but he didn't make much of an attempt to hide how he felt about me. The look on his face whenever we'd meet at lunch or after school was enough to make me blush with embarrassment. His eyes would sparkle and his smile would shine and he'd get all breathless and excited. I worried constantly that he was about to hug me whenever we would cross paths in the hall. More than once he actually did slip up behind me and give me a little embrace or whisper in my ear or a light caress on the back of my neck. And occasionally during lunch he would reach under the table and take my hand in his and hold it just long enough to make me blush.

"Danny, don't do that!" I fussed one time after he gave me a quick kiss on the lips. We were in the art supply room, thank goodness, taking inventory for Miss Cheney. The door was closed and nobody could see us, but I was terrified that at any minute a camera crew from the local news station would come busting through. "Somebody might see!"

"Oh, don't be such a crybaby," Danny said with a grin. "You try to act like you're some tough guy, but you're just a big sissy! That's why I love you so much!"

 

 

He kissed me again, this time slipping his tongue in between my lips before I could stop him. Something inside me went all mushy and I stood helpless as I surrendered to a long, passionate kiss that left me weak and addle-minded. I was still in awe of how good a kisser he was and I remember my face burning from a rousing combination of excitement and fear.

"We're in love, remember?" he said. Warmed by my friend's persistent affections, I grinned weakly and nodded. "Well, 'Pamela,' this is what people do when they're in love with each other!"

I tried to think of something to say, but all I could do was shrug and try not to think about Kathy and what she'd have to say if she saw me making out with a boy.

Danny kissed me again, taking my breath away. "You are so cute, I could just eat you up." He paused and grinned. "And I'm going to do that one of these days. You just wait and see!"

 

* * *

 

Of course, my mom knew most all of this. How did she know? Well, I told her. Yeah, I know, I know, it sounds stupid, but I really couldn't help it. I swear! At this time in my life she had me trained all too well to tell the truth and there was hardly anything going on in my daily regimen that didn't come to light at the dinner table.

With my boy clothes safely put away in my room upstairs, I'd prance around the kitchen — sometimes in little more than an apron, heels, hose and lipstick — fix my mom a drink, usually a glass of wine, and she'd quiz me about my day. Most boys would have been bored to death, but like a good "daughter," I would nod and smile and patiently answer her questions as I prepared the evening meal and set the table. Her interrogation would cover my schoolwork and homework assignments, my jobs with Mrs. Johnston and Mrs. McCuddy and, of course, the details of my social life. So many strange thoughts went through my mind, I can only imagine what she was thinking whenever we had these little mother-son talks.

 

 

 

Mom always seemed to already know most of what I had to tell her — a skill that she'd mastered long ago — so I never bothered trying to conceal anything important. She enjoyed picking at the littlest things, making me go into detail on things like where I sat in the cafeteria at lunch and who I talked with on the bus, and did I make any new friends, stuff like that. She would make me repeat my story over and over again if she suspected there was something I didn't want her to know.

That's how it came out that Danny and I held hands at during study hall. She knew all about that before I even told her! It doesn't matter now, but I always suspected that Kathy and Christine were spying on us and reporting back to my mother. After some clumsy evasion on my part I admitted the truth and I even confessed about kissing him during art class. I didn't mean to tell her, but she tricked me and I ended up telling the whole story in order to keep from being punished.

"Just as I thought. You're still kissing boys behind my back and you keep on lying about it. What am I going to do with you?"

"I didn't lie, Mom, honest!" I said tearfully. I couldn't help but think about the lecture I got from Kathy and how this one would be even worse.

"Lying, sneaking about behind my back, it's all the same, honey. Really, 'Pamela,' I don't know why you try to hide things like this from me," my mom said for about the hundredth time in my life. "You know your mother already knows everything about you. I knew a long time ago that you would end up in lipstick and dresses and have a nice boyfriend to make you happy. A mother knows these things about her child."

I remember my face feeling hot as I tried to explain myself. "But, Mom, I'm not supposed to have a boyfriend. I'm a guy! I … I'm supposed to have a girlfriend."

"Oh, don't be silly! You've got a boyfriend and a girlfriend. That much is obvious. And there's nothing that says you can't have both. I mean, Kathy still likes you, right? What does she think of Danny?"

"Um, well, she doesn't seem to mind. She said she didn't care how many boyfriends I had, as long as she was my only girlfriend."

I looked down at the apron I was wearing at the time and I thought about what I was saying. Did that even make any sense? I thought to myself. How do I get myself in these situations?

"I think she … um, she thinks it's cute that Danny and I are friends," I murmured.

My mom's eyes sparkled. "Well, I think it's cute, too! Ever since you started all this dressing up and acting like a girl, I knew it was just a matter of time before you'd hook up with some boy. You tried acting all macho and manly, but really, 'Pamela,' just look at yourself. You're a man-magnet if I've ever seen one. Well, Danny is more girl than man, but that's all right for now. At least you can pretend he's your boyfriend. You can practice on him for now. You'll snag a real man soon enough." I was horrified to hear my own mother say such a thing. "Mom! No! Don't say that!"

She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her drink. "Oh, stop it. You know it's the truth, 'Pamela.' Stop being so coy. I don't mind you kissing boys, just stop lying about it. Honestly, I'll be surprised if you don't have the whole football team chasing before the end of the season. And it won't bother me one bit as long as you're not lying about it."

I later discovered that Kathy had indeed inspired this particular conversation with my mother. I knew they talked on the phone a lot, but it didn't really hit me until that day. That was when I realized I didn't have any more secrets. Kathy told my mom stuff and my mom did the same with her. They fed each other's enthusiasm to the point where I didn't have any control over anything. It was almost like they were the same person, only Kathy was a teenaged version of my mother. Which got me to thinking, I wondered what my mom was like as a girl. And no matter how many times I ran it through my head, I figured she was just like Kathy.

One more thing. The most important thing about my mom's arguments with me was how she did everything in her power to make it sound like all of this was my idea and not hers. That was bull, of course. I never wanted to put on a dress or lipstick, and I certainly never wanted to act like a fairy with other boys. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could say to defend myself. I mean, I tried arguing with her about it, but it's hard for a boy in lipstick and heels to put up much of an argument about anything.

 

 

 

Chapter 38 — A Father's Pride and Joy

 

Then, out of the blue, rescue came in the most unexpected form.

I couldn't believe it when my father suddenly showed up and took me away during fall break. Up until now I hadn't told you much about him and, well, the truth of the matter was that he really wasn't much of an influence in my life after he and my mom divorced. It had been more than six months since I'd seen him last and that had only been for dinner one weekend. We were supposed to go to the races but "something came up" — again — and he dropped me off at the house with little more than a "see you later, buddy."

I was pretty upset, needless to say, and I made the fatal mistake of telling my mom what happened. I then had to listen to her rant on forever about what a bastard Dad was and how bad he treated everybody and how all men were worthless. She then went into a lecture about how she was not about to let me turn out that way. Naturally, her solution to everything was to have me put on a dress and spend as much time as possible as "Pamela."

Anyway, I was so excited when he called and said he was coming to take me for a few days. You can't know how happy that made me feel. It was ... well, kind of like I'd been drowning and someone was throwing me a life preserver.

Oddly enough, Dave declined to go with us. He'd always been a little wary of Dad, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Still, I couldn't help saying something about it. Dad acted like he didn't care.

"Oh, your little brother's just being a mama's boy," Dad quipped as I climbed into his pickup truck. "I love that little guy, but your mom has got him whipped, but good. He's not a real man, not like you and me, ol' buddy."

I remember watching my mom and little brother waving as we pulled out of the driveway. Mom had the biggest, brightest smile on her face, which kind of scared me.

Blushing brightly, I said something like, "Yeah, Dave's a mama's boy all right."

Dad laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. It felt strange saying something that I knew might very easily come back and haunt me.

Dad's new wife, Louise, greeted me with open arms when we arrived at their house. This was a relief because I'd detected more than a hint of jealousy from her during my previous visits. It was never anything serious, just the occasional dirty look or snide remark whenever my father wasn't looking, enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

"I'm glad I don't have any children," I overheard my stepmother tell someone on the phone one time. "There's only so much nonsense a person can put up with. And God help me if I ever got stuck with those boys. What a pain! You might as well just go ahead and shoot me in the head."

On top of all that, it was no secret that Louise and Mom hated each other. The "B" word was used on both sides, especially by Louise. So I guess it just followed that she wouldn't like me very much, either.

That was a shame, too, as I'd always thought Louise was an extremely attractive woman. Okay, okay, sexy, even. Hey, you would have thought so, too, if you'd ever seen her! Several years junior to my mother, Louise had an outstanding figure and she enjoyed showing it off; her well-shaped breasts and lovely long legs were always so dramatically displayed that I often had trouble looking her in the eye. Unlike my mom, who mostly wore frumpy housedresses or dress suits when she wasn't in her nurse's uniform, Louise was heavily into younger, more provocative outfits like tight-fitting jeans, hot pants, short dresses, mini-skirts and midriff-revealing tops — much the same kind of things I'd found myself wearing lately, come to think of it. Anyway, this carefree style was obviously one of the reasons my dad found her so attractive. And me, of course. Any fourteen year old boy would have.

On this occasion, however, things started falling apart from the very start. I hadn't been in my dad's house more than an hour when Louise called me upstairs. Dad had gone out to get a fishing license and I was in the living room watching — oh, joy! — a televised ballgame when my stepmother interrupted me. She usually didn't say five words to me when Dad wasn't around, but on this occasion the tone in her voice was suspiciously sweet.

"Greg, darling, would you come here for a minute? There's something I'd like to ask you, please."

I sighed and did as I was asked. Anything to be polite. It was one of the last games of the season and I'd missed pretty much all of them, thanks to my mom and the screwy things she made me do! Annoyed and fuming, I followed Louise into the guest bedroom where laying out on the bed was my open suitcase containing the clothes I'd brought for my stay. She turned around, gave me a curious smile and nodded toward my things.

"I was going to put some of your clothes away for you and ... well, I don't mean to be a busy body, honey, but you really need to be more careful. If your daddy saw any of this stuff he'd probably get pretty upset."

"Any of what stuff ...?" My eyes followed hers to my luggage ... and my heart skipped a beat. "Oh crap !!!" I whispered softly.

I couldn't believe it! Laying there in my suitcase, right on top of my clothes where you could see them when you opened it up, were the bane of my existence, the very reason I wanted away from home in the first place: a bra and a panty girdle!

I was speechless. Mortified. Horrified ... terrified! You name it, I was feeling just awful. I thought about my mom and the smile on her face when I left home. No wonder she was so cheerful! What in the world was she thinking when she put that stuff in my luggage. Did she think that I might miss being shamed and humiliated and tortured? I sure as heck didn't think so! I was so mad I could have screamed. At the moment, however, I had more pressing matters to worry about.

"Funny, to hear your daddy talking about what a normal little boy you were, I never thought of you like this." Louise picked up the ornate girdle and held it up with both hands, looking over it at me and thinking very hard. My face suddenly felt hot and I glanced toward the bedroom door and prayed my dad hadn't returned from his errand.

"I always thought you were so innocent and sweet, not at all such a horny little pervert."

Hearing such language from my father's wife caught me completely off guard.

"Gee, I, uh ... wonder where those came from ...?" I stammered. My mouth was as dry as sand, but somehow I managed to get the words out. I should have kept quiet.

"Don't even bother lying to me." Louise waved the girdle in my face. "This little thing certainly doesn't belong to your mother. Her butt's way, way too big. It looks barely big enough to fit you. What did you do, steal this from the neighbor's clothesline or from one of your buddies' sisters?"

I tried to swallow but I was so scared it was impossible. "No ... I, uh ... I, ummmm ....."

 

 

 

She dropped the girdle, picked the brassiere and peered at me through the straps. I couldn't help but feel she was sizing me up to see if it would fit.

"And what in the world are you doing with one of these?"

"I guess mom got our laundry all mixed up," I said with a whisper.

I couldn't think of anything else to say. It was a good thing, too. It seemed like the more I talked the more annoyed Louise became with me.

"Look, Greg, if you're going to lie to me, then don't even bother saying anything." She tossed aside the frilly bra and picked up the girdle again. "I'm your friend in this, believe it or not. But only if you don't lie to me. I won't tolerate liars. If you want to look at girls' underwear and jack off, that's fine with me. Boys will be boys ... that I can understand. Just don't lie to me about it. Do that and you can take it up with your father after I show him your little collection here."

Now my face was really red. In all of my dealings with Louise she'd never been so harsh, nor so crude. Snotty, maybe, and definitely cold. But now things seemed different. I know this sounds funny, but in a way she sort of sounded like my mom. I was so scared I thought I was going to throw up.

"Oh, and look at what else I found here." Louise rummaged through the pile of clothes and produced the latest copy of "Seventeen." She studied the cover of the magazine and raised an eyebrow. "Really, sweetie, you need to be more careful."

"That's not mine," I protested weakly.

"Greg, please, what did I say about being a liar?" She pointed at the subscription label and grinned like the Cheshire cat. "I suppose you're going to tell me you're not Greg Parker or that you don't live on Crescent Avenue. Hmm? Hmmm?"

There was a long, long uncomfortable silence. My stepmother just stared at me, daring me to tell another lie. I sniffed back a tear and nodded.

"Okay. It's mine," I confessed hoarsely.

Louise giggled. "Of course it is. Whose else would it be? Hmmm ... Now this is what I call interesting. Why in the world would a fourteen year old boy subscribe to a girl's fashion magazine? It can't be just for the pictures."

While I silently cursed my mother, Louise flipped through the pages, stopped and made several "uh-huh" and "hmmm" sounds. At one point she turned the magazine around and waved it like a flag. "Well, lookie here at what I found." I was mortified to see that she'd discovered a section where somebody made some notes in the margins. Stuck between the pages was also a sheet of notebook paper covered with flowery handwriting.

Okay, okay ... it was MY handwriting, I admit it ... now. There ... are you happy now? Louise found one of the essays my mom made me write about lipstick. Well, a rough draft, anyway.

Regardless of what it was, my stepmother knew right away who wrote it. "My, oh, my. Now this is really curious. Looks like someone has been doing their homework. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe there's more going on than a little boy just jerking off in his mommy's things."

Louise paused as though I was supposed to say something. I just stood there and fought a wave of nausea rumbling in my belly.

"What are you doing, honey, studying to be a fashion model?" The smile on her face had an evil taint. "'Cause that's what it sure looks like to me."

My face burned was shame. "I, uh ... w-w-what do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" Louise raised an eyebrow. "Well, let's see ... there are doodles of army tanks and space ships mixed in with some notes on how girls match up their lipstick with their outfits. That's what I mean."

I couldn't look at her as she read from the piece of paper.

"Pink is my favorite ... but Mom likes red best?!" The tone in her voice was almost evil. "Two coats is always better than one? Peaches and cream looks yucky?"

The smiling woman touched my chin, forcing me to look directly in her eyes. The curl in her lip told me I was doomed.

"Tell me, honey, did you write all this? You did, didn't you?"

I was seized by a familiar sense of panic. If I admitted the truth I'd never hear the end of it. If I lied and made her angry ... who knew what would happen? Either way I really was doomed. I decided to take a chance and do what needed to be done.

"Well ... yeah ... I guess ...." For some reason I was having trouble breathing.

"What do you mean, you guess? Come on, Mr. Macho ... talk to me. Either you did or you didn't. Which is it?"

"Please, Louise ... I can ... explain ...." I should have saved my breath.

"I didn't ask for an explanation. I simply asked if you wrote this. Yes or no?"

I took a deep breath ... I thought for a moment ... and I then nodded my head.

"I can't hear your head shake, honey."

I swallowed. "Sorry. Yes, ma'am ... I, uh ... wrote it."

I watched helplessly as Louise picked up a skimpy baby doll nightie and held it up in front of me. There was a long uncomfortable silence as she thought about what I'd said.

"So I was wrong. You're not stealing lingerie and jacking off. It's better than that." Louise's eyes lit up with delight. "You're a crossdresser. You're been dressing up and — from what I read in your own handwriting — pretending to be a girl. Is that right?"

It took me a moment, but I finally nodded my head and whispered, "Yes, ma'am."

My tongue felt thick and numb. After all I'd been through I never thought I'd be confessing my shameful secret to my father's beautiful young wife. It felt awful!

"Listen, doll, I'm not stupid you know. I know about this sort of thing. So you like dressing in your momma's things ... So what? There's nothing wrong with crossdressing. I understand. I even had a friend from college who dressed in drag all the time. You couldn't tell him from any of my other girlfriends." My young stepmother gave me a funny grin and sighed. "Oh, please. Don't look so surprised. What did you think, you were the only boy in the world who likes wearing panties and playing with makeup?"

"No, I don't believe that," I said hoarsely. I thought about Danny for an instant. No doubt he'd love seeing me squirm in a situation like this. "But ... I don't really ... like doing that stuff. Not really ...."

A sharp look from my stepmother shut me up.

"Remember what I said about telling me the truth?" She gave me a death stare. I swallowed my pride and bit my lip. "I know you're lying, so just shut up. My gay friend, Julian, he told me all about it, how some boys love dressing up so much they'll do anything, beg, borrow, cheat, steal ... and LIE! Just to get in their mommy's panties." Louise shot me one of those smirks. "They can't help themselves. He couldn't, that was for darned sure. And you probably can't, either, can you?"

I nodded, then shook my head. Darn it, this was confusing!

Louise grinned. "Poor li'l thing. You're all mixed up inside, aren't you? I'll tell you what, honey. I won't tell your father, okay? This will be our little secret. All I ask is that you don't fib to me about it, all right? Promise me?"

Not knowing what else to do, I eagerly nodded. That was easy, I thought silently. She's not so mean after all. Not yet, anyway.

"Do we have a deal?" I nodded my head again. "I can't hear you!"

Sigh. "We ... we have a ... d-deal," I stammered.

My stepmother looked me dead in the eyes and smiled.

"So, you'll be a good boy and tell me the truth, right?" She giggled again. "Let's make that 'good girl.' How's that? You'll be a good girl and tell the truth, right? No matter what?"

I sighed and nodded. "No matter what," I reluctantly repeated.

"Good. So tell me something, honey," Louise's voice took on a musical quality as she plopped down on the bed and started flipping through the magazine again. "How many boys have you kissed so far ...?"

I was trying to think of how to answer that just as I heard Dad's car pull into the driveway.

ARRRGH!!!

Chapter 39 — The Good Stepson … or Stepdaughter?
 

Despite the rocky start of my vacation, for the next three days my dad and I were a typical father and son team, doing all sorts of guy things, like seeing the Reds play an exhibition game at their new stadium, going to the stock car races and spending two whole days fishing. It was wonderful!

With each event I could feel my confidence returning and I remembered what it was like to be a boy. Instead of keeping my hair brushed and my nails clean, I got as grungy and dirty as I could.  I laughed when chili dogs ruined my jeans and I dug my bare hands in the bait bucket looking for nightcrawlers.   My mom would have had a heart attack if she’d known all that I did.  But I didn’t care, I was being a boy and I loved every single stinking minute of it.

I was so happy I almost forgot about my worries with Mom and home. I even forgot about all that weirdness with Louise.

Almost.

A couple of days before I was supposed to go home I woke up to find that my dad had been called to his office. We'd planned on going to a stock car race that afternoon but Louise explained that he wouldn't be back in time, so that obviously wasn't going to happen. Instead, she offered to take me out on the town.

“I’ve got to get my hair done so you can go to the movies if you like.  How’s that sound?”

I was elated!  “That would be awesome!” I exclaimed.  “How about that new kung fu film?  Can I go see that?”

My stepmother shrugged her shoulders.  “I don’t see why not.  As long as you don’t give me a hard time I really don’t care which one you see.”

I couldn’t believe it!  After all those stupid romantic comedies and soap operas I’d been forced to watch for the past year, I was finally going to get to soak my boyish brain in some mindless sex and violence.  Oh, joy! 

But first we had some obstacles to overcome.

When it was time to go Louise looked me up and down and shook her head.

"Uh-uh! You're not wearing those shoes in my car. No way, no how! And those jeans, they're filthy! Who did you two stay with while you were gone fishing, the pigs? You're not going out with me looking like that, little mister."

I couldn't argue with her. My shoes were indeed a mess, what with being caked with river mud and having a torn sole and all. When Dad and I got back from our trip I'd left them out on the back patio and forgotten to clean them up. The dried mud was hard as a rock.  I'd scraped off the worst, but they still looked pretty bad. The problem was, most of my other stuff was messy, too, which was to be expected, I guess. After all the baseball and fishing and camping we'd done, I didn't have anything decent left except the dingy jeans and t-shirt I had on. Plus, the sneakers on my feet were the only shoes I brought with me, and even I had to agree they were too nasty to go shopping with Louise.

“We’ll have to do some laundry before we go anywhere,” my stepmother said.  “Take everything you have downstairs and start separating them.  I’m sure you know all about doing laundry, judging from what all your daddy told me.”

I had everything laid out on the countertop when Louise arrived.  She looked over the piles of jeans, shirts and underpants and nodded. 

“Just as I thought,” she said nonchalantly.  “Here, let’s do your undies first.”

I watched as she put my underwear in the washer.  It was a little unnerving because she took each pair of whitey tighties and examined them inside and out.

“Ugh, these are almost as nasty as your daddy’s,” she complained.  “I’m surprised you haven’t caught some sort of bacterial infection from those stains.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.  It was humiliating to have this beautiful blond bombshell looking through my underwear and making such rude comments, but all I could think to do was stand there in silence.

Louise turned on the washer and then turned to me.  “Take off the ones you have on.  Let’s wash them, too, while we’re at it.”

I felt my face turn red.  “Um, what?”

She sighed.  “You heard me, boy.  Drop your trousers and your panties.  I’m not going to have your bitch mother telling tales about how we didn’t keep her precious little darling spic and span.”

I felt my heart drop a thousand feet.  “But, I can’t undress here … in front of you ….”

“Come on, Gregory.  I don’t have all day!  You won’t be the first Parker I’ve seen in his birthday suit!”

I’ll save you all the sordid details.  I tried arguing with my stepmother, but she was as determined and as persuasive as my mom.  There was no way in hell I was going to let her have my clothes … and just a few minutes later I was naked as the day I was born and watching my things being inspected, sorted and prepared to be washed.

“Phew, these are fresh, aren’t they?” Louise stretched the waistband of my underpants and flipped them inside out.  “Honestly, does a day go by when you don’t jack off in your panties?”

I blanched at the thought of even trying to answer such a question.  My stepmother saved the day by giggling and then dropped my underwear in the washer and closing the lid.

Still naked, I stood politely as she chatted about laundry and the importance of sorting clothes and how women always washed their delicate lingerie by hand to keep them like new.  This was stuff I already knew and had practiced at home under my mom’s watchful eye. 

I tried to be patient, but I was completely unnerved standing there in my bare skin in front of my father’s young wife.  I couldn’t figure out why in the world she was making me listen to all that nonsense about laundry.  It took me a few minutes but then it hit me.  She wasn’t talking all that nonsense because she wanted to teach me anything.  She was just using that as an excuse to look at me naked. 

“What in the world is she looking at,” I thought for a moment.  I glanced down and saw my budding breasts.  I then glanced up to see Louise staring me dead in the eye.

“Nice titties,” my stepmother said cheerfully.  She reached out and flicked my left nipple with a red-tipped fingernail.  “You usually don’t see them that big on boys your age.”

"D-d-don't be mean, Louise, please?”  I felt like I was in a bad movie as my arms involuntarily clenched tightly around my bare chest, and my face burned red as I stammered weakly through my explanation. “I can't help it ... they just keep getting bigger.  It's supposed ... t-to g-g-o away one of these days ... I think.”

"Well, that would be a shame. Believe it or not, they actually look pretty good on you.” Louise smiled, her eyes still locked on my budding breasts. "Don't worry about it, honey. They're just titties. Cute ones, too. Well, cute for a silly boy, I mean."

I winced as Louise playfully tickled me between the legs, forcing me to leave my breasts exposed.  My stepmother playfully pinched each of my nipples and tickled my ribs, causing me to laugh involuntarily. 

“No, don’t!  Please … ha-ha-ha … stop it!!!  NO!!! STOP IT!!!!”

“Oh, don’t be such a prude.  I’m just looking.  I won’t break anything, I promise.  Stand still, damn it!”

Defeated, I stood helplessly as she cupped my breasts and examined them with the greatest interest.

“I know some girls that would give anything for a pair of boobies this nice,” she said happily.  “Not too large, but big enough.  You know what boys say … all it takes is a hand full.”

“Boys aren’t supposed to have … boobs,” I lamented. 

“Oh, hush up that talk!  You whiner!  You pretend to be embarrassed, but I bet you can’t keep your hands off these things when you’re alone. No wonder you’re so interested in your mommy’s bras and things!”

I frowned.  “That’s not … exactly ….”

“Hey, I’ve got a great idea,” my stepmother said with a mischievous wink.  “While we’re waiting for your laundry let’s follow up on that conversation we were having the other day.”

Recrossing my arms over my girlish chest, I frowned.  “What conversation?”

“You know, the one we were having about you wearing girls’ clothes.  I’d like to know more about that.  How about putting on a little fashion show for me?”

“I don’t think so,” I croaked. 

Louise laughed.  “Oh, come on.  It’s just you and me.  Daddy won’t be home until tonight and nobody’s going to know.  Besides, what else is there to do?  You can run around in your bare skin if you like, but I think it’d be more fun to put on something cute.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just frowned and stood there like an idiot.  My stepmother kept up the pressure, of course.

“I bet I have some things upstairs that will look great on you.  Come on, after seeing all those bras and panties in your suitcase, I can’t imagine that you would mind trying on a few of your ugly old stepmother's things.  I’ll make you look really pretty, I promise.”

“I don’t want to look pretty,” I replied.  “I just want … I just want to be left alone.”

“Oh, don’t be a party pooper.”  Louise grabbed me by the wrist and led me upstairs.  I felt like a little child, naked and helpless, as I followed her barefoot and bare bottomed through the house.  “I’ve got some things that will make you look great.  None of that old lady stuff like you stole from your mother.  What do you say, princess?  We’ll make a game of it.  Doesn’t that sound like fun?"

A fierce chill went down my spine.  I hated her calling me “princess” but I tried not to react to her words.  How could she say such a thing?  Didn’t she understand that I hated wearing women’s clothes?

There wasn't anything I could say to make things better, so I did what I do best and kept my mouth shut.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as Louise led me naked up the stairs and into her bedroom.  Well, my father’s and her bedroom.  I watched in disbelief of my situation as she started digging through the closet. I had visions of ... well, you can imagine what I was thinking as I waited for her to come up with something awful for me to wear. After all I'd been through with my mom, nothing at this point would have surprised me.

It was as bad as I'd anticipated. Louise tossed me a matching purple panty and bra set, a skirt and a thin white silken top. My heart skipped a beat or two as a pair of pink stockings were added to the pile.

“Don’t give me that look,” she snapped.  “And don’t act like this is the first time you’ve seen girls’ undies.  Go ahead, put them on.  I want to see for myself what all the fuss is about.”

“But, Louise,” I began.  A quick glance at my stepmother’s face shut down any protest.  There was no way out of this and I knew it.

“Can I go change in the bathroom?” I whispered.

My stepmother laughed.  “Why?  I’ve already seen you in your birthday suit, princess.  Just hush up and put on your pretty bra and panties.”

Tears burned my eyes as I got dressed.  I thought about what was about to happen. Yeah, I wasn't too crazy about the idea of wearing girls' clothes again — especially while visiting my dad! — but I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

It didn’t take me long to get dressed.  The bra was a snap and I slipped into the skirt and top with no trouble at all.  With no girdle or garters or weird straps or hooks to contend with, this was too easy.  Standing before my stepmother in my borrowed clothes, I felt like a soldier undergoing inspection. Well, kind of. Not many soldiers wore panties and miniskirts.

I sighed as I assessed my wardrobe.  The skirt was extremely short, making my legs look half a mile long.  Just like something a high school girl would wear.  The waist was a bit loose, but as long as I pulled it up every now and then it wouldn’t be a problem.

The top was as skimpy as the skirt and it was made of some silky stretchy synthetic that flowed like leaves in the wind. Instead of sleeves it had shoulder straps, kinda like a tank top but much thinner. It hardly covered my bare belly.  At least it didn't have a bunny or a kitty embroidered on the front. I wasn't too crazy about how tight it was around my chest; looking down I could see my chubby breasts straining against the purple bra. I wanted to say something, but I figured if I did I'd just draw unwanted attention to another of my shameful secrets.

The pink stockings — Louise said they were “coral” — would have been a problem for most boys, but I was able to slip into them easily.  They reached about mid thigh, a couple of inches below the hem of my skirt.  I felt more than a little undressed as I ran my fingertips along the tops of my stocking, tickling my exposed thighs.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was spending much too long to look at myself.  And that I had a very appreciative audience.

Louise had her hands over her mouth, trying her best to stifle her laughter.  “You like looking at yourself, don’t you, princess?” 

I shook my head in the negative, but she just laughed.  I remember looking up at the ceiling and wondering “Why me?”

“Liar, liar, panties on fire.  I also noticed you didn’t have any trouble at all with that bra.  Or with your stockings.  You’re way better at this stuff than I thought you were.  I don’t know any boys who can do that!   You’re just fourteen and you put on that bra like you’ve been wearing one all your life.   It took me forever to learn how to do that.  How long have you been wearing that thing?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “I dunno.”

“Liar.”  Louise raised an eyebrow.  “You know exactly how long.  You probably know the exact minute, hour, day and date you put on your first bra.  Was your mommy there when you did it or did you sneak and do it behind her back?”

I thought about that day not so long ago that I put on my first bra under my mother’s supervision.  Louise was right.  It was burned indelibly in my mind.  I’d never forget that experience as long as I lived.

“It was about a year ago,” I muttered quietly.  “She made me do it.” 

“Your mommy made you do it, hmmm?  That’s interesting.”  My stepmother stared at me for a moment.  “It’s interesting that you’d say that.  Here, try on these and see if they fit.”

My stepmother tossed me a pair of shoes.  They were red high heeled pumps.  I felt a twinge of fear as I looked at them.  They were the worst; with four inch heels, they looked almost dangerous. Fortunately, I’d plenty of experience wearing such things.  I slipped them on, fastened the ankle straps and walked over to the mirror to see how they looked.

“Looks to me like someone has more than a little experience in his mommy’s high heels,” Louise said with a sneer.

I felt my face burn.  “What, um … I don’t understand?”

My stepmother gave me that “don’t lie to me” look.  “Just look at the way you’re standing, princess.  Any normal boy would be wobbly just standing in those shoes.  No way they’d be prancing around like you are.  It’s obvious that you’re an expert, so don’t even try that innocent little ol’ me act!”

“I don’t know what … what you’re talking about ….”

I suddenly felt awful as I realized I’d given myself away.  What an idiot!  I wanted to lie down on the floor and just die.

“Well, I did try some on a couple of times, I guess ….”

“Oh, please!  Don’t lie to me, Gregory!  Look at how well you’ve adapted to wearing girls’ clothing.  The way you slipped into that cute little outfit, the way you prance around in heels and hose and swing that little ass.  You’re a full-fledged panty boy sissy, aren’t you, princess?”

Dang it!  I wanted to argue with her, but there was no point.  I just looked down at my nylon-covered toes, shrugged my naked shoulders, and sighed.

 “The only thing missing is a little lipstick.”  Louise produced a couple of shiny tubes of the stuff from the vast array on her vanity.  “How about trying on one of these?  Or if you like we can go look through my little collection.  I’m certain there’s something here you’ll just love!”

“No!  I’m not wearing any stupid lipstick!  You got me these clothes, that’s all you get!”

The idea of putting on lipstick in front of my stepmother was too much.  Oh, sure, I know what you're thinking. Greg was back wearing sissy clothes again, so what did it matter. Well, that might have been true but the way I figured it, so far it was just clothes.  I could take them off without much fuss.  Lipstick, well, that was going too far.  That would change my face — and me! — way too much for comfort.  Besides, lipstick made me think of my mother and what she would have said had she seen me in my current predicament.

“She’d be laughing her butt off about now,” I lamented silently.

Louise didn’t raise a fuss, thank goodness. 

“You’re sure you don’t want any make up?  You’d look a lot prettier with a little color.  We can do up your eyes, too.  I bet they’d look yummy with a little mascara and maybe some eye shadow.  You’re actually very pretty for a nasty little boy.”

I cleared my voice and coughed.  “I’m sure,” I said in as gruff a tone as I could muster.

Louise seemed pretty pleased with herself, which was a good thing, I guessed.  I mean, we were alone in the house, so I really didn't much care what I looked like as long as she didn’t make a scene.  She gave me a studious once-over with her eyes, nodded, and then put away her lipsticks.

"Oh, well.  It doesn’t matter.  You look adorable just the way you are.”  She rummaged through her vanity.  “Here, put these on.  Consider them part of your outfit.”

I sighed as I looked down.  She’d handed me a mixed collection of costume jewelry.  I nodded and put on the rings and bracelets without any fuss.

“Don’t forget this little beauty.” 

My stepmother draped something around my head and hooked it in the back.  I looked down to see the fairy necklace my mother bought me oh so long ago.

“Where did you find that?” I was truly caught off guard by this discovery.  Louise grinned.

“It was in your suitcase, silly girl.  It’s a fairy, so I figured it had to be yours.”

I sighed again.  There was nothing for me to say.

Louise seemed happy with my transformation.  She looked me up and down again and again.  It was kind of annoying.

“I am impressed, princess.  Really, even without any make up it’s hard to tell you’re a little boy. I think this is going to work pretty good after all, don't you, honey?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.  I was startled as she suddenly grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the bedroom. 

“Come on, princess!  Let’s go have some fun with this!”

I felt a chill run down my spine as she drug me down the steps and toward the front of the house.  “Have fun … where?  I’m not going anywhere like this! Louise, no!  I … I can’t!!!”

“Hey, I promised to take you out on the town.  I just can’t pass this up!” Louise laughed as she picked up her purse.  “Don’t worry about it, princess.  Just play along.  I promise, it’ll really be fun!”

“Really, Louise, I don’t want to go out like this.”  I tried to step past her and head back upstairs, but she blocked my escape easily.  “Let’s wait until my clothes are done.  Then we’ll go out.”

“Too late.  They’re still washing and it would take forever to get those jeans dry, anyway.  Don't worry about it, we'll finish washing your boy clothes when we get back this afternoon. I wouldn't dare send you home to your momma in my skirt ... I'd never hear the end of that from your daddy! Now, come on, let's go have a girl’s day out!"

Out of desperation I grabbed hold of the door sill.  “No, I’m not going and you can’t make me!”

My stepmother stopped and looked at me.  I thought for a moment she was about to get mad at me.  Instead, she just smiled.

“I’m not making you do anything, Gregory.  I’m just being a good hostess.  If you don’t want to go out and have some fun with me, then maybe you can just sit here in your little panties and explain to your father all about the stuff I found in your suitcase.  I bet he’ll just love hearing about how the spawn of his loins prefers lipstick and bras to baseball and stock car races.  No, I’m not going to make you do anything.  You’ll just have to decide for yourself.  Spend some girl time with your ugly old stepmother or explain to your father how you came about your little collection of girlie things.”

I froze.  What else could I do?  I didn’t want to go out dressed as a girl, but I couldn’t face my father and have to tell him, well, you know.  The way I figured, this was a town full of strangers, which meant nobody would know who I was or where I went to school or who my friends were.  It wouldn’t be so bad.  Not really ….



Chapter 40 — Like Stepmother, Like Stepdaughter



The next thing I knew I was in front of my father’s house watching my stepmother lock the door.  I felt helpless as she headed for the car.  I quickly followed, a cold wind blowing by, giving me quite a chill. My borrowed skirt and top did little to protect me from the autumn air.

"You sure I look all right, Louise? I mean ... I don't look too sissy, do I?" I fidgeted nervously with the front of my top after we got into the car. The longer I looked at my purple boobs and bare belly, the more helpless I felt.

The smile on my stepmother's face was inscrutable. "You look fine, honey. A lot better than you did in those filthy clothes you had on earlier. Now, stop pouting and start smiling. We've got places to go, things to do and people to see!"

I turned and looked at her.  “People … to see????”

The first thing we did was drive to a strip of shops in an upscale part of town. Imagine my concern when I realized that every single store there catered to either women or girls' fashions, and each was filled with female patrons of every age, shape and description. Except for the occasional toddler or pre-schooler, there wasn't a single male face in sight. Except mine, of course.

"Uh, I think I better go back and wait in the car," I said as we started to enter one of the shops. Glancing down at the lace tops of my stockings and my exposed belly button, I suddenly felt inappropriately dressed. Correction ... make that too appropriately dressed!

"Oh, no you don't. Come on with me ... I need a few things and you can pick some out for me." I fought a shiver as her eyes locked with mine. “C'mon, it'll be fun. Your daddy got to do his thing with you all week, now you can spend some time with me doing mine."

Shifting around so that her magnificent breasts were pointed right at me, Louise made a lousy attempt to look pitiful.

"You don’t want to make me tell your daddy on you, do you, princess?"

I sighed the inevitable sigh of resignation and tried not to look her in the eye; I ended up looking right at her chest, which only made me feel worse. I tried to avert my eyes and got a smug smile for my trouble.

"No, I guess not ...."

Louise pulled me close and hugged me, very nearly crushing me against the very boobs I'd been admiring. "Good. Then, here, hold my purse for me while I go in here and look around ...."

Trapped by my good intentions, I was suddenly struck with a painful sense of dèjá vu ....

It wasn't too awful ... at first. The first store Louise took me into was fairly tame, selling mostly sportswear and casual clothes. The crowd wasn't too bad.  Except for the occasional smile I'd get from someone who saw me carrying a purse, I felt fairly safe. Still, my stomach was filled with butterflies every time we stopped at a rack of clothes. My stepmom would pull out some girlie top of some sort and hold it up and chatter on about whether it was something she'd be caught dead in. Paranoid and gun-shy, I about half expected to be asked if I wanted to try something on, but the question was never raised.

And so I tried to look nonchalant, not much different than any other boy in a skirt following his stepmother around on a shopping spree.  Louise noticed my discomfort and added to it with some typical mean girl teasing.

"You really don't mind helping, do you, Gregory?" she'd ask sweetly as she browsed through the colorful skirts, tops and dresses.

I was horrified whenever she did that.  I pleaded with her to be more careful. “Please, Louise, not so loud.  People will hear!  I don’t want them to know ….”

Well, that was a mistake, of course. She kept up the sarcasm, dragging me around the store and saying things like, “Here, hold this for me, Gregory” and “Would you please hand my purse to me, Gregory?”

That wasn’t my only problem.  At one point I noticed my reflection in a mirror and saw a boy’s face looking back at me.  Dang it!  My refusal to put on any kind of make up was now coming back to haunt me.  Without any lipstick or eye make up or anything I looked exactly like the thing I was: a boy dressed in his stepmother’s clothes. 

“Oh, crap!” I whispered as I stared at the wide-eyed boyish reflection before me.

Really, you should have seen how stupid I looked.  I mean, there I was, in a skirt, hose and heels, with my boyish tousled hair and drab, unfeminine face.  It looked pretty obvious to a blind man that I was a guy in drag!  Carrying a purse and wearing high heels didn't help matters, either. I thought about Louise's assurances that I looked "just fine." It occurred to me that I was being toyed with, just like a cat torturing a mouse. And I was the one with cheese on my nose.

I looked around the shop.  No wonder everyone kept staring at me.  Everyone, the older sales clerks to the housewives and their daughters, they had to know I was some sissy boy trying to look like a girl!  I looked down and saw that my t-shirt had ridden up again, exposing my bare belly button.  My legs suddenly felt naked and my panty-covered bottom felt exposed.  Of course everybody thought I was a boy pretending to be a girl!  What else would they think?  What in the world was I thinking? 

I bit my lip and tried not to think about it.  "Dumb ass!" I fussed at myself. "Louise is just like Mom ... she loves treating me like some sort of little faggot and making me miserable!"

The idea of a boy with a purse is always good for a laugh, and my stepmom's matter-of-fact manner in dealing with me brought about a ripple of giggles and whispers from the women and girls within earshot.

“So, this really is a boy?” one of the clerks finally asked.  “I kept hearing you say ‘Gregory’ but whenever I looked around all I saw was this cute little tomboy looking so adorable in her pink little outfit.”

The head clerk laughed. “That’s what I thought, too!  You really fooled us all, sweetie,” she said with a wink.  “I thought maybe ‘she’ just left the house without her makeup.  Really, Gregory, you should do something with your face.  You’d make a beautiful girl if you went all the way!”

The first clerk nodded her head with too much enthusiasm.  “It’s hard to believe this pretty young thing is your son ….”

“My stepson, actually,” interrupted Louise.

The woman nodded, not really caring about that inconvenient detail.  “Your stepson, of course.  I think it’s just lovely that the two of you spend some girl-time together like.  It’s a very healthy way to establish a relationship.  I just love it!”

“I’m dying to know why you’re dressed like this!” the head clerk exclaimed.  “Do you dress up like a girl all the time or is this a special occasion?  I see you’ve got on a very pretty bra.  Are you wearing panties, too?  Come on, you can tell us! We won’t say anything to anyone about it!”

My stepmother and her friends teased and poked.  Not knowing what else to do, I just bit my lip and tried not to cry.  I felt pretty sick inside, so much that I thought I was going to puke.  After a while they got tired of their little game and I was given a few moments of peace and quiet.

Fettered with my stepmother’s purse in one hand and several shopping bags in the other, I found myself increasingly mired in a role that was much too familiar. Going from store to store, we lingered and wandered and window shopped forever, wearing me down to the point where I felt like a zombie. Louise, on the other hand, grew energized, talking with friends and strangers alike all day long as though she was running for office. More than once she introduced me to some smiling woman as "my sweet little stepson, Gregory." And more than once I heard someone say something along the lines of "That’s a boy?  What a little cutie!"

The last shop was a cosmetics boutique, evident by the overwhelming fragrance that hit me as I followed my stepmother inside. It was like running into a brick wall. The powerful smells were so feminine, and so familiar, I couldn't help but think my experiences as "Pamela," my mom spraying me with perfume before sending me out in some silly dress or skirt, the cold mist lighting on my naked arms and legs, the sharp, sweet aroma taking my breath away. The next thing I knew, I had the most powerful — and alarming! — erection.  I immediately regretted not wearing a girdle and cursed the flimsy panties that were failing to contain my boyish enthusiasm.  Trapped in my short skirt, it looked pretty obvious from my point of view; fortunately, I had my purse and shopping bags to hide it behind.

Whew ...! Talk about a close call!

We must have spent an hour in there, waiting and squirming impatiently as Louise chatted with the clerks and browsed through the selections as though she had all the time in the world. It seemed as though no matter where we went she knew just about everyone we came across, and the torture of going through each introduction and listening to every conversation was maddening.

"... and this is my sweet little stepson, Gregory," she inevitably said to one of her many friends. In the face of so many smiling faces I'd blush shamelessly and stand there like an obedient pet . "Isn't he the most adorable thing you've ever seen? And such a sweet child, too ... "

Embarrassed and bored out of my head, I resisted the temptation to run out the door and throw myself in front of traffic, my single valiant effort to retain some sort of dignity. Occasionally Louise would try on this lipstick or sample that mascara or maybe try on a piece of jewelry, and each time she'd turn and wink at me in the most enthusiastic way. I couldn't tell if she was flirting or just having fun at my expense. In retrospect it was probably a whole lot of both.

"Oh, Gregory, honey, lookie here ... peaches and cream!  Isn’t that your favorite?"

She held up a silver cylinder and playfully rolled it between her fingertips. I felt my face burning as she expertly popped it open and coated her lips with shiny color. She made a familiar smacking sound with her freshly painted mouth and smiled brightly in my direction.

"Still think it looks yucky?"

The two clerks giggled as I tried to think of something to say. I was so embarrassed I never did, of course. The truth was, Louise was so pretty, she could have worn axle grease and I would have been impressed.

"Greg's favorite lipstick is pink, but his mother likes red best," my father's wife said cheerily to her friends. "I'm trying to turn him on to some more interesting alternatives. Here, take whiff, princess ... it even smells like a dessert."

Talk about pressure! I was stunned to hear my own words bandied about so freely, especially in front of complete strangers like that. And then to have someone wave a lipstick under my nose like that — and just millimeters away from my own lips — well, it was almost too much.

"Uh, it smells nice," I said weakly.

"Want to try some? It even tastes good, too." My stepmother slid her tongue over her lips and grinned. Her clerk friends giggled again.

"Nah ... I don't think so." I pressed my lips together just in case she tried putting it on me anyway. As it turned out, I didn't have that to worry about.

“You might give it some thought,” she said, passing along a conspiratorial wink.  “Unless you actually enjoy looking like a boy in a skirt.”

My stepmother was right, of course.  I knew from bitter experience that a little lipstick and some mascara would go a long way toward helping my face match my outfit.  As much as I hated doing so, I nodded my head.

“Um, maybe I ought to,” I said softly.

Louise raised an eyebrow.  “You ought to what?”

I sighed.  She wasn’t going to make it easy.  That was all right.  I’d played this little game with my mother.  I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile.

“I was just thinking, maybe you’re right.  A little lipstick wouldn’t hurt.”

My stepmother and her friends smiled.  I took another deep breath.

“Please …?”

Louise was silent for a moment — just long enough to make me worry — but she finally did speak.

“Sure.  Here, have at it.”

My hands were shaking as I took the silver tube from her.  I stared at it for a moment, then looked up.

“You want … me … to do it?” I asked, feigning ignorance.  I didn’t want the sales girls to know too much, you understand.

Louise was having none of that, of course.  “Honey, with your track record, there's absolutely no reason for me to put lipstick on you. You obviously know how all this works, so you do it yourself.”

I felt my stomach turn sour.

“You … you really want me to put this on by myself?”

My stepmother rolled her eyes.  “Of course!  Oh, don't be such a baby, Gregory.  I know that you've done this before, so quit acting like it's such a big deal. Just pretend you're home in your room, doing whatever it is you do when you play 'dressup' for your mommy.”

The sales girls laughed and whispered to each other.  I felt like an idiot, but I was trapped.  I had an attentive audience as I carefully made up my face.  I tried to act like it was my first time, but I wasn’t fooling anybody.  The sales girls giggled to see how deftly I handled the lipstick cap.  There was a lot of whispering as I blotted. 

“Do I look all right?” I whispered weakly.

Louise nodded.  Despite her smirking smile, she seemed pleased.  “You look darling, princess.  Just darling.”

“Can we do something with his eyes, too?” one of the girls asked.  She picked up an applicator of mascara.  “I’d love to see him with some dreamy eyelashes!”

I blanched at the idea, but Louise agreed.

“Absolutely.  But let him do it.  Let’s see how much he knows about making himself beautiful ….”

By the time I was done I looked nothing like Greg Parker.  Instead I looked like a typical teenaged girl out shopping with her goofy girlfriends.  Actually, I looked just like my mother’s favorite daughter, “Pamela.”  In addition to a generous application of lipstick — it was something like “cotton candy pink” if I remember correctly — I was coerced into doing my eyes and fixing my hair.  It didn’t take me but just a few minutes as I had plenty of experience in both areas.  Borrowing my stepmother’s brush I flipped out my bangs and put my hair up in twin ponytails.  One of the sales girls gave me a couple of pink plastic clips shaped like bows to hold them in place.  A pair of hooped earrings completed my disguise.

“Well, well,” Louise said with a giggle.  “You’re better at this than I thought, princess.  You’re a regular little diva, that’s what you are.” 

By this time I didn’t care what my stepmother said.  What she didn’t already know about me she’d figured out.  To be honest, a sense of relief came over me.  At least now people wouldn’t recognize me as a boy in a skirt.  Well, except for those few souls in that quiet little boutique that fateful day.

"Mmm ... this is so neat," one of the sales girls mused. "Most boys his age couldn't care less about lipstick or doing their hair or anything. In fact, I can't remember the last time a teenaged boy even came in to visit us ….”

Another girl interrupted with, “Oh, that’s not true.  I know of at least two boys who’ve come in to sample our wares.  You remember, one of them always smells like his mother’s perfume?  He’s the one who likes other boys ….”

I felt my ears burn as the two sales clerks, along with my stepmother, all giggled and looked at me with knowing smiles. 

"Greg does love girlish things, don’t you, princess?” Louise gave me a piercing stare. “He is definitely an expert on girls ... more than any boy probably should be, in fact. We haven’t gotten around to discussing boys, though."

I gave her a dirty look, but she smiled the biggest and proudest smile. How could she say such things to me, especially in front of other people?

"Oh, really?" replied the younger sales clerk. Her eyes traveled over me like she was sizing up her next meal. "What about it, sweetie? You like boys?  You obviously like girlish things, but what about boys?  You can tell us, sweetie.  We won’t say anything."

Thank goodness the older clerk came to my rescue.  Sort of.  “Oh, stop it, you two!  Can’t you see the poor child is shy?  We don’t want to scare him off.  This is a customer in the making, I can see it now.  Isn’t that right, honey?  Don’t you pay any attention to those mean old girls.  You just keep on being whoever you want to be and don’t let anybody stop you, all right?”

Not know what to say, I just stood there, grinned and nodded my head like one of those toy dogs you see in the back of the car window. I couldn't help but squirm in my tight skirt and panties as I'd become so aroused it actually hurt.

After that debacle at the shopping center I was hoping to go home.  Instead Louise scared the crap of me when I realized we were pulling into the parking lot of a gigantic shopping mall. 

“Wha- … what are we doing here?” I managed to get the words out without choking to death.

My beautiful blond stepmother grinned.  “I’ve got an appointment so you can go have some fun if you want.”

“FUN???”  I was totally bewildered as I looked down at my attire and back up at my stepmother.  “I can’t have any fun dressed like this … in a place like that!”

“Of course you can, silly boy. Don’t be so stupid!  There are all sorts of things for a pretty young girl to do in a shopping mall.  All you have to do is look around.”

It turned out that Louise had to go to the hair salon, so she gave me twenty dollars and told me to go find something to do. 

“Maybe I should just hang out with you,” I whispered as we walked up to the salon.  I looked inside and frowned.  The smells and activity beyond the glass doors were intimidating, but the idea of being in a public place alone in my silly teenaged girl guise terrified me. 

“If you come with me we’re going to get your hair done,” my stepmother threatened.  “I bet you’d look really cute as a blond!”

At first I thought she was kidding, but she kept up the pressure until I finally realized what she was trying to do.  She wanted to push me beyond my comfort zone by forcing me to go wander around on my own in lipstick and heels. 

“Go on,” she encouraged.  “You know you want to do it.  Now’s your chance.  Go have some fun.”

I tried to swallow but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t.  “Where … how can I find you?”

Louise shrugged here shoulders.  “Don’t worry about it.  I’ll find you.  If you get lost, go to the information desk.  Or meet me at the car.  I don’t really care.  It’s not my problem, it’s yours.”

Dang!  That sounded just like something my mother would have said.  I took a deep breath, nodded my head and ventured out on my own.

The mall was enormous, at least twice as big as the one back home. I was nervous at first, but nobody paid any attention to me, so I relaxed and tried to enjoy myself. I had very little interest in shopping for anything girlish, so I did what I normally did at the mall and sought out the comic book store and sports paraphernalia shops.  I got a lot of strange looks, which confused me at first.  At first I thought everybody knew I was a boy in a skirt.  I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirrored display, however, and had to grin at what I saw.  A teenaged girl in pink grinned back at me.  In that silly skirt and pink lipstick and with my hair up in twin ponytails, I actually did look pretty cute! 

That’s when it finally occurred to me — that was why everybody was acting so strange.  They didn’t think I was a boy in a skirt.  They actually thought I was a girl.  And not just any girl, but a pretty girl!  I mean, just how many cute girls did you ever see in a comic book store, or a sports memorabilia shop?  Unless they were with their family or boyfriend, probably never. 

“Well, it could be worse,” I thought ruefully.  “They could know I was a guy.  I’d get my butt kicked if they knew the truth.  Heck even the geeky kids would have a big time picking on me if that ever got out!”

I ended up not buying anything because I was, well, too shy.  Actually, I was too scared to talk to any of the clerks.  I just wandered around, killing time and trying to be inconspicuous.  Tough duty, considering the gaggle of boys from age ten up through eighteen who kept staring at me.  There were even a few adult men who couldn’t keep their eyes off me.  I finally decided that I’d have better luck at the arcade.

The arcade was a genius idea!  It was so huge and there enough girls there so I didn’t stand out like, well, like a teenaged girl in a comic book shop!  I ended up spending least an hour there playing some of my favorite games, which was heaven on earth to me! I hadn’t been to an arcade in forever and I was so excited to get to do something a normal teenager could do, even if I was in a skirt and lipstick.  Not having any pockets to keep my money in was a pain, though.  I immediately regretted getting ten dollars in tokens. Believe it or not, I kinda missed not having my purse until the pimply faced clerk offered me a small paper bag with the arcade logo on it.

“Here, see if this helps,” he said with a big smile.  “What did you do, forget your purse?”

“Oh, yeah,” I replied shyly.  I thought for a second, then added, “You know how dumb us girls can be sometimes.”  

The clerk nodded and grinned.  “Well, I don’t know about that.  I don’t think you’re dumb.  Pretty, yes, but not so dumb.”

My face flushed hot with embarrassment.  I hadn’t expected that!  “Um, yeah.  Well, thanks!  You’re cute, too.” I winced as I realized what I’d just said.  I felt like such a fool as it occurred to me that I was flirting with a boy old enough to be in college.

“You from around here?” he asked.  I felt my stomach flutter.  He was actually hitting on me!  I thought about what my mom said about boys.  I was torn between disgust and pride as I realized that he was probably trying to picture me without my clothes on.

“Um, no.  I’m just here for a couple of days.  I’m, um, shopping with my stepmother.” I felt empowered as I recognized that I was telling the truth. 

So far, so good!

Pimple Boy nodded.  “Hey, let me know if you need a tour guide.  I know all the fun places to go in this town.  I can show you a good time if you like.”

I forced myself to smile.  “Um, okay.  I’ll let you know.”

This is where it got kind of weird.  Pimple Boy suddenly frowned, his voice taking on a sneering quality.

“You’re not going to go out with me, are you?  You’re too pretty to go out with me, aren’t you?  You prissy little twats are all alike. You think you’re better than anybody else!”

I felt like he’d hit me in the stomach.  First of all, I was really scared to get into an argument with anybody, boy or girl, adult or child, dressed as I was.  Not with high heels, stockings and a skirt so short a slight gust of wind would expose my purple lace panties … and the secret inside them!

The other reason I got upset was that I never thought of myself as a pretty girl.  I always thought of myself as a terrified boy dressed as a girl.  Even when Danny and I went skipping through the neighborhood in skirts and makeup and ended up kissing Gary, I was a nervous wreck the entire time.  I thought everybody knew or at least suspected I was a guy posing as a girl.  It never really sunk in that they might think I was actually a girl!

Which was apparently what Pimple Boy thought.  I paused for a moment and then smiled a shy, guilty smile. 

“You’re right, I won’t call you,” I confessed.  I thought about the truth and decided to go with it.  “The truth is, I can’t call you.  I’ve been visiting my father for the past week on fall break and I’m supposed to go home tomorrow morning.  We’re going to meet him for dinner in a little while and, well, you know … I can’t disappoint my daddy.”

I winced as I said that, but Pimple Boy nodded. 

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry.  That makes sense.  I didn’t mean what I said, you know, about … you being a twat and all that ….”

Unbelievably, my goofy words made sense to him.  After all, that’s what a cute girl would say about her daddy, right?

“Oh, that’s all right.  We can be pretty rude sometimes, too.  Don’t, um, worry about it.”

And then I did something I never thought I’d ever do.  I actually gave this college-aged clerk at the arcade one of those coy, movie-perfect sidelong glances.  You know, the kind girls give you when they want to make you shiver just a little bit.  I don’t know where I got it from.  It might have been from hanging around Kathy and her friends or maybe from my mom.  But I did it.  I tilted my head down, turned it slightly to the left and looked up at him with a slight, ever so subtle smile.  And here’s the funny part.

It worked!

“Oh, no, really, I … I’m so sorry.” Pimple Boy looked as embarrassed as I felt.  “I … that was rude of me.  I just, well, sometimes girls say things ….”

I smiled and nodded.  My earring brushed my cheek, causing me to giggle with more than a little anxiety.

“It’s all right.  I know what you mean.  Us girls do lie sometimes, but I promise, I’m telling you the truth.  Cross my heart and hope to die.”

My new admirer didn’t say anything for a whole minute.  I watched with mixed emotions as his eyes wandered back and forth between looking me in the eye and staring at my boobs.  I felt really embarrassed and was about to say something when his face suddenly lit up. 

“Hey, tell you what … next time you’re in town, stop in and I’ll get you a whole bucket of tokens.  I can do that you know.  And then, you know, maybe we can go out or something.”

I felt like I was in a bad teenager date movie.  I nodded my head vigorously, my twin ponytails bobbing back and forth as I tried to think of what to say next.  It turned out to be easy.  I just said what any pretty young girl would have said. 

“Wow, you’d do that for me?  That sounds great!  You’re so sweet.  I promise, I’ll stop in next time.  That sounds like a lot of fun!”

As I walked away he practically shouted at me.

“You never told me your name!”

I did a quick repeat of the sidelong glance, smiled and then called back, “You’re right.  I didn’t.  I’ll do that next time I’m in town.”

Which was exactly the right thing to do, as it turned out.  I left my new friend squirming in his seat with a huge smile on his face.  I had to giggle, remembering what my mom said about boys and what they did behind closed doors.

"I think she’s right," I thought to myself as I walked away. “He actually had a hardon!  Holy crap!  I wonder if he’s going to jerk off tonight thinking about me?  I really didn’t mean to do that!!!"

Lost in my games, I kept pretty much to myself and nobody said a word to me about what I was wearing. I wasn’t ignored, however.  Every time I looked up some guy was staring at me, again from the young ones on up to the adults.  Some would catch my eye and smile while others would glance away as though they weren’t really looking.  The boys my age were more of a nuisance than anything, staring at my butt and my boobs.  No wonder girls find guys such a pain! 

The older ones, the ones the same age as my dad and his friends, those were the ones who worried me the most.  At first I couldn’t figure why.  I just remember trying my best not to look them in the eye.  I made that mistake more than once and found myself getting weak in the knees.  For some reason I got the idea that they could see the real me under my girlish veneer.  Thank goodness none of them came over to talk to me.  I probably would have had a heart attack!

At long last Louise showed up.  She smiled to see me with my little bag of tokens.

“Come on, Miss Priss.  Looks like you need a purse to put your things in.  Let’s go shopping!”

As we left the store the clerk waved and smiled.  “See you next time you’re in town!” he shouted.

“Okay, later!” I called back, waving happily.  “Just like we said!”

All of a sudden I felt my stomach flutter as I realized that Louise was watching me with more than a little curiosity. 

“Well, what was that all about?  Sounds like you made a friend.”

I shrugged my bare shoulders.  “Kinda.  Not really.  I mean, he’s the cashier guy.”  I shook my little bag of coins. “He asked me a bunch of questions when I got my tokens.  I couldn’t be rude and not talk to him.”

My stepmother raised an eyebrow and winked.  “Sounds to me like you have a boyfriend.  I wonder what my girlfriends will say when I tell them.  Better yet, I wonder what daddy would think.”

“Louise, no!” I grabbed her arm and pleaded in whispered desperation.  “You’re not going to tell my dad … you promised!”

“Oh, stop it!  I was just teasing.  Try and lighten up , princess.  I’m not going to say a word to your father.  The only way he’ll find out is if you tell him.”

I tried to talk Louise out of any more shopping, but she insisted on finding me a purse.  We must have gone into a dozen shops looking for just the right one.  It was pretty much torture for me since she talked to every single sales clerk and told them how she wanted to buy her cute stepdaughter “the cutest purse ever!” 

We finally settled on a bright purple plastic looking thing that almost matched my outfit.  I never felt so humiliated nor so sissyish as when I had to primp and pose before Louise and the sales staff with my new purchase.  It was practically useless, barely large enough to hold my left over tokens and the lipstick we’d bought earlier.  Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on your point of view — I knew from bitter experience how to manage such things.

“You need to freshen up, by the way,” my stepmother observed as we stepped out of the store.  I sighed and did as I was told.  “You do that so well, princess.  I’m amazed at what a silly little girl you really are.  No wonder that poor boy at the arcade tried to pick you up!”

As promised Louise dropped me off at the movies.  I’d almost forgotten her promise and I tried to get out of it.  But she insisted, of course.

“No, really, princess, a promise is a promise.  I’ve got some more errands to run and it’ll do me some good to get you out of the way.  Here’s some more money.  Put it in your purse and go enjoy yourself.  I’ll be back when it’s over.  Have fun!”

I was more than a little scared to be left on my own, but I managed to buy my tickets and get inside the theater without incident.  I felt so conspicuous in my skimpy attire but I somehow managed to carry myself with enough femininity to ward off any suspicion.  Which in turn was a problem as I once again found myself the subject of sly glances and flirtatious stares.  I just keep my eyes forward and pretended not to realize that I was being mentally undressed and molested by my myriad admirers. 

Safe in the darkness of the theater I was so thrilled to see the latest kung-fu thriller ... my first "guy flick" in more than a year! In spite of my borrowed clothes and goofy makeup job, "Greg" was definitely in his element for the duration of the movie and the world of "Pamela" was a faint memory. At least for a while.

When the movie was over I had to wait in the lobby for Louise to pick me up.  That’s when the trouble started.  Just like earlier, I noticed dozens of eyes staring at me, young and old alike.  The younger ones I was able to ignore, as well as most of the older ones.  Now it was the ones close to my age that were difficult to avoid.  Especially when they placed themselves right in your face.  One group of four, led by a black guy who had to be not much older than myself, positioned themselves close enough for me to hear their rude banter.

“Come on, go ask her!” one of the boys chided.  “She’s not from around here.  See what she says!”

“Why don’t you ask her?” another guy argued.  “You’re the one who thinks he’s the expert ladies’ man!”

I had to smile as I slowly realized they were almost as intimidated by me as I was by them.  That’s when I began wondering if the power of women might be transferable to a terrified boy in a dress.  After all, a simple glance gave me control of a college-aged boy just a couple of hours earlier. 

I made the mistake of using the sidelong glance.  The leader of the group suddenly broke away and headed my direction.  My momentary sense of power quickly died as he approached me. 

“You guys are such pussies!”  He puffed up his chest and adjusted his clothes.  “See, she wants to talk to me, so shut the fuck up!”

My knees went weak as I wondered for an instant what I’d done wrong.  Maybe he knew my secret.  Maybe I’d given myself away somehow.  Was that why they were talking about me?  Did they know I was really a boy in my prissy disguise?  How did they find out?  What was I going to do now??????

Up close my newest friend looked close to my own age, but he more than a little taller.  Looking down at me he frowned and said, “Say, don’t I know you?  Don’t you go to school around here?”

My first reaction was delight.  Instead of accusing me of being a sissy or a faggot, he was coming on to me as though I was a real girl.  My joy was so great I couldn’t help smiling.  I shrugged my shoulders and rolled my eyes, not quite realizing the effect my body language was having on the young admirers watching my performance.

“Umm, no, I don’t think so.” I replied softly.  After the debacle at the arcade I decided to take this opportunity to practice my “girl voice.”  I cleared my throat and took a deep breath.  “I’m from … out of town. I’m waiting for my stepmother to pick me up.”

There was some more conversation, little of it memorable.  He said something about his school and how he was on the football team.  I was too busy trying to pose and act like a girl to pay much attention.  I was determined not to be discovered.

“Football?  That’s nice, I suppose,” I said when there was a pause in his speech.  “My boyfriend plays baseball.”

Mentally I slapped myself for saying that.  Boyfriend?  I didn’t have a boyfriend!  What the heck was I saying?  Was I losing my mind???

It turned out that my comment was right on target.  My new friend shrugged.  “Yeah, baseball’s cool.  I used to play, but I got kicked off the team.  I guess I’m just too rough for those guys.” 

I giggled.  I don’t know why, but I did.  Probably not the smartest thing I’d ever done.

“Really, I shouldn’t be talking to you,” I said in a sing-song voice.  “I’m waiting for my stepmother.  She doesn’t like me talking to strange boys.”

There was a rush of laughter among the other boys.  My friend’s eyes widened, then narrowed. 

“Hey, how about coming with us, you know, just for a little while. We’ll buy you something to eat.  Then maybe we can go have some fun.”

I shook my head and gave him a stern look — well as stern as a boy wearing red hot pink lipstick can give!

“Seriously, I can’t.  Like I said, my stepmother doesn’t like me talking to strangers.  I might get in trouble if she sees you.”

I felt something brush my arm and I looked down to see his dark brown fingers tickling my wrist.  I wanted to move away but my knees went weak as he took hold of my arm and pulled me close.

“Oh, come on, girlfriend!  You can catch up with her later.  You want to have fun, don’t you?”

“I … I can’t …,” I whispered hoarsely.

I leaned back away from him as he pulled my arm.  As Greg I probably would have been able to take him on, but I wasn’t Greg.  I wasn’t even ‘Pamela.’  I was a prissy boy in a strange town, dressed in purple lace panties and hot pink lipstick waiting for his evil stepmother to rescue him from the clutches of who-knew-what.

Which is exactly what happened.

“Hello, princess!” a familiar voice called out.  I looked over to see Louise standing just a few feet away, a sneering, leering look on her Barbie doll face. 

“Um, I gotta go!” I said, my voice sounding more like Greg Parker than a pretty girl in pink.

“Snotty little bitch!” the boy said as he let go of my wrist.  “You’ll wish you’d gone with me, you whore!”

For an instant I tried to figure out what he meant by that.  I’d heard other guys say things like that before at school but never really gave it much thought.  From the feminine point of view at that moment in time, however, it didn’t make much sense. 

“Sorry,” I whispered as we walked out of the theater.  “I guess I didn’t hear you blow the horn.”

Louise giggled.  “That’s because I didn’t.  When I drove up I saw you talking to those boys.  I thought I’d let you have a little fun.  It looks like you made another boyfriend.  How come you didn’t bother introducing me to him?”

I bit my lip.  “There wasn’t any reason.  He’s not my boyfriend, either, Louise!  And they’re not my friends.  They … they were … they, um ….”

“Were just being friendly, hmm?” my stepmother suggested.  I shrugged, then nodded.  “And what about you?  Were you just being friendly, too?”

I shrugged again and nodded … again.

“I don’t know, Louise.  I guess.  Maybe.”  I sighed.  “I’m just confused.”

“My, oh my,” Louise sang as we got into her car.  “You’re an interesting boy, young Gregory Parker.  An interesting boy indeed!”

The ride home was pretty tedious.  Louise kept up her interrogation, asking me all sorts of embarrassing questions about the boys I’d met and the things we talked about.  The depth and audacity of her query was so painful, at one point I thought about asking if she was related to my mother. 

Thank goodness the day was almost over.  We were supposed to meet Dad for supper and I was eager to shed my panties and lipstick and get back into the role of the all-American average red-blooded boy. 

 

Chapter 41 — Girlfriends



By the time we pulled into the driveway I was exhausted. I was also ready to spend some time with my dad, maybe watch a ball game and enjoy my last few hours of freedom. There was some bad news, of course.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t tell you.  I called your daddy’s office and his secretary said he wasn't expected to get free until late tonight.”  Louise stuck her bottom lip out in mock sadness.  “I guess that means I’ll have to keep you entertained the rest of the day.  Think you can stand a few more hours with your ugly old stepmother?”

I didn’t know what to say.  This news was disheartening in more ways than one.  I was supposed to go home the next day and I wanted to see my dad before I left.  Then there was the problem of how I was going to spend the rest of that day with my stepmom.

"Oh, don't be such a party pooper," she said as we entered the house. "We can find something for you to do. As a matter of fact, since your daddy's going to be gone for a while, we can have a little naughty fun. Just us girls."

"Just us ... girls ...?" Uh-oh! I didn't like the sound of that! Not one bit! "Please, Louise, can't we just ... I mean ... do we have to ...?"

I was getting that deep down queasy feeling again.

Taking me by the hand, my stepmother pulled me up the stairs. "Come along, crybaby ... you're still mine for a few hours." I reluctantly followed her into the bedroom she shared with my father. It felt kind of funny, knowing that this was their private room. It felt even funnier when I was told to sit down at her dressing table.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking, you know, about what I found in your suitcase the other day. So-o-o-o ... I want to conduct a little experiment. And I don't want any arguments. All you have to do is sit still and let me satisfy my curiosity about a few things.  All right?"

"Do I have to?"

Louise shook her head. "How many times are you going to say that? No, you don't have to. You can just explain to you daddy why you're so interested in lipstick and girls' undies instead." Pulling that stupid "Seventeen" magazine from out of nowhere, she flashed it in my face and gave me a grin. "He'll be so proud to know you subscribe to a girl's fashion publication ...."

The look on her face reminded me of my mom. I recognized it all too well; it was the kind of look that said "I win, you lose!"

I swallowed nervously and said, "All right, all right ... I give. Do whatever you want. What do I care?" For some reason my voice was really hoarse.

"Good. Now we can have some real fun. First, take off your clothes.”

After a momentary battle of wills — which I obviously lost! — I was suddenly sitting before my stepmom wearing only my birthday suit. This was the second time she'd seen me naked and I wasn't at all too happy about it. Hands in my lap, I remember looking wistfully at my boyish undies laying at my feet. The way things were going, they'd just as well been on the moon.

"You did take a shower this morning, didn't you?" 

I nodded my head.  There was an awkward minute of silence and I noticed Louise wasn't looking me in the eye. She was looking right at my boy boobs.  Out of reflex I crossed my arms over my chest and blushed. I'd already crossed my legs to hide my tingling boyishness, but that didn't stop me from blushing from head to toe.  I wondered if it was too late to run off somewhere and hide.

"How cute. Such a shy little thing," my stepmom said with an amused voice. "I can see why, too. You've got such a fat little behind. Just like your momma. I do like your chubby little boobies, though.  Funny, even naked you look just like a girl."

 

"Louise, please ...."

"Oh, I'm just teasing, honey. Don't be such a prude." As my stepmother continued chatting she unbuttoned her blouse and loosened her jeans. In a second she was in her underwear and next thing I knew, she was naked as a jaybird, standing right there in front of me!

"Here, how's that. Now you're not the only one lounging around in the nude. We can have a little fun, just like a couple of girlfriends on a Saturday afternoon, okay?"

Pouting nervously, I nodded. I tried not to stare at the pair of magnificent breasts before me, but I couldn't think of what else to do. I did manage to keep my knees pressed together as tightly as I could; it wouldn't do at all if I suddenly sprouted an erection right there in front of my stepmom. If I did I'd just die of shame right there on the spot.

You have to understand that Louise enjoyed showing off her body, just like she enjoyed teasing fourteen year old boys. I'd often tried picturing what she'd look like naked, but my limited imagination hadn't prepared me for the real thing; a pair of beautiful breasts that seemed to defy gravity, the graceful curve from her waist to her naked butt ... and the shocking sight of her private parts, right there, within my reach! Being so close to such a perfectly shaped female body was a dream come true for a boy my age. I could scarcely believe it was happening. I do remember squeezing my legs together to conceal my excitement, and praying that I didn't embarrass myself any more than I'd already done.

Ignoring me and my puny concerns, Louise casually stretched her wonderful body and yawned, a giant cat to my meek little mouse.  She then bent close over my shoulder to check herself in the mirror. I tried not to look as she primped and poked at herself, but it was difficult to ignore such wonderful breasts suspended just a breath away from my face. She was so close her body heat made me sweat all over. I often wondered what I'd do if I was ever presented with such an opportunity and at that exact moment I discovered a sad truth ... I wimped out and did absolutely nothing.

My stepmother must have been reading my mind. She shot a sidelong glance in my direction and laughed. 

"Oh, you dirty-minded little thing! I know what you're thinking, honey. You can look all you want, but don't you dare touch. See here?”

I sat dumbly as she stepped behind me and gave me a warm hug. I about jumped out of my skin as she slid her hands around my waist, and I almost died as she cupped my chubby boy boobs, one in each hand, and gave them each a gentle squeeze.  The pressure of her perfect breasts pushing against my bare back took my breath away.

“See?  You've got your own little girlfriends to play with." She gave my boobs a little jiggle and then scraped my left nipple with a sharp fingernail.  “How lucky is that?  Not many boys have a pair of titties to touch whenever they want!”

I jumped in surprise as sharp, talon-like fingernails then dug under my arms and my ribs.  I squealed like a little girl as my stepmom tickled me without mercy.

“Please, Louise,” I said, giggling like a complete and utter idiot.

I shifted in my seat as a jolt of electricity swept through my body; as ashamed as I was, I felt my penis shiver and tingle with the most extreme pleasure. Sitting there, naked like that, and being touched and teased by such a beautiful woman ... well, it was absolutely unnerving! I was afraid for a second that I was going to ... well, you know, make a mess. I carefully adjusted my crossed legs, praying that I could control my emotions. It wasn't going to be easy. Man, talk about agony! This was torture!

While I caught my breath Louise washed my face with cold cream and a warm damp rag from the bathroom.  I sat quietly and helplessly as she then sat down on the seat beside me and scrubbed my fingertips with a cloth soaked in nail remover. 

“I want to start with a blank canvas,” she explained.  “We all know you can look like a cute little girl.  Let’s see what else we can conjur up with a little bit of thought and some creative ideas.”

I nodded.  I had no idea what she was talking about.  I watched silently as several bottles of nail polish were produced.  I gave my young stepmother a sickly smile.

"Go ahead, try on one of each." she said firmly. She nodded to the other things on her vanity. "Don't be shy. You know what to do. I just want to see for myself how far you can go with all this."

I really didn’t want to do it, but I did it anyway.  What else was I going to do, run away? 

A little while later my fingers flashed about with various shades of flaming red tips, completely unlike the filthy nails that had been digging up fishing worms the day before. The coolness of the nail polish drying on my fingers and the accompanying aroma was like an electric charge in the air, causing me to feel flushed and aroused beyond belief. Too embarrassed to get up and leave, too nervous to cry, I sat patiently as my stepmother looked at me

"Hmmm ... I like this color best. I’ve got a lipstick that matches it perfectly. What do you think?"

I shrugged my naked shoulders. "I ... I guess so .... Are we done yet? C-c-can I put on some clothes?"

Louise acted like she didn't hear a word I said.

"Here's some nail polish remover. Take off all those other colors and do your nails up in that one. And your toes while you're at it. I'm going to get us a couple of diet cokes."

By the time she was back I was done with my fingernails. I couldn't do my toes until my fingers were dry, so I just sat there in my birthday suit looking like an idiot. With my hands spread flat on the vanity, I bent over and took a sip of Coke.

Meanwhile my stepmom plopped down on the edge of the bed and lit up a cigarette. The way she was sitting was very casual, careless even, and I had a hard time not looking at her pubic area, which was in full view. I was both confused and annoyed when after several minutes she'd didn't make a move to cover herself. It occurred to me later that she might have been sitting like that on purpose.

"Uh, aren't you going to get dressed?" I asked meekly. The silence had really bothered me, and that was the only thing I could think of to say.

"Oh, maybe later. I don't wear much around the house when I'm alone. Clothes can be such a bother sometimes. Besides, your daddy really enjoys it when I go naked. Don't look so shocked. Sometimes men can act so crazy over the silliest things." Her laugh reminded me of my friend, Rita. I wondered what Rita would have thought if she’d seen me lounging around in the nude with my stepmom.

Louise "You don't mind, do you? Me walking around naked, I mean?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess not."

My lame attempt at being nonchalant sparked a titter of girlish giggles.

"Yeah, I can see that. You look about as happy as a poodle at a dog fight."

As she sipped her coke Louise kept looking at me funny, her eyes flicking from my face to my exposed bosom and then down between my legs.

"Hmmm ... funny, how much you look like a girl, even without any clothes on. Having that nice little pair of boobies helps. I wonder what you'd look like in a nice cocktail dress? Or maybe an evening gown?

I shrugged my shoulders.  I wasn’t eager to find out.

My stepmom grinned. “Well, let's get your toenails done and then maybe we'll find out."

"Do we have to ...?" I whined.

I don't know why I even bothered. I ended up doing as I was told, of course.  Louise made me sit on the floor, leaving me completely vulnerable as I bent over awkwardly at the waist to apply the bright red polish. It would have been easier to sit Indian-style with my foot up in my lap, but then I'd have to part my legs and expose my aching erection. With my stepmom sitting there looking at me, I just couldn't let that happen. She still got an eyeful, though, I guess, smoking her cigarette and enjoying a prime view of my bare bottom.

While we waited for my nails to dry I sat and sipped my coke while my stepmom chatted away like I was one of her best girlfriends. I was feeling a little less nervous, but not much. Once my nail polish was dry enough, she asked me to do her fingers and toes, too. Like an idiot I agreed.

“Oh, don’t act so bashful,” she said with a wink.  “You’re a terrible actor.  You pretend you hate it, but you’re really loving all this girlie stuff.  I can tell just by watching you!”

I couldn’t argue with her.  Or, to be more accurate, I didn’t feel like I was in the position to argue with her.  Instead, I just looked down at the floor and shrugged.

The next thing I had to do was paint my stepmother’s nails the same shade I’d done my own with.  That was pretty embarrassing, not to mention humbling.  I felt like a servant as I knelt at her feet and looked up at her magnificent naked body.

I didn't have any trouble actually doing my stepmom's nails. It was the circumstances that proved so humiliating.  More than once I had exposed my shameful erection, which caused her to smile. Somehow I managed it without completely dying of embarrassment. 

"Now that's a cute little wiener," my stepmom said in a loud, teasing voice. "Is that as big as it gets? Funny, it's not as big as I thought it'd be. Your dad's is huge."

I was speechless to hear my stepmother talk about my father in such a way. I mean, what could I say?

"Don't feel bad, honey. You won't impress many girls with such a little thing, but just remember, the only person you really need to please is yourself."

It was such a strange scene: if you'd interrupted my fishing trip the day before and told me that I'd be kneeling stark naked on the bedroom carpet with my stepmother's foot in my lap and painting her toenails, I'd have said you were crazy. As it was, I was beginning to think I was the one who was slowly going insane.

I felt oddly grateful once I was safely back in my seat, my boyish parts tucked away between my thighs, all safe and sound. Louise had enjoyed teasing me about my slender pink erection bobbing about so freely. A glint of mischief shone in her eyes, and I dreaded to wonder what she was thinking.

Under her guidance I ended up using at least three different lotions, one for my hands, one for my arms, legs and feet, and another for my body. Under her tutelage I also applied a healthy dose of a piercing cologne and a layer of perfumed talcum all over my naked body. Let me tell you, it felt really weird, sitting there in front of my stepmom wearing nothing but my skin, smelling and feeling like a prissy high school girl. Every nerve ending in my soul was awake and ready for action; I just kept praying that nothing would happen ... if it did, there'd be a mess to clean up and would definitely be the end of me!

I was hoping to get dressed at this point.  I didn't care if it was in a tutu, as long as I got to put on something! Instead, Louise sat down next to me, put her cigarette out in an ashtray on the vanity, and then opened a bottle of lotion.

"Hold on, honey... you're not finished. Hold out your hands." I obeyed and she squirted a generous dollop of lotion into each palm. "You missed a spot."

I blinked. The lotion felt cold in my hand. "I missed a spot? Uh, okay. Where?"

She glanced down and then back up, locking her eyes on mine. "Down there."

I blinked again, and then I thought for a moment. Oh, gosh ...! A paralyzing shiver went through my body. "Down ... where?"

Louise flicked the tip of my erection with a sharp fingernail.  It was the first time anyone other than myself had ever touched my penis. 

"Your little hardon, silly boy. I saw that puny little thing sticking up and bouncing around like a puppy dog's tail." A trickle of sweat tickled my backside as I sat there silent and ashamed. "You goofy thing! You can't get dressed until it goes away. You’ll never fit in anything sticking out like that.  And I'm not having you stretching out my good clothes! Or making a mess in them!"

I cleared my throat. This sure wasn't going the way I'd expected. Looking down at the pearly lotion puddled in my hands, I felt dizzy. "So-o-o ... what am I supposed to do?" I whispered weakly.

My stepmom squinted, then shook her head. "Don't play dumb. You know what to do. Let little Mr. Happy loose and rub him until he spurts and goes away."

I could feel a rush of hot blood burning my face and neck, and for a moment I felt faint.

"I ... I can't do this ... I mean, I don't ... do ... that," I choked.

"Oh, sure you do. You do it all the time, I'm sure. All boys do it, straight, gay, football players, bookworms, bullies and sissies."

I felt my entire body go numb with panic. It was as though I'd stuck my finger in a light socket.

"Look, honey, if you mind me and jerk off like I tell you, your little problem will go away and you won't have to worry about it for any more. Then we can have us some real fun."

Well, let me tell you, I was pretty scared ... and embarrassed! To hear my stepmom talk like that was bad enough. To hear her talk to ME like that was even worse. And to hear what she wanted me to do, well, that was the ultimate shocker. Back home whenever my mom would mention something about my "disgusting habits" I would just about die of shame. And now, sitting there nude, in full view of my dad's pretty wife, and realizing that she wanted me to defile myself right then and there ... with her watching... well, that was the ultimate in degradation.

"But, Louise ... I don't ... I promise, I really don't ...." I got cut off before I could finish my sentence.

"Listen, my pretty, don't you DARE tell me 'you don't do that'," she said in a threatening tone. "I know for a fact all boys do it ... hell, all men do it, too. If there's anything I know it's that. And if you're anything like your father you do it all the time. Am I right?  I am, aren’t I?"

I shook my head. Louise squinted her eyes and frowned.

"Liar. I can't believe you, sitting right here and lying to me like I'm some sort of idiot! Just because I'm blond doesn't mean I'm stupid. Tell me, honey, what does your mom do when you lie to her? Something about a mouthful of soap, from what your daddy told me. And a whipping, too, right? Well, I've got plenty of soap, and you're not so big that I can't bend you over my knee and wear out that pretty little bottom."

I looked at the naked woman beside me and a dreadful image flashed through my mind. I believed she'd do it, and worse; the smile on her face convinced me of that.

I choked. "Please, Louise ..."

What happened next was a complete shock to my system.  Louise grabbed me by the arm, pulled me to my feet and over her naked lap, all in one sudden, powerful movement.  I was sobbing like a spoiled child as I realized I was about to get my bare butt spanked by my father’s beautiful young wife.  I was so upset I hardly even noticed the first smack or two.  Oh, sure, it hurt all right — she really laid it on, one excruciating slap after another, alternating between cheeks and giving me plenty of time to absorb the pain before the next blow was struck.  But it wasn’t the pain that made me cry as much as the pure shame of it all.

“I told you” — SLAP!!! — “not to lie to me!”  SLAP!!!  “Maybe this will” — SLAP!!! — “show you I mean what I say!!!”  SLAP!!!

By the time she was done with me I was blubbering like a little baby.  She shoved me off her lap, leaving me to stand there in my birthday suit and tears, wishing I could take back the last five minutes of my life.

My stepmom then picked up a bottle of perfume, spritzed a tiny bit on her wrist, sniffed it ... and smiled. "I don't have any soap handy, but this ought to work. Stick your tongue out, liar. You heard me, stick your tongue out."

I refused at first, but a sharp slap on my bare leg caused me to cry out. Louise timed it perfectly, spraying a full blast of Chanel No. 5 in my mouth, bringing fresh tears to my eyes and an awful shock of burning, nasty flavor to my taste buds.

“Here, let’s see if this helps you remember to take me seriously.” 

I gagged on the awful taste in my mouth and started to spit it out.

"Don't you dare spit it ... not on my good carpet, stupid! What are you, dumb or something?"

"Yuck! No ... Louise," I sputtered and cried, "I can't breathe ... it ... it tastes awful!" I felt like I'd been hit with a dose of tear gas.

"Don't blame me, liar. All you had to do was tell the truth. See what your lying got you? And for what? I already knew the truth ... all you had to do was tell me what I already knew. Stupid, stupid boy ...."

As bad as a mouthful of my mom's Dove soap tasted, that shot of perfume was something that I never forgot. To this day all I have to do is think about the bitter, burning taste and a tingling sensation sets my jaw locked tight and my breath heaving in little gasps. Louise had gotten me right on the tongue with her spritzer and well into the back of my throat. I thought I was going to choke to death as I struggled for air. Swallowing and coughing in alternate waves, I somehow managed to regain my breath ... but none of my dignity.

With my hands still wet with lotion — which I somehow managed not to spill throughout this bizarre ordeal — I couldn't wipe my nose or anything. After a few minutes of misery my stepmom showed a bit of mercy and cleaned me up with a tissue. The horrid aftertaste of the perfume served to remind me who had just won that little battle.

"Now, you were saying," she said in a sing-song tone of voice.

I admitted my sin, of course. In a painful, tedious confessional I told her I played with myself, just as I'd told my Mom, oh, so many months before. Louise was more pleased than surprised by my testimonial.

"Now see ... that wasn't so difficult, was it? I knew you were a little perv all along. Jacking off all the time. Come on, let's see you do it. You know you want to and I know you're going to, so you may as well do as I ask. Unless you want me to bend you over my knee again, of course. I'll do that if you don't mind me, and don't think I won't."

And so, after a few minutes of whining and fussing and begging and threatening, I gave in and agreed to do as I was told. I didn't want to, but I did. Of course, you probably expected that, didn't you? I guess after seeing all I've been through ... you know me pretty good, huh ...?

Sitting at the vanity next to my stepmom, I thought about what I had to do and I tried not to cry.  My face, my ears and neck ... my whole body ... were so hot, so flushed, as I took a deep breath and slowly allowed my hands to wander down between my legs.  Sniffing back a whiff of Chanel, I remember feeling like such a fool as my boyish appendage popped up from its hiding place like some sort of small pet, happy and eager to be touched and attended to.

I wanted to close my eyes, but Louise stopped me and insisted that I keep them open.

"Oh, no you don't, tough guy. Here, watch the pretty girl in the mirror," she said in a husky voice. "Keep your eyes on her ... she's watching your every move ... give her something to smile about."

Looking at the vanity mirror and my reflection within, I could see right away what she was talking about. Even without makeup I looked more like a girl than I wanted to admit.  The shiny, sad eyes, the full lips, the feminine bangs and budding milky white breasts — she looking right at me from the other side of the mirror ... studying me, all wide-eyed, frightened and curious. That was enough to send another shiver through my trembling body.

Another problem was Louise was sitting right there next to me, so I had to look at her as well as my reflection.  Look at her looking at me, I mean. While I masturbated. That ... my gosh, that was bad! Really, really bad. Bad enough to make me want to lay down and die.

"I ... I can't do this." My mouth was dry and cracked. I started to pull my hands away but was stopped by a harsh pain in my wrists where Louise was holding me tight.

"Look, scaredy cat, just go ahead and take care of your little problem. Don't mind me, baby. The sooner you get this over with the sooner you can get dressed"

The grip she had on my wrists held fast, directing me to take my slender erection in between my lotion-slick palms and roll it back and forth.

"See, you can do it. Just smile and enjoy yourself. You know you want to, so just do it ... Okay?"

I caught my breath ... nodded my head ... and proceeded on the road to shame.

You know how I'm always saying how something makes me feel stupid? Or embarrassed? Well, just forget all that. I was exaggerating. There's no way to describe the helplessness I felt as I took my tingling penis and massaged and manipulated myself to a sexual frenzy. Minding my stepmom's orders I forced myself to keep my eyes locked on my reflection, ignoring the triumphant, smiling face next to me. It didn't take long for me to humiliate myself. I think. I don't remember exactly how long it took, only that I made an awful, nasty mess, spewing handfuls of sticky stuff all over my bare legs and hands. Louise made a little gasp as I came, the sound of which almost gave me a heart attack.

"My, goodness, honey. It looks like you're really enjoying this. I don't know what you were fussing about. Here, clean yourself up."

My stepmom handed me a tissue. I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eye, I was so ashamed.

Blinded by my tears, I wiped up the awful icky mess, taking care to get every bit of the nastiness that covered me. It wouldn't have been any worse if I'd peed all over myself. Why is it that something that feels so good is so messy ... and so humiliating?

After tossing the tissue filled with yucky stuff in a waste basket I started to say something ... when I heard the top being snapped off a bottle of lotion; my wrist was quickly grabbed and a cool stream of pearly liquid was again poured into my hand, bringing me to a cruel reality. I looked up at Louise. The smile on her face was jubilant and evil.

"You need to do it again, honey. I know how boys are. In a few minutes it'll be sticking out again, and I don't want you having any accidents when you put on my clothes. Go on ... we don't have all day, babydoll."

I started to protest, but a deep weariness swept over me, erasing any bit of so-called boyish dignity. I sighed and took my tingling penis in a delicate grip and began working the lotion into my tender skin ....

“Go on.  We don’t have all day ….”

All in all, I ended up masturbating three times in a row. It's amazing that I was able to do it, I was so mixed up, so afire with emotion ... and so humiliated, I nearly fainted during the final spasm. I do remember the expression on my stepmom's face, though; she looked like she owned the world. I guess as far as I was concerned she did.

The next thing that happened set the tone for the rest of the evening.  Louise handed me a handful of thin silk.  I thought it was a pair of stockings at first, but I wasn't quite sure as I'd never seen anything quite like that before.  I held it out and wondered for a moment before asking what it was.

My stepmom's eyes went wide with surprise.  "They're pantyhose, silly.  You've never seen pantyhose before?"

I shook my head.  Remember, this was back quite a few years ago; pantyhose had just come out and I hadn't even noticed them in the magazines yet.  Mom kept me in girdles for punitive reasons, so this was going to be a new experience for me.

"You're gonna love these, honey.  They're a lot more comfortable than a girdle, believe me.  They're like wearing absolutely nothing at all."

She was right.  I slid into the pantyhose warily and I about died as my entire body went to tingling like a house on fire.  This is why guys shouldn't wear girls' clothes, I remember thinking to myself.  Sometimes it's worse than being naked!

As if to prove the point, my poor penis, once so drained and shy, suddenly came to life and was slipping happily about, trapped between my bare belly and the thin silk.  The sensation was so intense it drove me absolutely crazy!  I tried hiding the source of my shame, but it was too late.

"Take care of that," Louise ordered, nodding at the obvious bump beneath my hose, "or I'll fix it for you." 

"Take ... care of ... it?"

My stepmom nodded.  "You know ... IT?"

When I didn't say anything right away she shot me one of those "Don't be stupid!" stares and briskly rubbed her palms together.  

"You just did it a while ago.  Do it again.  Now!"

I couldn't believe it.  My stepmom actually wanted me to jerk off ... again?  I felt a chilling trail of sweat rolling down my bare back.  She couldn't be serious?!!!  I mean, she'd already made me humiliate myself once; wasn't that enough? 

"Oh, please, Louise ... do I have to ...?"

"Either you do it or I'll do it for you.  Hurry up and make up your mind."

Louise rubbed her palms together again, her blood red fingertips flickering ominously as she did so.  My heart raced at the thought of those claw-like nails touching my penis.  She can't do that, I thought in a panic.  She wouldn't dare!

My stepmom must have been reading my mind that day. 

"If it was up to me it'd be snip-snip!  Then you wouldn't have that little problem."  She made a scissors gesture with her fingers and giggled.  The sound of her laughter made me feel like a helpless little kid.  "Believe me, honey, if we got rid of that ugly piece of gristle you'd never even miss it.  You would be so much better off.  You could be a girl all the time, then.  Wouldn't that be fun?  I bet your mother would appreciate that!"

This was getting to be too much.  For an instant I tried to imagine myself without my boyish appendage, but I couldn't ... I didn't dare.  The way things were going it was all I had left of the boy I used to be.   If I didn't wear it down with all this beating off, of course.

A sharp poke in my side brought me back to reality.  "Are you going to get that thing under control, or am I going to have to take care of it for you?  How about I beat your fat little bottom again and then jerk you off?  I can do that, you know."

Dry mouthed and scared, I forced myself to swallow.  "I ... I'll do ... it," I managed to whisper.

And so there I sat, under my stepmom's watchful eye, pantyhose down about my knees, hands between my thighs.  In a daze of confusion and excitement I took a deep breath and proceeded to masturbate.

"You do that really well, honey," my tormentor jeered once I got started.  "Boys sure do love handjobs.  Not quite as much as blowjobs, but you’ll learn all about that later.”

I couldn’t believe my stepmom was talking to me like that!  “Louise, don’t ….” I whined.

“Hey, I didn’t say for you to stop.  Get back to work!”  I felt just awful as I resumed rubbing myself.  “That’s a good girl.  Really, you’ve got some skills.  I’d love to see you doing that with a real man’s dick.  Don’t worry, princess.  You just keep up with your practice and you'll make some young feller a great little girlfriend one of these days."

Needless to say, I sure didn't like the sound of her talking to me like that!  Despite my tearful protests, however, this kind of teasing went on and on until I was sobbing in humiliation.  I didn't dare stop what I was doing, though, prompted by the occasional pinch and threat of something worse.

The sad thing was that the combination of everything that was going on, me masturbating, my stepmom teasing me, the sight of her partially nude body, the taste of perfume still lingering in my mouth ... this all triggered off a tide of excitement that shook me all the way to my toes.  The next thing I knew I was trembling like you wouldn't believe, overwhelmed by a surge of pleasure that left me breathless, completely spent ... and totally humiliated.

"Leave me alone!" I said when I was done.  "I feel bad enough, the way you kept talking to me ... and the way you kept looking at me.  I hate it when you do that."

My stepmom just laughed.  "Oh, fudge!  You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it.  You should have seen the look on your face when you did that little squirt.  I've never seen anybody look so happy."

"Louise, please ... don't talk like that ...."  I felt like crying but I was just too tired.

I sat there for a few minutes, my hands and thighs all sticky, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next.  Once I had my emotions back under control, I minced back to the bathroom — pantyhose around my knees, my hands filled with sticky boyish passion — and cleaned myself up.  Standing in front of the mirror I pulled up my pantyhose ... and almost had a heart attack to see my stepmother appear over my shoulder! 

“Here, use one of these.  In case you, you know,” she whispered with a grin, “… you leak.”

Numb with shame, I held out my hand to take whatever it was she offered me.  I looked down.  It was a feminine pad.  I nodded, pulled out the top of my pantyhose and slid the thick pad down over my wilted penis.  Even in my shame I had to admire the simple solution to what could have been an embarrassing problem.

“So that’s what those are for,” I remember saying to myself.

Louise was right, Mom would REALLY love this, I thought sadly.  No doubt about it.

Once I’d recovered from my … ordeal … my makeover continued.  Louise handed me a large feminine brush and told me to fix my hair. With trembling hands I did as I was told, feeling extremely self conscious as I left my bosom open to my stepmother's gaze. I took extra care not to do anything that might be interpreted as girlie, but judging from the grin on her face I was failing miserably.

"I noticed your hair when your daddy brought you home. I thought it looked sort of funny ... being so long and all. Your daddy hates that you know."

I shrugged my shoulders. That was true, he didn’t like my longish hair at all.  But I lived with Mom, and she set the rules, remember?

"I just love your bangs, by the way.  I wonder whose idea that was?  Mommy's?  Go ahead, brush them out. And brush your hair out over your ears, too. I want to see just how girlish we can make you."

"Louise, please ... Ow!"

A sharp, pain-raising pinch on my bare breast brought tears to my eyes. I started sobbing, but a second, even more cruel pinch shocked me into silence.

"Ow!  That ... You hurt me ...."

"I swear ... you are such a crybaby," Louise complained. "If you don't shut up and do as I say, I'm going to tell your father what kind of little faggot you really are. He'll be so happy to hear about his little pride and joy running around in panty girdles and lipstick, he'll probably have a heart attack. Then maybe that'll give you something to cry about!"

Louise was not at all playing nice.  Her voice took on a syrupy, sarcastic tone as she berated and belittled me.  My bottom still ached from the spanking and my poor penis was a tiny vestige of its former self.  I felt sick to my stomach.  As nervous as I was about being made to look like an idiot, I was above all else terrified of my dad finding out about ... my secret. And my stepmother was using this to her best advantage.

"C'mon, princess, we don't have all day." I winced as my poor boob got pinched again.

"Ouch!  Please, Louise, I'll do as you say.  Just stop it, please?"

Sighing as pitifully as possible, I complied. Even after a week with my dad, it didn't take a minute for things to fall into place.  A shower and a shampoo the previous evening washed away most of the boyish stink and slime. With my bangs brushed out properly and my hair fluffed up and over my ears, I felt myself taking on a less than boyish air.

Louise, of course, had a different opinion. "Hmmm ... well, that's a definite improvement. We should have done this before we went out this morning. I could have told everyone that was my pretty daughter tagging along behind me, not my sissy stepson."

A pair of scissors, several cans of hairspray and a rack of hairpins were produced.  I felt panic as she began combing and brushing and snipping here and there at my dark brown locks.  Then came barrage after barrage of that awful hairspray.  My stepmother sprayed me with so much of that awful stuff I could barely breathe.  I grunted and whined, terrified that she was going to do something just awful, but she shot a wicked grin at me, daring me to say something. I did what I did best: I sat there and kept my mouth shut.

"Just sit still and keep quiet.  I want to try something."  Digging through her closet she produced a little round bit of hair.  I thought at first it was a wig, but it was way too small.

“What’s that?” I asked weakly.

Louise smiled.  “It’s called a ‘fall.’  It’s a little bit of hair that you clip to your own to make yourself more beautiful.  I’m going to pin it on top of your head and see what it looks like.”

The combing, brushing and pinning continued until I dozed off from sheer boredom.  Suddenly I was woken up and found myself looking at my reflection.  I could not have felt more stupid. My hair looked just like a girl’s!  Louise had pulled it all atop my head, except for my bangs.  The little fall atop my head looked exactly like it was part of my own hair.  The end result was like something you’d see in a fashion magazine.  On a fourteen year old boy, of course, it looked just plain silly.  I about died!  A pair of elegant silver hair clips were clasped on either side of my head, giving me a very feminine look, quite similar to how I'd seen fashion models wear their hair.

“So, what do you think?” Louise teased.  “Isn’t it chic?  You look just like a high school prom queen!  Actually, this style reminds me of a young Audrey Hepburn.”

Unfortunately I knew who she was talking about.  My mom loved Audrey Hepburn and for an instant I could imagine her loving my new look.  My reaction was somewhere between fascination and horror.  Part of me wanted to just sit there and stare and admire the change in my appearance.  The other part of me wanted to mess up my hair, pull it all out and run away. That, of course, wasn't likely to happen. Things weren't looking too good for the home team, as my dad always used to say.

Louise, however, seemed impressed with the change. Standing behind me and chattering away like a hairdresser, she used the brush and more hairspray to make my bangs flip under.  A broad, satisfied smile reflected how pleased she was with her handiwork.  She acted as though she was having the time of her life as she primped and poked at my feminine hairdo.

"Hmmm ... that looks pretty good. You’re going to break some hearts looking like that.  Let's see what else we can do with you ...."

Crossing my arms back over my chest I sat deathly still as my stepmother produced the bag of cosmetics she'd bought at the boutique and pulled out a little gold tube. Still nude, she sat down on the stool with me, pressing her bare hip up against mine like it was something she did every day. I nearly swooned from the sensation. Paying me little notice, Louise popped the top off of the lipstick, started turning the base, and then stopped.

The main problem with following those instructions was that I rarely had a naked woman hovering over me when I was alone in my room.  The temptation to stare at her breasts or steal a glance at the golden down sprouting from between her thighs was too much. The only way to stop was to focus on the task as hand.

I tried acting like I didn't know anything about putting on lipstick, but giving myself away was too easy. I mean, after all the times I'd worked on my lips under my mom's strict supervision, and after all the times I'd done it on my own, I just couldn't help it. I slipped off the cap, put it between my fingers like an expert, and proceeded to paint my mouth with the shiny pink gloss. The smell of cotton candy permeated the air and I found myself tingling down below like you wouldn't believe.

My stepmom, of course, was duly impressed.

"Hmmm ... good job, honey. You know what to do with this, right?" She gave me a tissue, which I in turn used to blot my lips. That brought a big smile to her face.

"I underestimated you. You really know your stuff, don't you? How long have you been doing this, Gregory?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I guess ..." I tried to think for a moment ... well, I had a lot on my mind! "I guess a couple of years."

"Oh, really?" She grinned. "I remember your dad saying how your mom used to dress you and your brother up like grade school drag queens when you were little. If he bitched once he bitched a thousand times how she was turning you two into a couple of sissies. I wish I'd been there to see that. I bet you were a little cutie back then." I felt a shiver down my spine as she brushed my hair and played with it. "Then again, you're quite the little cutie now."

I didn't say anything. What could I say to that?

"Here, wipe that off and try this on instead." Blushing brightly, I did as I was told, painting my lips with the "peaches and cream" lipstick she'd bought at the boutique. I was pleasantly surprised at the sweet flavor.

"Hmmm ... that is a little bland looking, isn't it? I wouldn't call it 'yucky,' though." She gave me a knowing look. "Now, here, try on this one. I bet it'll look much better on you."

A few seconds later my mouth was glowing brilliant vermilion. The strong taste of cherries caught me off guard. My erection tingled with electricity, and I pressed my knees together more tightly than ever before ... just in case things got out of control.

Louise smiled. "I'm like your mom, I think. You're a little young, but that deep red is definitely your color. It makes you look a lot older. Keep it, and the peaches and cream and the pink one, too. They're all yours."

"I don't want ...."

She gave me a poke in the ribs with a sharp fingernail, causing me to giggle involuntarily. For some reason that little slip up embarrassed me more than anything else I'd done that day.

"Oh, see?  Of course you want it, and you know it! Now, hush up, you silly and let's try something else."

My stepmother then laid out an assortment of makeup products, ranging from mascara and eye shadow to blush and face creams. A chill swept over my bare skin as I thought about what I should do.

Oh, please, not this ....

"Here, pick out something and try it. Just pretend I'm not here."

"Uh, I don't think I oughta ..."

"I don't care what you think. Do as I tell you ... or maybe I'll just have that talk with your daddy when he gets home." She held up the copy of "Seventeen" she'd found in my suitcase. "I'd love to hear you explain this to Mr. Macho."

By the time I was finished I looked about as feminine as I'd ever looked under my mom's guiding hand. My eyelashes were done up dark, thick and curly, thanks to a lavish application of mascara and an eyelash curler. Rather than that awful blue stuff my mom taught me to wear, a hint of blue pink shadow created a contrasting backdrop for my spidery lashes.  A subtle touch of makeup cream and some rouge gave me a soft, feminine appearance, completely obliterating the terrified fourteen year old boy underneath.  Combined with my sophisticated upswept hairstyle and bright red lipstick, I looked more womanly than I’d ever looked before!

We weren’t done, of course.  Now that I had on “my face” the fashion show continued.  Louise presented me with a vast array of brassieres to try on.  Some were way too large, others were just a little big on me.

“Let’s try something,” my stepmother said under her breath.

I watched with nervous curiosity as she produced a pair of foam pads.  “Here, princess, slip these over your titties.  They’ll help fill out your figure and make everything fit.”

I sighed and did as I was told.  I then looked in the mirror.  The bra I had on now looked just right. 

“Don’t worry about it.  At the rate you’re filling out you won’t be needing those things for long.  You’ll be as big as I am on of these day, I’m sure.”

That didn’t make me feel any better.  While I lamented my physical deformity my stepmom continued looking the hunt for “the perfect bra.”  We finally settled on an elegant white brassiere that looked as expensive as it did sexy.  Louise giggled as I expertly slipped on the stupid thing.  I cursed myself for being so good at such girlish tasks.

“My goodness, Gregory, you look just gorgeous in that thing!” she said with an evil grin.  “It’s hard to believe you’re really a boy with that cute figure you’ve got.  I wonder what daddy would say about his little man now?”

I was so confused.  I couldn’t help but smile as I stared at my reflection.  As many times as I’d worn lipstick and feminine clothing, the fascination never left me.  I did look — in my stepmother’s words — gorgeous.  Almost as pretty as a movie star or a model in my fashion magazines.  I suddenly felt a powerful tingling between my legs as I stared at my reflection. I uncrossed and then recrossed my legs, pressing my thighs together as tightly as I could. I didn't think I was going to survive the next few minutes, I was so flustered and flushed.

"Good-bye little boy, hello sweet young thang!" Louise wasn't grinning anymore. Instead, she seemed thoughtful ... and somewhat distracted. "You’re quite the sex kitten, aren’t you, princess?  This is getting more interesting by the minute. Very, very interesting ...."

 

Chapter 42 — Daddy’s Little Girl



At this point the world was just too much for me.  I had to be alone if just for a minute. I somehow talked Louise into letting me go to the bathroom.  She offered to come help, but I assured her that I would be fine.

“Remember to sit down, princess,” she said snidely.  “You’re a girl and that’s what precious little girls do.”

“I know, I know,” I muttered.  “I know all about ‘sitting down’!”

My stepmother grinned.  “I bet you do, princess.”

While I sat on the toilet I cried quietly for a little while.  It did me a world of good, even though I ruined my makeup.  It didn’t matter.  I just couldn’t help myself.  I had to get it out and I was damned if I was going to let my stepmom see me in tears again.

Upon my return I was directed to have a seat and relax.  In contrast to the shame I felt, Louise was bright and cheerful, chatting away like she was having the best day of her life. I sipped on my diet drink and tried to catch my breath while she got out some mascara and touched up my face where I'd been crying.  Then she got out some powder and made a big show of applying makeup to my neck and shoulders.  She even added a bit of rouge to my bosom, creating the illusion that my breasts were larger and fuller than they actually were.  A final spritz of perfume sent a chill over my naked body.

"You know, princess, I think Chanel is your fragrance," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye. I watched bashfully she licked her lips.  "Mmm ... tasty ...."

Despite my earlier breakdown, it actually felt nice to be pampered for a few minutes.  I wondered if girls actually enjoyed being painted up and treated like some sort of exotic work of art.

Louise obviously did.  I watched with fascination as she quickly made up herself in a fashion similar to my own.  In contrast to my aimless messing around with mascara and stuff, it took her no time at all.  Speed and beauty, all in one dangerous package.  I wondered if I'd ever get that fast.

When my stepmom finished up she gave me a little pat on the bottom and smiled. 

"While I get out some stuff for you to try on I want you to go through my jewelry and pick something out.  Pretend you're a fashion model and we're going to a fancy party ... there's bound to be something in there that you'll like."

I blinked.  "Can't I get dressed first?"

Louise looked me over with a raised eyebrow.  "Oh, don't be such a sissy.  I swear, I've never met anybody with as many hang-ups as you do.  What's the matter?  Aren't you having any fun?"

As she spoke my stepmother folded her arms together under her breasts, framing them perfectly for my benefit.  I couldn't help blushing, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes.  Not knowing what else to do, I squeezed my thighs together and nodded my head.

“I dunno,” I whispered.  "I, uh, guess so."

Setting down my diet coke, I dug around in my stepmom's jewelry box and ended up with a string of pearls and a collection of bracelets.  I added several rings while I was at it, among them one with a huge pearl and another with a diamond cluster.  I held out my hand and studied it.  This wasn't costume jewelry, if I knew my dad.  The stuff decorating my fingers probably cost more than my mom made in a year.

FLASH!!!

A burst of light scared the begeezus out of me.  I looked up just in time to get blinded a second time ... and then a third ... and fourth.

"Louise ... No, don't!  No pictures, ple-e-e-ease ...."

Things just weren't going my way.

After some fretting and pouting, I calmed down enough to look at the snapshots without crying.  Louise took them with her instant camera, so it was only a few minutes before they were ready.  And while I hated to admit it, they were actually pretty funny.  Well, sort of.  The first couple showed me sitting at my stepmom's vanity in all of my girlish glory, looking at my borrowed jewelry with a dumb smile, as though this was the most fun I'd ever had.

“This is my favorite,” my stepmom said with a sneer in her voice.

I blushed as I studied the pictures.  The third photo had me looking straight at the camera, wide-eyed and in shock.  The last one was hilarious ... I was trying to cover myself with my hands and one eye was shut where I'd blinked when the flash went off, giving me a really goofy, silly look. 

"What a cutie!  You look really good like that ... too bad you're not a real girl."

She was right. I was surprised at how much I looked like an actual girl, considering the fact that I was practically nude except for my bra and pantyhose.  They looked like some of the photos in my fashion magazines.  I hate to say it, but I was too intrigued to get really upset. 

"Here, you can have these," Louise said, tossing me two of the photos.  I got one of me looking at my jewelry and the one of me with my eye closed.  "I'm keeping the others.  They are just too precious to let go.  A memento of our girl-time together, okay?"

I looked at the pictures in my trembling hands and wondered what was going to happen next.

A few minutes later I found myself in the most ridiculous situation.  I was seated at the dining room table in little more than my costume jewelry and skimpy lingerie.  I held a silver spoon in one hand and a crystal bowl filled with an expensive dark chocolate ice cream in the other.  Louise sat next to me in her birthday suit, nibbling on a similar treat, and between the two of us was a stack of fashion magazines. 

I couldn't help but shiver; it wasn't so much the ice cream as it was the fact that I was still parading around in my father's house in my stepmom’s underthings.  Louise had picked out a pair of high heels for each of us to wear — mine were silver while hers were black — along with the makeup and jewelry we already had on, of course. 

Talk about feeling stupid!  With nothing but the pantyhose and feminine napkin to hide my boyish parts, I felt ridiculous.  Everything felt so slinky and electrifying, my pulse ran high and my whole body trembled with excitement.  I couldn’t believe any of this was real.  Still, to look at the two of us sitting there in our various states of dress and girlish accessories, you might have thought "Now, there's two pretty young women having a good time." 

“You go around the house like this all the time?” I finally asked my stepmom.  I was having a difficult time not looking at her magnificent body and the words just kind of slipped out.  “I mean, do all girls do this?”

"Why not?  Don’t tell me, you never go around the house naked?" my stepmom gave me a skeptical stare.  "I thought all boys did stuff like that.  Not even when your mom is gone and you're all by yourself all day long?"

I shook my head no and tried to focus on my dessert.  Louise cast a doubtful right at me. 

"But you do take time to go around in your mom's undies and stuff?"  Squeezing my thighs tightly together I nodded, just barely, and wished I was dead.   "You're a strange kid, Gregory, honey.  Really weird."

Not knowing what to say, I just took another bite of my ice cream, rolled my eyes and grinned an embarrassed grin.

"I swear, honey, you act just like one of those prissy little prima donnas in the fashion magazines," my stepmom teased.  "You really should have been a girl.  You got the looks and the act down just perfect.  Your mama sure did a job on you."

My face burned bright red as I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat.

After click-clacking my way back upstairs in my borrowed high-heels I was finally allowed to put on something substantial.  Kind of.  While I quickly took a seat on the edge of the bed and hid my boyish modesty, Louise pulled out a selection of tops, all various colors and different styles.  The grin on her face foreshadowed what was to come. I ended up trying on most everything she'd laid out for me.  I preferred a simple white sleeveless blouse, the most conservative thing in the pile. 

Louise had other ideas, naturally.  She had me take off my bra and put me in a brilliant yellow elastic tube top, scantily cut and just snug enough to show off my adolescent curves.  I felt disgraced wearing that thing.  It was so tight you could see my nipples through the material.  With my bare bottom barely covered in pantyhose I felt even more naked that before.  Louise was grinning like crazy, of course.

"Wow!  Look at Daddy's little girl now. Oh, my ... if he could only see you, he'd have a heart attack.  Those little boobs look pretty good, honey.  You almost got cleavage.  You don’t even need a silly bra." 

I winced as she flicked my nipples with her fingertip.  “Now that is really impressive!  What do you think, princess?”

"I hate it!” I cried.  “I don't like this at all.  I want to change back now ... please?"

"Oh, be quiet.  We're just having a little fun.  Your daddy won't be home for a long time yet, so just calm down."

My young stepmom looked me over and gave me a knowing grin.  Still clad in little more than some jewelry and high heels, she leisurely presented me with a couple of skirts like she was the hostess of a nude television game show.  I started shaking my head before she could say the first word.

"I ain't doing this," I said with hoarse defiance.  "I'm not dressing up like some sissy fairy and you can't make me."

"Such language, and coming from someone so pretty," Louise said with a girlish giggle.  I couldn’t help but stare as her breasts jiggled with each and every laugh.  "I don't know what you're complaining about, honey.  We're just playing a little game, that's all.  You've come this far, and I just want to see what you'd look like if you went all the way.  Please?  For me?"

"Oh, gosh, no ... Louise ... please?  I really don't wanna ...."

Okay, look ... I ... I tried.  I really did.  I pouted and I fussed and I whined, but it didn't do any good.  I worked up every excuse I could think of not to give in, but I knew I was going to do it; what made things worse was that she knew I was going to do it, too.  I was trapped and I knew it.  Still, I couldn't just give up.  I just had to make a good show ... you know, to at least act like I had some dignity left in me. 

Louise seemed really impressed with the skirts I tried on.  My favorite was a short, kicky little pleated thing that went about mid-thigh, made of a white synthetic material that draped seductively around my legs.  Combined with the bright canary yellow tube top I was wearing, it made me look completely different from the boy who spent the previous couple of days camping and fishing with his dad; the creature staring back at me looked more at home in a teen fashion show or a cheerleading squad.  I thought about Kathy and what she'd think if she saw me like this and I had to force myself not to smile.

I didn't dare say anything to Louise about how I felt, of course; she'd never let it go, not after all the complaining I'd done.  As it turned out, there were worse things for me to worry about. 

"Good lord, honey ... you look fantastic!  I can't believe how good you look ... it's like you're a whole different child."  My stepmom held my hands high above my head and made me twirl around.  "You've actually got a better figure than most girls your age.  That skirt you wore earlier today made your bottom look big, but this really, REALLY, shows off your curves."

"Uh, thanks, I guess."  Great.  I was already feeling self-conscious enough.  Hearing her talk about my butt didn't make me feel much better. 

"Here, let me straighten your top out for you." 

Louise tugged my tube top down, exposing my bare breasts for an instant, and then pulled it back up, jerking and pulling it until it my teeth rattled.  "There, honey ... you were a little lopsided, but now you're looking good.  Hey, let’s try something different!”

My stepmom dug through a drawer and pulled out another tube top, this one an electric blue with lace trim across the top.  I felt my mouth go dry when she held it up against her naked boobs.  "Here.  Try this on.  It's a little snug on me ... but I bet it'll fit you just great."

I started to pull the top I already had on over my head, but Louise stopped me. 

“Drop that skirt on the floor first.  I want to show you something neat.”

I did as I was told.  With the skirt pooled about my ankles I was once again practically naked from the waist down.  Imagine my confusion as my stepmom then tugged the elastic top I wore down about my waist and over my hips. 

"Here, I bet you didn't know you could wear a tube top like a skirt, did you?"

I didn't.  Like a mannequin I stood there, frozen partly out of shock, partly out of amazement as Louise pulled the bright yellow band down about my bottom where, after a bit of adjustment, it indeed looked like I was wearing a girl's mini-skirt ... a very short and very, very tight mini-skirt.  I squirmed as I did my best to cover near nudity.

“Oh, gosh,” I whispered as my stepmom slid the blue top over my arms and head.  This one was even tighter than the first.  I didn’t dare move for fear of popping out of my clothes.  “You don’t … girls don’t … really go out wearing stuff like this, do they?”

Louise laughed.  “Of course they do.  Don’t you ever pay attention?  I guarantee you’ve seen girls in skirts like this.  You just didn’t recognize what they were wearing.”

I stared at myself for a moment.  How could that be possible?  I mean, how could they keep from showing their private parts?  Maybe it was because I was a boy and I had more to hide, maybe that was the problem.  Maybe the skimpy little outfit I wore wouldn’t have been so bad if a real girl had been trying it on.  Who would have thought that a simple little piece of elastic material could be so versatile? 

"Oh, don't worry about it, princess," my stepmom chided me.  "That skirt is supposed to be short. It really shows off that fat little butt you've got.  The girls will be jealous and the boys won’t be able to keep their eyes off you."

"I don’t want boys looking at me," I lamented.  “Especially my butt!”

Louise laughed.  “Well, too bad, sweetie.  That butt is going to attract a lot of male attention.  Especially with those ‘fuck me’ heels you got on!”

She was right, of course.  I couldn’t look away from the mirror.  Wrapped in the bright yellow spandex, my behind looked humongous!  I didn't remember it looking so large, but since I'd dropped out of baseball I guess I'd put on a few pounds.  That made me feel even worse. 

"It's way too tight ...  it feels like it's going to slide off any minute."

Louise grinned. 

"It will, if you're not careful.  When you're wearing a short skirt you just can't go running around like you're playing cowboys and Indians.  That's part of the price for looking good."

"But I don't look good.  I look ridiculous." I took a deep breath. "Guys don't look like this.  I look like a fag."

Louise burst out laughing.  "Honey, you need to stop being such a prissy pants!  You don’t realize how lucky you are to look the way you do.  Just lay back and enjoy yourself. "

How the heck do I get in these predicaments? I remember thinking to myself.   I know I gotta look like an idiot!  Oh, well ....

The fashion show continued as I was told to take off that stupid looking outfit and put my brassiere back on.  Standing there in nothing more than my silver high heels, pantyhose and bra, I felt like a total idiot.  Louise dug through her closet, gave a little giggle and emerged looking quite pleased with herself.  She held out what appeared to me a piece of sheer pink silk, not much larger than a dishrag. 

"Here you go.  I bet you'll love this.  It's a skimpy little thing, but plenty of girls your age wear dresses like this.  I used to wear it myself … a LONG time ago.  Try it on.  If it fits, you can have it."

Girls my age.  I blushed like crazy to hear it put that way. 

I took the alleged dress by the alleged shoulder straps and held it up.  I couldn't believe it ... you could almost see right through it!  Well, not completely.  Still, if you put your hand inside and hold it against the light you make out all five fingers through the delicate material. 

Slipping my arms into the delicate material was like wrapping myself in a spider web, it was so flimsy and fragile.  There were no buttons, only a black silk bow that tied in the front, which was just low enough to show off the lacy brassiere beneath. Not that you wouldn't have seen it anyway; like I said before, the material was so sheer I just have well gone without anything, what little good it did.

"Perfect!" my stepmom said proudly.  “Pink is definitely your color, princess.  We don’t even have to look for another pair of shoes, either!”

Standing in front of the mirror I could hardly believe what I was seeing.  I ... I actually ... looked good!  I mean, from my sophisticated up-do hairstyle to my brazen made up face to my bra showing through that short, fairy-like dress to the elegant silver high heels on my feet, I could have easily been mistaken for a high school junior girl, or even a senior!  Maybe, I mused, even a college student.

“Is that me?”  I looked from the mirror to my stepmom.  The expression on her face was a happy one.

“Oh, yeah, it’s you all right, princess.  Pretty amazing, huh?  I think you’re stunning.  What do you think?”

“I’m … I’m really pretty, aren’t I?”

Louise laughed.  “You are a vain little diva, aren’t you?  Yes, princess, you are pretty.  Prettier than any little boy has the right to be.”

My stepmom’s words snapped me back to reality for just a moment.  I had to remind myself that I wasn’t exactly proud of myself.  Remembering I was still in my father's house, I felt half-dressed standing there tugging as the hem of that silly dress kept riding up my hips, my breasts practically exposed, and those darned pantyhose driving me crazy.

I stood before mirror reluctantly admiring my appearance while my stepmom slipped into a little black dress, hose and heels.  I had to smile as she stepped up behind me and primped her hair and lipstick.  She was almost as interesting to look at as the pink vision of teenaged femininity opposite me.  Together we made quite a pair. 

The smile on her face, however, triggered a panicked sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Can I change back now?  Dad will be coming home soon ...."

Louise grinned as she looked at her watch.  "You let me worry about that.  Oh, look ... we’re running late!  We’d better get going!”

That queasiness in my stomach turned sour at the words.

“ Late …?  G-g-going … where …?”

Despite my protests, it wasn't but a minute later that I found myself being pushed out onto the porch and drug to my stepmom's car.  Next thing I knew, we were on the road, headed to a local restaurant.  Louise didn't even have to threaten to tell my father on me when she suggested that we go out to eat.  I guess I knew she was going to get her way anyway, so I didn't even bother arguing.

To my surprise — and horror! — we pulled up at an expensive looking establishment, complete with valet parking. The young men who greeted us were all grins as we climbed out of the car.  I was so scared I couldn’t look any of them in the eye.  Louise, of course, was elegant and flirtatious as she handed over the keys and tipped the valet.  I felt completely idiotic and vulnerable in my girlish disguise as I watched our car – and any hope of escape – drive off to destinations unknown.

The restaurant’s entrance was lined with mirrors, which I found unnerving.  Everywhere I looked I could see the tall blond in the slinky black dress and her delicate escort clad in pink.  I was so taken by my refection I had to stop and stare.  The upswept hairdo, the pearls, the baby doll dress and heels … it was hard to believe that was actually a fourteen year old boy looking back at me; I actually gave myself a little wave, just to be sure.  My silliness was not lost on my stepmother.

“Isn’t this fun?” Louise said, a bright smile on her Barbie doll face.  “Don’t bother denying it, princess.  You just love this.  Your face is giving you away.”

I shyly shrugged, then nodded.  My fear level was at an all time high as I noticed how many people we were about to parade in front of.  I dove into the role of the shy girl, clinging to my stepmother as we followed the hostess into the dining area.  This was almost as bad as Sadie Hawkin’s Day in high school.  Everywhere I looked upturned faces looked back at me, grinning men, smiling women both gave us their undivided attention.  I just knew for sure my secret identity was no longer a secret.  Why else would everyone be staring at me like that?

We were offered a booth, but Louise insisted on a table with a window view of the city, which made me all that much more nervous.  While prancing around in that stupid dress was bad enough, sitting down was especially difficult.  The light, airy hem floated about my thighs and kept drifting upward, forcing me to tug at it again and again.  I had to constantly keep my legs pressed tightly together or else a moment of neglect would have resulted in the fairy-like garment riding up around my waist.  And with nothing but a pair of pantyhose and a sanitary pad on underneath, I certainly didn't want that to happen!

We’d barely had time to set down our purses when the waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne and some glasses. 

“I was asked to present on behalf of a pair of admirers,” he said with a bright smile. 

Louise returned the smile and nodded.  “Thank you very much.  Say ‘thank you,’ princess.  That’s the polite thing to do when you’re out with adults.”

My cheeks burned and I muttered, “Thank you, sir.” 

“You’re certainly welcome, miss.”  I glanced up just long enough to see the waiter simultaneously filling our glasses and nodding toward our benefactors.  “Over there are the gentlemen, in case you’re interested.”

I felt someone kick me in the ankle. 

“Smile and wave to the nice men, princess,” Louise directed.  “Remember you’re a lady now.”

Following my stepmother’s example, I turned in my seat and did as I was told.  I was stunned to find myself waving and smiling at a pair of middle-aged men wearing suits.

"See?  Isn't this fun?" my stepmom asked, sipping on her drink. 

Our benefactors raised their glasses and nodded.  Not knowing what else to do, I mimicked their movements.  I then took a drink of the bubbly.  It didn’t taste anything like I expected.  I wrinkled my nose and wondered why anybody would drink such stuff.

“Don’t be a prude, dear,” Louise prompted.  “Somebody paid good money for this stuff.  Drink up.”

I took another sip and whispered nervously, “Who are they?  Do … do you know them?”

My stepmom smiled, took another drink, then shrugged.  “Does it matter?”

“Hello, ladies!  Mind if we join you?”

I nearly jumped out of my pantyhose as our admirers suddenly appeared alongside our table.  Craning my neck upward, I felt helpless as I saw how tall and powerful they looked up close.  These were not just some local high school boys acting like dorks.  They appeared to be businessmen out for the evening looking for a good time.

Louise said something and the next thing I knew they were taking their seats, putting their glasses – which were small and held ice surrounded by an amber liquid – and making themselves at home.  Their eyes went back and forth between the two of us, as though they were a pair of wolves sizing up their prey.  The strong smell of aftershave, alcohol and cigarettes hit my nose.  I felt my heart jumping in my chest as I fiddled with the silverware and tried to think of something to do.

Louise knew what to do, of course.  She raised her glass to our guests, motioning for me to do the same.  The two men grinned at each other and followed suit.

“Thanks so much for the bubbly,” she said with a musical laugh.  “That was very sweet of you.  You guys didn’t have to do that, you know.”

I noticed the men glance at each other and exchange nods.  I then watched as one, he had a thick full head of wavy hair, a lot like my father – zeroed in on Louise.  The other man – he was balding and had a gray mustache just above a lecherous smile – locked in on me.

“Of course we did,” the first man said smoothly.  “We had to in order to meet you.  Cheers!”

We all took a drink.  I was so scared I got some of the champagne up my nose and I started choking.  I felt so foolish as I tried to regain some semblance of control.

“Are you okay, honey?” I felt a warm hand caress my shoulder and then pat me on the back.  “Do you need any help?”

The balding man with the moustache rubbed his hand up and down my bare back as I coughed and choked for another moment or so.  I somehow got through that with minimum damage and I whispered something like, “No, that’s all right.  I’m fine.”

The errant hand rubbed up and down my back a few more times.  It didn’t feel bad but it did scare me a little.  I squirmed in my seat as the huge paw slipped down the back of my dress and cupped my bottom, giving it a firm squeeze just for an instant before pulling away.

 “Wow, you had me worried for a moment,” my new friend said with practiced concern.  “I thought for a moment there I was going to have to do mouth to mouth on you.”

I didn’t think that was funny, but our two guests did.  So did Louise, apparently, because she laughed the loudest.  She then took another sip and motioned for me to do the same.  I glanced up at my “savior” and thought about what it would be like if he had put his lips on mine.  I’d never kissed anyone with a moustache before.  The mere thought was as frightening as it was intriguing.

“What say we leave this place and you girls go back to our hotel with us?” the first man said.  “We can order all the champagne you want and if you’re hungry we can get room service, too.  We can make a party of it, just the four of us.”

“Yeah, a party,” muttered the balding man.  I glanced up to see him staring at my breasts.  “Just the four of us.”

“What do you say, princess?” Louise said.  She winked as she sipped her champagne.  “Does that sound like fun to you?” 

“Yeah, what do you say, princess?” my “date” echoed.  He leaned forward, his warm breath tickling my eyelashes.  “That dress looks gorgeous on you,” he growled lustily.  “It’ll look even better on the floor of my hotel room.”

Louise cracked up and the other laughed as well.  I was at a complete loss for words.  I mean, really, I was so scared, I was about to pee myself.  It was one thing to dress up and fool people into thinking I was a girl, but to be faced with something like this?  Was Louise serious?  She didn’t really expect me to … I mean, she wasn’t going to let them … I mean … well, at the time I was scared I didn’t even know what question to ask much less come up with any answers.

“Louise …?” I whined softly.

My stepmom smiled.  “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?”

The Mustache Man shrugged.  “I do like them young,” he conceded.  “But then again, darlin’, I am young at heart, believe me!”

My escort leaned forward again, this time his lips brushing my fourteen year old ear.  “Come on, don’t be scared, honey” he whispered.  “I’ve got a big dick.  Bigger than anything you’ve ever seen.  A little girl like you will love it.  I promise.” 

I looked desperately toward my stepmother for help, but she was busy with her own problems.  The man with the thick head of hair was whispering in her ear – something just as nasty as what I was having to endure, no doubt.  To my horror Louise didn’t seem offended at all.  She just laughed merrily, took another sip and laid her hand on her friend’s shoulder with seemingly genuine affection.

That’s when I felt a hand on my knee.  It lingered for an instant and then began moving up between my thighs.  I suddenly clamped my legs together, just in time, as my “date” was a quick worker.   I almost died as I thought about what might have happened had he touched me between my legs.  Later that night I would wonder what his reaction might have been had he discovered my little secret.  At that moment, however, I was too busy fending for my honor. 

Not to be outmaneuvered, the balding mustache man slid his hand down under my nylon-covered butt and gave it a hard pinch.

“Ow!” I cried.  “That hurt my bottom!”

My “date” grinned and whispered, “Just wait ‘til we get back to our room, princess.  I’ll wear that little ass of yours out with my big dick.”

This went on for a few more minutes, Louise sipping her champagne, our guests whispering dirty thoughts in our ears and me fending off the human octopus.  In order to keep my cool, I kept my eyes focused on my stepmom, which was easy to do.  She looked more like a super model than a stepmom, clad in a simple “little black dress,” silver high heels and a matching purse. 

I glanced at my reflection in the window and was reminded of just how feminine I looked in lipstick and pearls.  No wonder we were getting all this attention.  We looked just like a pair of women trolling for men.  I was torn between terror and pleasure as my stepmom reached over and dabbed at my mouth with her napkin.  I blushed to see a red stain on the white linen as she pulled it away.

“Fix your lipstick, princess.  You look a mess.”

With trembling hands I did as I was told.  Our two companions watched me as if I was performing a complicated magic trick.  I was so frustrated to be in this silly situation.  I mean, how did I let Louise talk me into this, anyway?  You’d think by now, being fourteen years old and all that, I’d find some way to stand up for myself.  It wasn’t like I couldn’t just get up and walk out of that restaurant, right? 

I am so screwed, I thought as I fumbled with my lipstick.

Feeling particularly self-conscious, I looked around as I painted my mouth with the bright vermillion lipstick.  My paranoia was justified.  In addition to our two dates, several other men and a couple of women were looking right at me.  A glance in my makeup mirror showed even more eyes behind me, some glaring, some staring.  I sighed and decided that I’d best just sit and keep quiet.

For all my fears and anxiety, I had to admire my stepmother and the way she handled herself.  Here I was, on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the company of these two intimidating adult men and she deflected them with ease.  They kept smiling and pressing us to leave with them, but with each exchange they had less confidence than before.  Their expressions reminded me of a couple of mischievous boys who got caught with their hands in the cookie jar and had just gotten a scolding from their mother.

“How does she do that?” I mused as I tugged down at my hem in a vain attempt to preserve my maiden modesty.

My panic reached its peak when my balding paramour took me by the wrist and started to stand up.

“Come on, Roberts, let’s get these two back to the room.  This little tease has me so hot I’m about to bust a nut.”

I looked at my stepmother, horrified and desperate.  She just smiled.  She then emptied her glass, burped an elegant, ladylike burp and patted her “boyfriend” on his five o’clock shadow.

“Guys, this has been fun, but my stepdaughter and I already have a date.  It’s time for you to leave.  Some other time, maybe.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious!” The hair man protested with a laugh.  He whispered something in my stepmom’s ear.  She giggled and nodded, then shook her head.

“No, really.  It sounds fun, darling, but what would your wife say?”

Hair Man sighed and shrugged.  “Does it really matter?”

“I don’t date married men,” Louise said brightly.  “Except for my husband, I mean.”

Valiant in defeat, the smiling man nodded.  He cupped my stepmom’s hand in his and kissed it. 

“It would have been fun,” he said with a glimmer of hope.  The look in Louise’s eyes sealed his fate, however.

Unfortunately for me, I still had my own problems.  The balding man looked at me and made a kissy face with his mustached lips.  “You’re not married, are you, princess?  Of course you’re not.  So why don’t you come with us?  My friend won’t mind.  He does like to watch, though.  I’ll make your day, I promise.”

“Louise,” I croaked.

My stepmom refilled her glass.  “It’s up to you, princess.  Do you want to go with the nice man?  Like I said, it’s up to you.”

I stared at my stepmom.  Was she serious???  I didn’t even want to think about it.  I shook my head and bit my lip. 

“No,” I whimpered. “I want to stay here with you.”

The balding man was not as gracious as his partner.  “Fucking little cunt tease,” he muttered.  I shivered as he put his mouth against my ear one last time.  “Good thing you didn’t come.  I would have fucked your ass then made you suck my dick clean off.”  He pulled away and winked.  “How’s that sound?  Still not coming?  Oh, well, maybe next time, princess.”

I was about to sigh a sigh of relief but was surprised when he kissed me full on the mouth.  I about choked as his fat, long tongue passed through my lips and nearly strangled me.  With one hand at the back of my neck and the other burrowed in between my thighs, he laid on a long, nasty kiss that would imprint in my brain for years to come.  The taste of whisky and the bristling, hard hairs of his mustache made it all that much more ugly.  It might have been pleasant under other circumstances, coming from someone else.  As it was I just prayed for it to be over. 

“Well, that certainly was fun,” Louise said as the forlorn pair departed.  “Don’t you just love being a girl?”

I was so shaken by what just happened I could only nod and fight back tears of relief.  I was so grateful to be out of that situation, and so proud of my stepmother for the way she handled those two bullies, I couldn’t help but smile.  I finished off my glass of champagne and watched as my stepmom refilled it.  I gulped that down, too, and sat quietly trying to maintain my composure.

Louise laughed.  “Calm down, princess.  You act like you’re not enjoying yourself.  Have another glass of bubbly and take a deep breath.  And smile.  Don’t forget to smile.”

I nodded and took a drink of my champagne.  I shook my head to see the red lip print on the glass.

“I hate when that happens,” I said weakly.

My stepmother giggled like a teenager.  “You’re so adorable, I could just eat you up.  I think your boyfriend want to do the same.”

I looked at her in disgust.  “Louise!”

She giggled again.  “I wonder what he would have thought when he got that dress off of you?  You never know, princess.  He might have liked what he found.”

“He sure liked my butt,” I muttered ruefully.

Between the champagne and adrenaline, I had to giggle as well.  In retrospect I wonder if it was more from relief and fear than humor.

After we settled down a bit Louise held up her glass and waited as I did the same.  It felt oddly grown up to be clinking glasses and sipping an alcoholic beverage. 

“We’re going to have to do this more often, princess,” she said with a smile.  “You’re more fun than any of my ‘real’ girlfriends.  You get a lot more attention, that’s for sure.”

I replied with a bashful smile and took another sip.  There was no escaping my situation, so I decided to go along with it for now.  My stepmother obviously held me at her mercy and was enjoying herself immensely.  I thought about my mom and took another drink.  Whatever their differences, Louise and my mom both had a pretty mean streak in them; I was just glad neither my dad nor any of my buddies were around to see me. 

We sat for quite a while, my stepmother chatting and carrying on as though I was just another girlfriend.  She told me the funniest stories about everything from her childhood to going on a double date with her cross-dressing friend from college.  I was as charmed by the way she treated me as I was fascinated to hear her talk.  I actually felt like an adult in the company of another adult.  It was a liberating experience, despite my girlish disguise and concern for secrecy.

Eventually Louise ordered us another bottle of champagne and I was actually beginning to enjoy myself.  My acceptance of the situation allowed me to relax — with no little help from my first taste of alcohol, no doubt — and before long I was giggling and laughing and having a wonderful time.

“So, come on, princess, tell me something about you,” my stepmother encouraged.  She dropped her voice to a whisper.  “Tell me about your little hobby.  Today isn’t the first time you’ve gone out in public looking like a girl, is it?”

My body language gave me away and for some reason I found myself telling her things that I would have never thought I’d ever reveal to anyone … except own my mother, of course.  I meant to limit my stories to how my mom made me dress up when I was little.  Louise was so sympathetic and so interested in hearing me talk — and the champagne was so good — I eventually let slip about Sadie Hawkins day.  One thing led to another and I pretty much spilled the beans about other events, too, including how Danny and I sometimes played dress up together.  Hearing that I had a cross-dressing friend really made her smile.

“Oh, good for you, princess!  You’ve got a little friend to share your secret with! Isn’t that sweet?”

I nodded.  Something suddenly occurred to me.  “You can’t tell my dad, though,” I whispered.  “You can’t tell him any of this, Louise!  Please, promise me that you won’t!  He’ll kill me if he ever finds out.  You won’t tell on me, will you?  Please, say you won’t!”

My stepmother glanced at her watch and giggled.  “No, princess, I won’t say a word.  I promise.  Your father will never find out your little secret from me.  I promise.  Cross my heart,” she giggled again, “and hope to die!”

After all that champagne I had to visit the little girl’s room.  Louise accompanied me, chattering away as if I was her best girlfriend.  I got more than a little teasing when she saw how adept I was in the bathroom.  When I emerged from the stall tugging and adjusting my pantyhose and dress, she rolled her eyes and laughed.

“You are such a girl!  It is hard to believe that beneath all that silk and jewelry and lipstick there’s a nasty little boy.  I swear, Gregory Parker, if you were mine I wouldn’t ever let you wear boy’s clothes again!  Never!”

After primping and touching up our makeup, the two of us headed back toward our table.  Louise keep looking at her watch and scanned the restaurant as though she was looking for someone.  Through the mist of excitement and my first champagne I felt a familiar warning voice in my head.

“What are you looking for?” I asked warily.  “You see someone you know?”

My stepmother shook her head, paused, then nodded.  “As a matter of fact, I most certainly do.  He just walked in the front door.”

I glanced around the room, not knowing exactly what to expect.  I had lost a lot of my fear after our encounter with Hair Man and the Mustachioed Molester.  After all, I didn’t know anybody in this town, so what did I really have to worry about? 

Well, my father for one thing.  And there he was, not more than twenty feet away, scanning the crowd, looking – no doubt – for us.

I cannot describe to you the feelings that hit me at that moment.  I wish I could because they were so powerful, so overwhelming, that this story is not complete without a full and detailed inventory of just exactly how I felt at that moment.  But the truth of the matter is that I cannot remember.  All I do remember is my father’s image at the entrance to the dining room and someone, the hostess most likely, pointing us out to him.  I also remember him walking toward us, a huge smile on his face, his eyes wide with delight as they locked in first on my stepmom and then me. 

This is where things really got jumbled.  I remember us standing alongside our table as my dad walked toward us.  He looked so happy, I couldn’t get over it.  He smiled at Louise, then at me as if we were his long lost best friends.  At first I couldn’t figure out why he was being so nice, especially to me.  I was confused because I thought – um, no, I just KNEW! – he’d be pissed off to see me dressed in girl’s clothes.  So I smiled back at him and waved – a little too enthusiastically, I later discovered.  As he got closer it occurred to me that he might not recognize me in my girlish costume.  And so my smile faded and I stopped with my little wave.

It wasn’t until he was right on top of us that things hit the fan.  Dad gave Louise a little kiss on the cheek and whispered something in her ear.  She giggled like a high schooler, caressing his broad chest playfully and let her hand linger affectionately on his waist.

I just stood there, silent and mortified, as my father then looked me up and down with appreciation and pleasure in his eyes.

“And who is this gorgeous young thing?” he crooned smoothly.  “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure ….”

He held out his hand.  I stared at it, then glanced at Louise.  She was all grins, but nothing else.  No words came out of her mouth, no advice, no witty quips to save me from another angry, resentful adult man.  I was on my own, apparently.  I tried to clear my throat as I help out my hand and let my dad take it in his huge meaty paw.

“And you are?” he said after a moment of silence.

I could feel tears of shame welling up in my eyes.  The next thing I knew my eyes were burning.

“Louise?” I whimpered.

“Hey, I promised he wouldn’t find out from me, remember?”  My stepmother giggled. “Go ahead, princess.  Tell your daddy who you are.”

What happened next was a blur.  I felt the dizziness coming on again but I remember the smile on my father’s face disappear, replaced with a look of incredulity and then a scowl.  An ugly, despicable, hateful scowl.

“Daddy?” I whispered as my knees gave way.

The next thing I knew I was sitting at the table, my father across from me.  All he could do was stare at me, as if he could not believe what he was seeing.  No words were exchanged, no blows were delivered.  Just one long, caustic staring session with me at the prime target.

This was the longest moment of my life.  And the worst.  I know you've probably heard me say that before, but considering the severity of what was happening, this was as bad as it gets. 

The long we sat there the more uncomfortable things became.  The expression on my father's face turned twisted and ugly, transmogrifying from a curious grin to pure horror to complete disgust and anger. 

"I should have known.  I turn my back for a few minutes and look what happens.  Instead of a shortstop I get a pansy for a son."

I was certain he would hit me, but he didn’t instead he snatched the hairpiece from atop my head.

“Holy fucking shit!  How could you wear this?  What the fuck were you thinking, son?  Do you actually want to suck cocks and let men fuck you in the ass?”

I sobbed to hear my father talk to me like this.  Meanwhile, my darling stepmother, Louise, laughed her ass off. 

"Did you have anything to do with this?  You bitch.  You fucking whore.  You knew about this ... and you didn't do anything to stop it?"

“There was nothing to stop, darling husband.”  Louise looked at me and winked.  “He is what he is.  All I did was let him be what he already was.”

My dad frowned.  “What the fuck does that mean?  Goddam it, woman, you never make any sense when you’re drunk.”

My stepmom giggled.  “I’m not drunk.  Well, maybe a little bit.  I’m just telling it like it is, darling.  Your precious little boy is a panty wearing tease who likes lipstick and flirting with men that look just like his big strong daddy.  That’s what I know for sure!”

That's when he slapped her. 

"Dad, no ... please ... don't ...!"

"What were you thinking, goddammit?  You stupid bitch ... you could have stopped him!"  SLAP!!!  He hit her so hard it made my head hurt.  "That's my son, goddammit, not one of those little faggots you hang around with!"

"Daddy ... no-o-o-o ...!"

By this time we’d attracted too much of the wrong kind of attention and we left the restaurant.  Out in the parking lot my dad drug me to his car, cursing and fuming all the way.  Louise followed behind, chattering and laughing about how cute I was and what a great girlfriend I was.  I wanted her to shut up so badly, but I was too terrified to say a word. 

"I can’t believe you!!!  You are my son!  My SON!!!! Not some goddammed faggot queerbait little cocksucker!!!  What the hell are you thinking, dressing up like a goddamned whore!  What has your mother done to you?  Do you at least have your balls?  Or did she cut them off, too?”

“Daddy, please …!!!”

My father stared at me, his eyes red with tears and his teeth bared in some sort of frightful grimace.  I winced as he raised up his hand.  I flinched as he pulled at my dress, yanking down my top and exposing my borrowed brassiere. 

“What the fuck?  Greg, son, what the fuck are you doing wearing all this … this … stuff???  Jesus Christ, you’re even wearing women’s underthings.  How can you be doing this?”

“Please, Daddy, don’t be angry,” I sobbed.  “You … you weren’t supposed to know.  You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Well, that’s pretty fuckin’ obvious,” my father said, spitting the words as though they had a bad taste.  “You’re nothing but a goddamned faggot, you know that?  My son is dead to me.  Goddammit!  Goddamn you both to hell!”

And with that he drug me into his car and took me back to the house.

Chapter 43 — Giving Up and Giving In



The next morning we packed the car and got ready for the long drive to take me home to my mom.  Louise was nowhere to be found.  I later discovered that she’d spent the night with one of her girlfriends.  That left me and my dad to face each other and work things out.  Which, of course, we did not.

The night before seemed like a bad dream.  Neither of us said a word about the scene at the restaurant or anything that happened or was said.  The only reminder was the sore jaw I had from my father slapping me.  I’d scrubbed and soaked and scrubbed some more to make sure that all of lipstick and perfume and nail polish was gone from my body. 

Before taking me back home my dad insisted we make one final stop: the barber shop!  All week long he'd complained about my long "hippy" hair and how it looked "prettier than a high school cheerleader's." The incident the night before apparently pushed him over the edge.

Wanting desperately to get back into my father's good graces, I told him how much I hated my long hair.  I said something about it being my mom's idea and how she was always making a big deal about taking care of it and stuff.  I didn't dare tell him the whole truth, but I made it pretty clear that I wasn't at all happy about how I was being treated by my mom. True to form, he insisted on treating me to a haircut. Drunk with power, I agreed.

After my haircut things were going so good between my father and I, it was as though the night before had never happened.  Well, sort of.  Behind the boisterous laughter and tough talk I could see the doubt in his eyes.  He still had serious questions about what was happening with me, why I’d dressed up the way I did.  A blind man could see that he had a million things to say to me, but he was too ashamed to bring up any of it. 

My stomach hurt as I thought about my father.  I wanted so badly to shout out, "That wasn't me!!!  I ain't like that at all!!!"  But I didn't say a word.  I didn't think he'd believe me; I don't think I would have either, not after what happened the night before.  I guess I just thought it best to leave well enough alone.

I found myself getting ill at the thought of having to go back home. The idea of giving up baseball for housework and chili dogs for lipstick literally made me sick; I had to fight back the tears when I realized that in just a few hours I'd be standing in front of an ironing board; I much rather preferred standing in line to buy an autographed picture of my favorite batter.

During the drive home the next day my mouth was dry as ashes and my heart was going pitter-patter. I ran my fingers through my shorn locks and bit my lip.

"Maybe I've gone too far," I thought. "Mom is going to kill me when she sees me. I wonder if Dad can talk his wife into letting me move in with them ....?"

As we crossed the county line I took a deep breath and I asked Dad if I could come live with him. His eyes turned from bright to dim in the time it took to ask the question, and I knew the answer before he even opened up his mouth.

“We’ll think about it,” was his answer.  “I’ll let you know.”

The air was somber as we pulled into the driveway.

"Oooo, how manly you look with your new haircut," Mom said when she saw me coming into the house. The air just oozed with sarcasm, but Dad didn't seem to notice. "Honestly, Gregory, this makes you look so masculine. I'm surprised you haven't done this earlier. I think it makes a big difference in how you look. I bet Kathy is going to love it!"

Dad glanced at me, his eyes bright with pride.. "Kathy? You have a girlfriend, li'l buddy? Why didn't you say something?"

I looked at Mom. She raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"I, uh ... I guess I just forgot."

The truth was, I was afraid he'd find out that I'd worn a dress on the only date I ever had in my life. That might be a little tough to explain, I figured.

Mom was quick to rub my nose in the mess I was making for myself.

"Oh, you should have seen them when they went to the Sadie Hawkins' dance. They made the cutest couple! You would have been so proud. I've got pictures somewhere ...."

"Please, Mom ... don't ...." I whined pathetically. I braced myself for the inevitable ... but it never came.

“I can’t stay,” Dad said, looking at his watch.  “Sorry, little buddy.  Maybe next time.”

"Oh, well, never mind." My mother smoothed my hair where it was sticking up in the back and winked. "I can see I'm embarrassing our little man. Still, I can't wait to see Kathy's reaction to your new macho haircut. I bet she'll just go wild with she sees you."

None of that was true, of course. Mom was just playing with me. I knew she was upset, and I knew she'd get even with me for cutting my hair. It was just a matter of time.

Anyway, on his way out the door Dad couldn't keep his mouth shut about our "boy's week" together.  He bragged on and on about all we did ... he made it sound as though we had more fun than we really did.  I was just grateful that she didn't know the whole story.  It's hard to say how she might have reacted.

That night Mom didn't say anything else about my haircut. Nor the next morning. I got up and readied myself for school as though nothing happened, and she acted as sweet as syrup, if a bit cold. I could tell my haircut bothered her, not to mention the fact that I'd done something so rebellious; it was as though she was more disappointed than angry. And for that reason I actually felt kind of guilty.

Kathy, however, wasn't nearly as kind as my mother.

When I got on the bus that Monday morning the love of my life just stared at me.  She was appalled to see me shorn of my long brown locks and she didn’t care who knew it.  When I told her about my vacation you'd have thought I'd told her I'd contracted smallpox.

"But, you had such pretty hair," she lamented. "It was prettier than mine. How ... how could he do that to you? How could you let him?"

"Oh, come on, Kathy ... all that hair, it made me look like a fairy," I said in my best "Dad" impression. "I'm not like that. But that's what my mom wants me to be like. My dad, he's a great guy and he says I could pitch for the Reds one of these days."

I thought I was impressing her, but I was just fooling myself. She sniffed the air as though I smelled bad.

"Well, good for you, Mr. Sports Hero! I thought you were different. It turned out that you're no better than any of those other sports crazy jerks. I hope you're happy with yourself."

And with that she turned away from me. For the rest of the day at school she acted as though we were complete strangers.

With no Kathy to compete with, Danny offered to share his lunch with me.  At first he expressed sympathy at seeing my haircut, but when I gave him the same story I’d given Kathy, his demeanor was the same as hers.

“You mean you actually like your hair this way?  You’ve got to be kidding!  It’s so butch.  It … it’s not like you at all!  I … I thought we … How can we …?  I don’t understand.”

I shrugged off his concerns as if they didn’t matter a hill of beans to me.  “Yeah, I like my hair this way.  And why not?  My dad thinks it looks cool.  That’s all that matters.”

Danny’s face went from worried to pouting.  “But, I thought you liked playing dress up with me.  How are you going to do that with your hair all cut off?  You looked so cute with it up in ponytails and stuff.  I loved fixing it up for you.  And I thought you liked me doing it for you.”

I frowned.  “I don’t think I’ll be playing dress up any more, that’s what I think.”

Danny looked like he was going to cry.  “Well, okay.  If you don’t want to dress up any more, that’s cool.  We can still be friends, can’t we?  I mean, if you want to, you can come over and maybe I’ll dress up and we can, you know … mess around?  You be the boy and I’ll be the girl?”

“I don’t think so,” I said in as gruff a voice as I could muster.  For some reason I was feeling bad about saying all this to my cross-dressing friend, but I was determined to stick to my guns.  “I’m going to dating real girls from now on.  That’s what my dad does and that’s what I’m going to be doing.  I don’t have time for any more sissy stuff.”

My stomach fell as I watched Danny’s face turn from soft innocence to angry bitterness.  His eyes welled up with tears and his nose dripped and his mouth trembled erratically.  I was shaken by this reaction and I reached out to do something, I’m not sure exactly what.

“Don’t touch me!  Don’t even look at me!  I thought you were my friend!  I thought you were special, that you were different!  You’re just like all the others!  You’re just another asshole!”

And with that one of my dearest friends got up and left, a trail of gasps and whispers in his wake.  I looked around the cafeteria and mumbled something like, “Gee, what’s his problem?” 

Yeah, I was real smooth.  And a great friend on top of all that.

For once I felt like I was in control.  The truth, however, was quite different.  Little did I know things would do a complete turnaround within a matter of days. 

*   *   *

One afternoon I arrived home to find no one was there. I was relieved until I found a note on the kitchen table telling me to change into the clothes laying out on my bed. A list of chores was included, along with instructions to meet my mother at Mrs. Johnston's house when I was done. A shiver went down my spine as I went to my room.

It was pretty much what I expected. Well, worse, I guess, considering that I thought I'd put a lot of this foolishness behind me. Laying out on my bed was a familiar outfit.  I felt my stomach do a flip-flop as I looked at the bright blue tube top and the elastic yellow skirt.  A sense of déjà vu hit me hard and square in the stomach.  This was the same exact outfit Louise had me try on when I was visiting my father.

“What the fuck?” I said out loud to myself.  “Where did this come from?”

I blinked my eyes and looked again.  Yep, they were still there.  Not only that, but there were plenty of things to go with them, too.  There were some tiny bikini-cut panties, ankle socks and a pair of shiny black Mary Jane heels. The whole outfit just screamed GIRL!!!  My fairy pendant and some bangles lay out neatly next to the folded clothing. I felt my cheeks burning as I realized what was expected of me.

"I'm not doing it!" I yelled out in frustration. The house was empty, which made it easy to scream out like that. "I'm not dressing up like a stupid girl anymore! That's it, that's all ... I'm just not doing it and she can't make me!!!"

I may have been mad and I may have been desperate, but I wasn't completely stupid. Mom wasn't going to be happy with my decision and I knew from painful experience that she was going to give me hell for being so disobedient. I knew I was going to have to appease her, so I quickly got busy ... just in case.

Before leaving the house I did all my chores just as I was told; I cleaned the kitchen, ironed my mom's uniform for the next day and I folded and put away the underwear that hung on the line on the back porch. Then I did my homework. The only thing I didn't do was change my clothes.

As I locked the door behind me I wondered what would happen when Mom found out I wasn't going to cooperate any longer.

The walk to the Johnston's house was long and dreadful. I rehearsed my speech over and over again. I wasn't going to let Mom run all over me anymore. I wasn't going to let her push me around or abuse me or anything. Above all else, I wasn't going to let her turn me into a sissy again! The weekend with my father had gone far in rekindling my boyish spirit and I was not about to take a step backward.  I’d given both Kathy and Danny a taste of the new me and I wasn’t going back!  I was fourteen years old, not five, and it was time I took a stand!

The scene that took placed at the Johnston house wasn't pretty. Mom didn't seem surprised to see that I'd refused to change my clothes; in fact, the smile on her face glowed with amusement as I stammered out my explanation for my appearance.

"Mom, please, don't get mad. I ... I did all my chores. You can check when we get home. I did everything on the list. I'm just not going to wear those stupid clothes anymore." I paused and licked my lips. "Dad told me I had to learn to stand up for myself, so that's what I'm doing. I'm fourteen now, old enough to make my own decisions. So, I'm not wearing lipstick or dresses anymore and you can't make me!"

From my position in the foyer I could see Mrs. Johnston and Rita sitting quietly, sipping their iced tea. I felt bad about creating a scene in their house, but doggone it! My mom was the one who started it, right?

Mom looked down her nose at me, the smile on her face crooked and curled. "Stand up for yourself, is that what your father said? I don't think so. You're barely a boy, much less a man. You don't know anything about what it takes to stand up for anything. And your father is hardly the person to teach you. The only reason he came to see you was that whore of a wife of his kicked him out of bed. He's lucky some poor woman hasn't put him in the poorhouse. Or jail."

"That's not true! He told me ..."

She cut me off with a harsh poke at the base of my throat with a sharp fingernail. "Lies. All lies. Listen, sweetie, your daddy couldn't stand up for himself right now if he had crutches. That ... woman ... has him wrapped around her finger and he couldn't care less about you or your little brother. He's gone crawling back to her as we speak and you won't see him for another six months, if not a year. He doesn't care about me, you, or your brother, or anything about any of us."

I screwed up my face in an attempt to keep from crying. Deep down I suspected what she said was true. She was building up momentum and I knew if I wasn't careful I'd be back where I started. "But, Mom ...."

CRACK!!! Tears flooded my eyes as my mother rapped her knuckles right on that sensitive spot atop my skull. Funny, how she knew exactly where all my vulnerable places were.

"Wake up, little mister! You don't know him anymore than he knows you. But we can fix that if you want. I can let him know just what a big strong man you really are. What about what a little pervert you are? Or a thief? Better yet, I was just showing Mrs. Johnston and Rita your photo album. Maybe you can come and help me pick out some pictures to send to your daddy. Pictures of his pretty daughter, 'Pamela'! Let's let him see how manly you look in your girlie clothes. Then we'll see what he thinks about you."

True to form, I looked over and saw the white satin covered album Mom cherished so much. The name "Pamela" was embroidered across the front, which was decorated with fairies and sparkling flowers. She often referred to it as her "wish book," and kept it in her room as a record of my upbringing; in it were all of the pictures she'd taken of me, from the first time I wore lipstick to my recent excursion on Sadie Hawkins' Day. I'd come close to destroying that source of blackmail on several occasions, but I knew that would only make things worse in the long run. Right then, however, I wished I'd burned it in a big bonfire fueled by every piece of feminine clothing that I'd ever touched.

Another rap on top of my head brought me back to reality. Mom was talking very slowly, as though I was having trouble understanding the words coming out of her mouth.

“Or maybe I don’t have to.  From what I understand your daddy got a look at his precious ‘daughter’ already.”  She shoved a photograph under my nose and spat out the words.  “You honestly didn’t think I wouldn’t find out about this, did you?  I found this in your suitcase along with that slutty little outfit you tried to sneak into my house.  I called your stepmother to find out what had happened and guess what she told me?  Go ahead, take a wild guess!”

I didn’t bother guessing.  I was busted.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”  I sucked in a huge lung full of air and sighed.  “I …  I didn’t mean to keep it from you, honest.  But when she saw the stuff you put in my suitcase, she figured it all out ….”

My mother tapped her foot and stared at me.  “Go on, tell me all about it.”

I went ahead and made a full confession.  I told my mother pretty much everything that had happened during my visit with my dad.  I told her how Louise had found my girlish undies in my suitcase and how she’d teased me into trying on some things for her.  I confessed that we’d gone out shopping and that I’d even dressed up and gone out to dinner as a girl.  I wasn’t completely honest, but there was no way I could tell her everything that happened.  It was just too shameful. 

Fortunately the stuff I did tell was more than enough.  Mom nodded her head as I sobbed through my sad story, prodding me here and there for more details.  She seemed particularly pleased to hear about my father catching me at the restaurant.  She was a little sympathetic to hear his reaction, but not much.

“See?  I told you not to lie to me, didn’t I? That’s what you get when you sneak around behind my back and try to get away with things.  If you’d just done like I’d told you, none of this would have happened.  But, nooooooo, you had to be all sneaky and lie and what did that get you?  It got you smacked around by your brute of a father, that’s what it got you!  Well, welcome to the club, daughter dear.  I got mine and now you got yours.  I hope you’re happy now.”

I was crying through most of this, of course, my eyes burning and my breathing uneven.  I tried to calm down enough to defend myself, but it was hard to do.

“I can’t believe you called Louise,” I managed to say once my breathing was under control.  “I thought you hated her.”

Mom grinned.  “Oh, I don’t hate her.  She’s a bitch and I’ll never forgive her.  But she’s got her burden to bear, too, sweetie.  After all, she’s still married to that bastard and has to put up with him for the rest of her life.  I, on the other hand, have you to worry about.  I can’t fix him, but I can certainly fix you.”

I sniffed and nodded.  “So, did she tell you anything else?” I asked meekly.

My mother gave me a sneering look.  “Silly boy.  When will you ever learn?  Louise didn’t tell me a thing, Miss Priss.  I didn’t call her.  I didn’t have to.  All I had to do was ask my darling little boy and he told me everything I needed to know.”

My mouth went dry and I would have started crying again if I’d been able to do so.  As it was I just sighed and nodded.  I was doing a lot of that lately.

“I knew you were hiding something, sweetheart.  You always are.  When you’re Greg, that is.” Mom reached over and touched me on the cheek.  “Funny, how ‘Pamela’ never gives me any trouble.  Isn’t that interesting?”

I nodded again.  I had nothing to say to that.

"Here's what's going to happen, dearest. First you are going apologize to Mrs. Johnston and Rita for your behavior. After that you're going to excuse yourself and you're going back to the house and put on the clothes I laid out for you."

"But, Mom, please ..."

CRACK!!! The tears rolled down my face as a shot of pain pierced the top of my head.

"Do you want me to slap your face? Right here in front of our friends?"

Of course I didn't. But I didn't want to be humiliated anymore, either. I gritted my teeth and waited for the next blow to fall. Instead, this is what I heard:

"When you're properly dressed I want you back here to help with dinner. And bring a smile when you return. No pouting, no crying, nothing but a pretty smile. Don’t even bother putting on your makeup.  You can do that when you get back here.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, mommy,” I said, sobbing back the tears.

“Oh, stop crying.  You made your bed, now you're going to sleep in it. I am not putting up with any more of this nonsense. I didn’t put up with your father’s nonsense and I am certainly not putting up with any from you!” 

I cleared my throat and tried to look tough. I'm pretty sure it didn't work. "What happens if I don't do it?"

Mom blinked, then smiled. "If you don't get going, I'm going to wear your bottom out right here and now. Rest assured that's going to happen. But before I do, I'm going to call your father, and I'm going to tell him what's going on. I'm going to start out by telling him about you shoplifting, I'm going to tell him about you lying, I'm going to tell him about you being a little pervert. Then I'm going to show him this photo album.  I'm sure he'll be really impressed by everything I tell him. And show him. He'll be so proud, especially after the little show you put on for him last week."

"Mom, no ... please .... don't ...."

SLAP!!!

A single blow across my face was all it took to make me cry like a little baby. I fought to keep from sobbing, but the tears flowed as freely as a garden hose. The room was quiet, except for the sound of ice clinking in glasses of tea. I remember Rita giving me a sympathetic look. Mrs. Johnston just smiled.

"There! Are you happy now? You want some more? There's plenty more where that came from, you know. Your father gave me plenty and I'll be happy to give it all back to you!"

It took me a second to catch my breath. When I did, I managed to sob out a pitiful, "I'll do it." That seemed to be enough to make my mother happy.

With a deep sigh and slumped shoulders I did as I was told; I wiped my tears away as best I could and then I apologized to Mrs. Johnston and Rita for causing such a scene. It had to be obvious to everyone in the room that I was defeated. Mrs. Johnston said she just didn't understand why I was putting up such a fuss.

"You look so cute when you dress up, Gregory,” my mother’s best friend in the world said with matronly warmth.  “I think you'll enjoy yourself once you get back and are one of the girls. I know we enjoy having 'Pamela' visit us."

As I stepped out the door my mother called after me.  “Don’t forget, change your clothes and get back here right away.  And don’t bother with your lipstick.  You can do that after you get here.  Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” I muttered in frustration.

On the way home I tried not to cry, but I just couldn't help it. After all that had happened in the past couple of days, and I was right back where I started. Maybe I ought to just give up, I thought bitterly. Just change my name to "Pamela" and forget all about being a boy! Maybe Mom would be happy then and she'd leave me alone!

I was gone about an hour. The Johnstons lived several blocks away from where we lived and I had to take as many back alleys and side streets as possible to keep from being seen. Then I had to struggle into my clothes and check my appearance and headed back before I got into even more trouble.

I felt so stupid as looked down at myself in that stupid outfit.  It was so skimpy, so embarrassing, I could hardly stand it! 

“Who wears stuff like this?” I lamented as I tugged down on my skirt and up on my tube top.

I looked in the dressing mirror before leaving; with my short hair and ugly frown and no make up, it was obvious that I was just a fourteen year old sissy-boy wearing girl's things.

"There's no way I'm going to pass as a girl," I thought desperately. I tugged at my short haircut and sighed. "Especially with hair like this! I look like some sort of queer or something!" For the first time I wished my dad hadn't even mentioned the term "barber shop."

Normally I did all right wearing a skirt — I should, with all my experience — but this stupid little yellow elastic thing was the most aggravating thing I'd ever worn; as tight as any panty girdle, it was a lower-cut hip hugger design that barely covered my butt and privates. The entire width of my hand could cover the skin exposed below my belly button, and I had to push down my panties to keep the lace from showing above the waistband.

Worse yet, the tight stretch cloth dragged everything up so much I had to tug constantly at the back to keep the crack between my butt cheeks covered up. As I minced along in my high heels, I worried fretfully that my pants were falling down; honestly, if it wasn't for the fact that they were so tight I think they might have. The skimpy electric blue top did nothing to hide my chubby breasts.  I was so ashamed to see my pointy nipples press against the shiny material. 

“She can’t make me wear this in public,” I whispered to myself.  “I can’t do this!”

Despite my fears of wearing such a shameful wardrobe in public, I did as I was told.  You have to understand that I was far more scared of my mother than I was of looking foolish in the eyes of the world.  Don’t ask me why.  That’s just the way it was for me at that time.

The walk back was long and fretful.  I got plenty of stares and curious looks, but thank goodness I didn’t run across anybody who recognized me.  I was terrified of having to explain why I was dressed in something that just wasn’t feminine, but that looked so ugly.  It was almost as bad as being naked in public, that’s how awful I felt wearing that stupid scanty outfit.  

When I got back everyone made a big fuss over how cute I looked in my new clothes. I rolled my eyes and tried to keep a good humor, but I knew I looked like an idiot. Mrs. Johnston said it was just adorable how I was showing off my belly button and Rita declared that I looked pretty enough to make her sorority sisters jealous!

None of that made me feel any better, of course.

"I look like some sort of stupid fairy," I said. I tugged at the bottom of my skirt, pulling the hem down so it wouldn’t slide up over my pantied bottom. "Nobody's going to believe I'm a girl."

My fan club quickly put a stop to that. Mrs. Johnston shook her head and said, "That's just not true, honey. Short hair on girls is really in style right now. You look very sweet. I wouldn't worry about it."

Rita nodded enthusiastically. "With a cute figure like yours, no one will give your short hair a second thought. Just don't cut it any shorter!"

Mom, of course, didn't care if I looked like a boy or a girl. "It's not my problem, it's yours. You're the one who made the decision to cut your hair all off, not me. If you want people to think you're a sissy boy instead of a pretty girl, then that's your problem, sweetie-pie."

The highlight of the evening came just before supper was served. Mom had noticed my fingernails were "naked" and she asked Rita if I could borrow something bright and cheerful to spruce them up. And so I was sitting in the kitchen painting my nails bright red when Kevin, Rita's younger brother, came stomping through the back door.

I didn't pay any attention at first, but when I saw him standing there before me, a wide-eyed look on his face, I squealed and knocked over the bottle of polish. Rita, who just happened to be in the kitchen with me at the time, laughed at my reaction. After helping me clean up my mess she made an elaborate production out of introducing us to each other.

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, well, now I felt like such a wimp as I waved at him with a hand showing bright red fingertips.

In truth, Rita's younger brother was fifteen, almost sixteen, and actually very good looking if you really looked at him. A shock of blond hair framed his face; blue, almost violet eyes shined directed into mine and a pair of full lips formed a wide, fascinated smile. If I hadn't been so ashamed of myself I'd have thought him a pretty neat guy.

Amazingly, Rita introduced me as "Greg," which upset me. I don't know why, of course. Had she introduced me as "Pamela" I would have been equally angry, so the point was irrelevant. What did matter was the way Rita made such a big deal about us meeting.

"Greg's pretty cool, probably the coolest high schooler I know," she told her brother. "Isn't that outfit just wild?"

Kevin nodded, his eyes going over me like an electron microscope. Feeling self conscious, I attempted to cross my arms in front of my bosom, trying to cover up at least some of what he was looking at. The problem was some of my nails were still wet and I just ended standing there looking like a complete idiot.

"Cute. Really, really cute," was all he said.

Rita kept up the momentum by taking us both by the arm and leading us to the living room. "Hey, look who I found in the kitchen!" she announced, and with that she shoved us both into the living room, pushing us together as though we were a couple.

Mrs. Johnston's eyes lit up and my mom had an odd smile on her face. Kevin grinned and stuck his hands in his pockets and said something about getting ready for supper. The teenager then bolted for the stairs, leaving me at the mercy of three very giggly women.

Supper went rather well, considering the absurdity of my situation. I said little while Mom and Mrs. Johnston gossiped incessantly about people at the clinic and whatever. Rita would join in with an occasional, "I know what you mean!" or something equally insipid.

Kevin, on the other hand, was as quiet as I was. Occasionally I would glance in his direction and see that he was looking straight at me. I was mortified to find that I'd been caught looking at him, but from his red face it was apparent he was experiencing similar feelings of awkwardness. All in all, it was an unnerving experience.

When dinner was over Mom tapped me on the shoulder.

"Gregory, honey, if you’re going to dress up in your pretty clothes you really need to put on some makeup. You know you look so much cuter with lipstick and mascara, especially whenever you insist on wearing a skirt."

To hear my mother say this out loud, especially in front of another boy, was almost more than I could bear. I started to excuse myself, but she put her hand on my arm. "No, it's all right. You can do it here and we'll keep you company."

I managed to keep control of my emotions — just barely! — and do as I was told. The main problem was the audience I had. I tried to focus on what I was doing as I opened up my purse and got out my compact and took the top off my lipstick, but it was difficult. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that I was being watched with great curiosity. Kevin's eyes went wide with amazement as I coated my lips with the bright red pigment, and I couldn't help seeing the bright smiles coming from Rita and her mom; I think they were as tickled with Kevin's reaction as they were with me making up my face in front of him.

Before we left for home something odd happened. My mom, Rita and Mrs. Johnston were in the kitchen and I was in the living room waiting patiently to go home. Kevin came into the room, picked up a magazine and flopped on the couch opposite where I was seated. He pretended I wasn't there, but I could see him glancing in my direction. Finally, he looked up and smiled. I looked at him and he looked at me once more, and then he just kind of blushed. I felt so stupid sitting there in my little high heels and that stupid tube top and tiny skirt; I just knew he was going to say something to make me either mad or cry.

"My sister say's you're fourteen?" Fumbling with my shiny nails, I nodded. He thumbed through the magazine and tossed it aside. "Cool. You look older. Like maybe you're sixteen, seventeen at least."

A nervous "Thanks," was all I could muster. That was a strange thing to say, I thought.

"You, um, dress like that all the time?  I heard you wear stuff like that to school, too."

I felt my heart in my throat. I shook my head, ignoring the pounding in my ears. "N-no. Just around the house and stuff.  I did dress up a couple of time for school.  My mom's idea. It's ... it's a long story."

Kevin nodded. "Well, you ... er ... you look pretty good. Like in my mom's fashion magazines. You're as pretty as any girl. You, uh, you could probably be a fashion model if you wanted, you know?"

I blinked. That was something I never thought I'd hear. "Really? Um ... thanks, I guess."

"No problem." The blond youth nodded again, and then he grinned.

"Uh, you coming back over sometime? We got a pool."

"I know, I've been in it." I said softly. I thought about the time I spent at his house in that silly bikini his mom gave me for my birthday. My stomach ached at the memory.

Kevin's eyes went wide. "Really? Hey, uh, maybe next time you can bring your suit. If you wanna go swimming, I mean.  It’s heated, so we can still use it this time of year."

I just nodded. I couldn't imagine why in the world a fifteen year old boy like Kevin Johnston might want to go swimming with some wimp like me, but I nodded anyway. The look on my new friend's face was as mysterious as the questions he asked.

“You really could be a fashion model,” he repeated.

For some reason I giggled.  Yes, I giggled.  I don’t know what came over me.  I think it was because I finally noticed that I was not the only nervous person in the room.  Maybe it was because of the ridiculousness of the situation.  It might have been the adrenaline coursing through my body.  Whatever the reason, I giggled.  Then I giggle some more.

“You’re silly,” I said, my throat raspy and hoarse.  “I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody quite as silly as you.”

Kevin grinned.  “You’re not quite like anybody I’ve ever met, either,” he replied.

There was an uncomfortable silence.  I felt like I was supposed to say or do something.  I fidgeted with my bracelet and gave the tall blond boy a sidelong glance.  His eyes had a dreamy, romantic look and his smile was so cute.  I thought about his mouth for an instant.  I suddenly felt a twitch down between my legs.  My face burned as I realized I was getting aroused. 

“Can I tell you something?  I secret, I mean?”

Kevin nodded, the dreamy look in his eyes making him look so vulnerable.  I felt that twitch again.  I squirmed my hips to accommodate that growing feeling, but it didn’t help matters.

I moved closer to him and whispered in his ear. “You know I’m a boy, right?”

He nodded again.  “I … I know.  You … you’re still pretty cute.”

It was my turn to nod.  I looked around the room to see if we were alone, then I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for just a moment.

And then I kissed him. 

I have to admit, I wanted to kiss his mouth, but I didn’t.  The way I was feeling down between my legs, I might have had a horrible accident if I’d done that.  Instead, I kissed him on the cheek, a long, wet kiss that left a bright red lip print.  When I pulled away he had a surprised but pleased look on his face.  The lipstick on his cheek looked adorable and I felt compelled to add to it.

Kevin apparently had the same idea.  He put his arm around me and started pulling me closer.  I really, really wanted to … well, I don’t know exactly what I wanted to do, but I resisted.  Just a little bit.  I held him off, mere millimeters from pressing his lips against mine.

“Not here, not now,” I whispered, nodding toward the door.  “My … my mother ….”

My new friend sighed, then nodded.  He gave me a hug, pressing my body against his.  I was shocked to feel something poke me in the belly.  Then I giggled.  Apparently I wasn’t the only boy in the room who was aroused.  I wondered for an instant what would have happened had he felt my excitement pressing against his.  As we pulled away the expression on his face made me wonder if he had not.

"Wow," was the last thing he said before our mothers walked into the room.

 

 

I don’t remember much else that happened that day.  I do remember an awkward conversation with my mom and Mrs. Johnston.  I say awkward because Kevin kept his arm around me the entire time.  That silly grin on his face never left and my lip print on his cheek just added to the surreal quality of the conversation.  Mrs. Johnston and my mom both commented on it, but neither of us would respond with anything more than a bashful smile and a lame shrug. 

I do remember Mrs. Johnston saying something like, “See what happens when you leave two teenagers alone?  They just can’t keep their hands off each other.”

The ride home was a blur, as was the remainder of the evening.  Mom chattered on and on about catching me kissing Kevin and seeing me in his arms.  I didn’t think she actually saw me kiss him, but I didn’t argue with her.  I couldn’t have denied any of it even if I tried.  I was just too tired and confused and excited to do much more than smile a submissive smile and say, “Yes, Mother.  Yes, Mother.  You’re right, Mother.”

“See, I knew you would find a nice boy.  I knew it all along.  I don’t want to hear any more fussing and complaining from you, ‘Pamela.’  You’ve shown your true colors and proved me right all along.  I knew you were a prissy little tease all this time and the truth finally came out, not just to me but to Mrs. Johnston and Kevin, too.  He is just perfect for you and you’re perfect for him.”

“Yes, Mother.  Yes, Mother.  You’re right, Mother.”

“I’m glad you agree with me.  This is just the beginning, my darling daughter.  You and Kevin are going to spend a lot more time together.  His mother has been looking for someone like you to make him happy.  She’s been looking for years for the right person.  I knew you were just right for him and tonight you proved it.  You two are going to make the perfect little couple.  You just wait and see, ‘Pamela’!”

“Yes, Mother.  Yes, Mother.  You’re right, Mother.”

That night, alone in my bed, I had the most horrible time going to sleep.  I so wanted to jerk off it was crazy.  I ended up hugging my pillows so hard that I came over and over again until I was exhausted and able to sleep.  I kept thinking about Kevin and how handsome he was and how nice he treated me.  No other boy — Danny doesn’t count as a boy … well, not one hundred percent boy, all right? — had ever been so nice, so affectionate with me.  He knew exactly what I was and who I was … and still he seemed to like me.  That really moved me, so much that I laughed and I cried and I humped my pillow like a horny teenaged girl, all while thinking only of the tall blond boy with the red lip print on his face. 

“This can’t be,” I whispered as I messed my panties and drifted off to sleep.  “This just can’t be ….”

Chapter 44 — Back to Basics

 

The days that followed were bewildering. Where I once held hope that things would eventually go back the way they once were, back to when I believed I was all boy and not one bit a sissy or faggot, I’d pretty much given up. The courage I’d gotten from my visit with Dad quickly evaporated and — just like my mom said — he expressed absolutely no interest in following up on the relationship I’d thought we’d started. The rebellious fire I’d rekindled soon died down to a fizzle, and I was no better off than when I started.

I can’t tell you how many times I paused in front of the mirror while in lipstick and mascara and a dress and lamented over how ridiculous my short hair looked; putting on panties and making up my face each afternoon was a tortuous reminder that I’d failed as a boy, that I’d blown my big chance to shed the sissy bonds my mother used to control me. When I should have been out running the bases with my ball team, I was trapped in the house hiding my face in my skirts like a frightful little fairy.

What made matters even more unbearable was seeing my little brother doing all the things I wanted to do. While I was being quizzed on the latest "Seventeen," he was watching wrestling on television; if I was scrubbing the kitchen floor he was tracking in mud; when I was trying on one of my mom’s dresses or a pair of her high heels, he’d be suiting up for a game of "war" with his friends.

And then I thought about Kevin and those few precious moments we spent together.  As much as I hated the rest of my life, I loved how he made me feel.  Even in that ridiculous, tacky costume my mother made me wear, Kevin Johnston seemed to truly like me.  The gentle way he talked to me, the way he looked not just at my malformed girlish boy body but the way he looked me in the eyes, it was so heartwarming.  I once imagined that feeling with a girl like Kathy, but now I found it in a tall, handsome blond boy that for all appearances was “normal.”

“Is this the way it’s supposed to be?” I asked myself a million times a day.

The way I finally handled all of this was simple: I gave up.

That's right, you heard me, I just plain old gave up. I mean, what choice did I have?  Between my mother’s constant badgering and the strange thoughts in my mind, I decided to go with the path of least resistance.  Sure, I might have raised a fuss and complained and threatened to run away. I suppose I really could have run away. But I didn’t. It just wasn’t in me. I guess all the years of conditioning, of giving in and letting my mother have her own way is what did me in. Well, that and the way Kevin looked at me when I was in his arms.  I wasn’t exactly happy about what was going on, but I did learn to keep my mouth shut and at least pretend to enjoy myself.

I’ll never forget the day I officially gave up. I’d just gotten a slap across the face for backtalking my mom. As usual, it was over something silly; Mom caught me watching television when I was supposed to be doing my homework. She told me I was grounded and I said something stupid. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor seeing stars.  To be honest about it, what hurt me the most wasn’t the slap to my face as much as it was the look on my mom’s as she stood over me.

A little while later, after taking my evening bath, I was called into my mom’s room. She was sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair and looking kind of sad. We started talking, and the next thing I knew, she was handing me her hairbrush.

"Here, sweetie," she said, turning her back to me. "If you’re not still mad, would you mind brushing my hair for me? For just a little while?"

It was kind of an odd thing for a fourteen year old boy to do, but how could I refuse? "Uh, sure thing, Mom. No problem." I glanced in the mirror before us and was rewarded with a flashing smile and a wink.

And so there I was, all powdered and perfumed, clad in my nightly bra and girdle ensemble, brushing my mom’s hair as if this was something I’d done my entire life.  After a while we switched places and she brushed my hair. 

“I can’t wait for it to grow back out,” she said warmly.  “I have some great ideas about how we can style it.  You’re getting old enough you can wear it more like a woman and not like a silly little girl.”

“That sounds neat,” I said softly. 

I could see my mom smiling in the mirror.  It was as though she realized she’d won.  She really seemed to enjoy pampering me like that, and to tell the truth, I kinda liked it, too. Funny thing, by bedtime we were both laughing and sharing a special time that most teenaged boys would never — and could never — recognize. I remember thinking that my mom had never looked so pretty. My boyish ego bruised and my face still sporting the trace of a handprint, I promised to do whatever it took to keep her smiling like that.

 

It wasn’t easy, but within a few days I did it. You just don’t know how hard it was for me to put a smile on my face knowing I’d given up all of my ballgames on television for soap operas or would never pick up another comic book in favor of a copy of "Glamour." Just knowing my buddies were all out raising havoc while I was in panties and a bra and working on my nails was enough to make me cry at one time. But not any more. With Mom looking over my shoulder I just nodded and carried on as though I was having the time of my life.

“What are you grinning about?” she asked me one evening after supper.  “You’re acting different lately.”

I just shrugged and smiled.  “I dunno.  I feel different.  I can’t help it.”

“You better not be up to anything sneaky,” she warned.  “I’m keeping my eye on you, ‘Pamela.’”

It didn’t take long for me to really get into the spirit of things. From the moment I came in from school each day I worked hard to pretend I was my mother’s daughter, shedding my pants and sneakers and slipping into bra, girdle and heels without being told. On my own I experimented with my cosmetics, trying on different shades of eye shadow and lipstick and actually having a little fun with the exotic looks I came up with. More than once I came down to the dinner table with my face painted in such a way as to evoke a double take from both my mom and my little brother.

After a while I decided to take things even further; since I knew I was going to have to dress up anyway, I figured I may as well be the one who decided what I should be wearing. Of course, up until that time Mom picked out everything I wore, as if I was her personal dressup doll. While I wasn’t crazy about many of the choices I might have to make, I wanted to have at least some say in the matter. Funny thing, it was a lot easier than I thought it would be. All I had to do was close my eyes, take a deep breath … and jump in!

"Mom? Do I have to wear that ugly old orange dress again?" I whined one Friday afternoon after school. "I hate that old thing! Can't I wear something else?"

As usual, my mother was quick to react with frustration and a threat. "Am I going to have to get my switch? I am getting so tired of going through this every day. Get your butt in there and get in your girlie clothes! If I have to come up there somebody’s going to regret it."

I bit my lip and waited a moment before saying anything. "I … I am in my … my girlie clothes. I just wanted to know if I could wear a different dress instead of that old orange thing. You know, like maybe the one with the red print? The one you said you used to like so much?"

The house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Standing at the top of the stairs in my usual bra, girdle and hose, I waited for my mother to reply. Instead, I heard the clak-clak of her heels on the hardwood floor as she walked to the base of the steps. Looking up, she considered me for a moment; she actually seemed surprised to see me already in my girlish underwear. Frowning a bit, she nodded. "Did I hear you right? Does my teenaged son actually want to wear his mommy’s little sissy flower print sundress?" she asked. "I thought you hated that one."

I shook my head. "No, Mom, not the sundress. The other one … the white one with the red polka dots.  You know, hanging in the back of your closet?  You don't wear it any more, I thought it might look good on me."

Mom furrowed her brow. She started to speak, and then paused. For a moment it seemed like she was speechless.

“What happened to the red polka dot dress I bought you last summer?  Why don’t you wear that one?”

I shrugged my bare shoulders.  “Well, um, it doesn’t fit any more.  It’s kinda tight around my boobs and I can’t get it to zip up the back.”

My mom stared at me.  She gave me the look she usually reserved for those times when she thought I was lying.  I thought for a moment I was in trouble.

Finally, she nodded. "Oh, well, that makes sense, I guess.  Sure, okay, that's fine.”  She thought for a moment.  “Before you do, let’s try something.  I’ve got an idea.”

The next thing I knew I was sitting at my mother’s vanity.  I remember looking at my reflection and feeling regret about my hair.  If only it was just a bit longer, maybe I’d look more like the thing my mother had turned me into.

That’s when I saw the tall white box in my mother’s hands.

“Here, let’s do something different tonight.  You’ve been a good girl these past few days, I thought maybe you deserved a present.  It’s the weekend, so let’s try something different with your hair.  Here, put this on.  I don’t wear it anymore, so you may as well.”

The box opened up to reveal a wig.  I was shocked.  I hadn’t expected to see anything like this.  It looked very grown up, not at all like anything a girl my age would have worn.  It was an upswept beehive, almost a perfect match for my own hair color.  I felt my mouth go dry as Mom pulled it off the display head and held it over my own.

“Sit still, ‘Pamela.’  Let mommy make you pretty.”

It took a lot of tugging and pulling, and at one point I thought my head was going to snap off, but we got it on.  When I finally got a good look in the mirror, well, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  Gone was that prissy, fruity little boy with the short hair and lipstick.  Gone was the faggoty boy in his mother’s lingerie.  Instead, the fantastic creature before me was a woman, dark-headed, mature … smiling and mysterious.  I fluttered my eyelashes and was pleased to feel them brush against the feminine bangs that covered my forehead.  What looked just plain stupid in my mother’s hands was so natural, so womanly atop my head.  If I had not known it was me in the mirror, I would never have guessed in a million years.

“That … that’s really me?”

My mom nodded.  “Yes, dear, it’s really you.  I don’t know why you’re so surprised.  I’ve been telling you all along this was the real you.”

I nodded, fascinated by my reflection.  As many times as I’d seen myself in feminine disguise, this topped them all.  Even the teenaged drag costume I’d worn out on the town with Louise couldn’t compete with this. 

“I … I look beautiful.”  My voice choked with emotion as I tried to think of something else to say.  “Thank you, Mother,” was all I could come up with.

My mom rolled her eyes.  “Okay, okay, enough gawking.  Get dressed, you prissy thing.  We're walking next door and having dinner with Mrs. Henderson.  Hurry up.  You can stare in the mirror some other time."

I nodded.  I actually wanted someone other than my mother to see me looking like this.  Our next door neighbor was the perfect person.  I was about to make my debut as my mother’s favorite daughter.

After slipping into my borrowed dress and a pair of three inch heels, I primped and powered and painted myself up in my best girl fashion before coming downstairs. I even put on some of that really strong perfume my mom made me wear on Sadie Hawkins Day. Oh, and my favorite angel earrings and plenty of bangles and some rings.

The look on Mom's face told me that I’d succeeded. I clip-clopped down the stairs in my heels and went right up to her and asked her to fasten a couple of buttons up the back that I couldn’t reach. She just looked at me and nodded, still befuddled by my sudden change in attitude. I guess after all the fussing and arguing we’d been doing I caught her off guard. I kind of liked that. That’s when I really poured it on. As I got my purse I acted out the role of ‘Pamela’ as best I could, talking about how much I liked her old dress and how cute it made me look. I was determined to be the best "daughter" I could, even if it killed me.

"See, Mom, it’s not too tight and the fit really shows off my figure." I put my hand on my hip and struck a girlish pose, just for effect. "What do you think?"

"Yes, sweetie, it does look nice on you. After tonight you can put it in your closet if you want. I certainly can’t fit into it anymore. You can put the wig there, too.  Lord knows I don’t wear it anymore." She sighed. "Maybe we’ll give your old dress to Goodwill. The orange one, too.  I have to admit, it is pretty ugly."

I made a big fuss, pretending to be thrilled, which I actually was; I’d always hated that orange dress, and if it took dressing up like a prissy fairy to get rid of it, then I was willing to pay the price.

"I like this one so much better," I said in my best girlie voice. "Don’t you think it makes me look a lot older?"

Mom looked at me and shook her head. "You’re awful cheerful tonight, pretty boy," she said. "What are you up to?"

I stuck out my bottom lip and pretended to pout. "Oh, Mom! Don’t call me a boy when I’m dressed like this, please? I worked hard to look nice for you. I’m ‘Pamela’ tonight, okay?"

"Okay, little girl. Fine." Her eyes narrowed. "You didn’t answer my question. What are you up to?"

"Nothing. I just feel good, I guess." Giving her my prettiest smile, I tilted my head in a mock innocent manner, like I’d seen the girls at school do. I then twirled around, making my skirt flare out above the tops of my stockings. "Maybe it’s my hair.  It looks awesome.  Then again, it could be the new dress. It feels really nice. Thanks for letting me wear all this."

"Hmmm, I see. Well, ‘Pamela,’ since you feel so good, how about us girls going to the big Friday night football game for a little while after supper? We need to pick up some things at the store after dinner and since that takes us over by the stadium, I thought that we could go and see how your team is doing. Maybe we’ll see Kathy there," she added with a wink.  “We might even run into Kevin while we’re out.”

My stomach felt like it dropped into a pit. It took me a few seconds to realize she was testing me, seeing just how far I’d go. She couldn't have been serious, could she? I thought for a minute about the prospect of attending a high school football game in a dress and my blood felt cold. She had to be kidding me, right? I started to make some sort of excuse, but the look on my mom’s face dared me to back out.

"If I’m careful, maybe I can get away with this," I thought to myself. I squirmed a bit and forced myself to smile.

"Uh, sure thing, Mom. The football game? Oh, why not? It’ll be fun."

"Fun, huh? Well, we’ll soon see," was all she said.

I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

Before we left Dave came downstairs and asked Mom for money to go to a movie. I watched jealously as my little brother counted out his money and got his instructions for the evening. What I would have done to spend the night running around with my friends!  Just imagine, doing boy things and having the time of my life. Instead of riding my bike and eating pizza with the guys, however, I was wearing panties and lipstick and getting ready to sip tea with my mother and one of her ladyfriends.

“Greg’s wearing a wig!” he said with a stupid grin on his face.  “You look stupid!  You’re the biggest sissy I know!”

“Go away, little boy,” I said, stifling my anger and replacing it with a smile.  “Go find a first grader to beat up or something.  Mother and I are spending the evening together and you’re not invited.  It’s for women only.”

Dave gave me a weird look.  My reaction apparently caught him off guard.  He mumbled something like “fat butt” and left. 

My mom shook her head.  “That was different,” she said with a laugh.  “I never thought I’d hear you say something like that, ‘Pamela’.”

I just grinned, picked up my purse and said, “I know.”  I flashed a bright, toothy smile at my mother and left it at that.

Dinner with our neighbor was a bit of an adventure.  Mrs. Henderson had just had a baby and hadn’t been getting out of the house much. With her husband gone on business all the time she was glad to have some company. I liked her a lot. She’d seen me running around in girlish clothes since before high school and had thought it rather cute, even if I was a boy. She’d never teased me – well, not too much – but instead always treated me as though a boy wearing dresses was the most natural thing in the world.  That night was no different. While we ate she lavished me with attention, making a huge fuss over me being such a good sport and dressing up so nice for her.

"You are so sweet to play your little ‘dress up’ game for me like this, Greg. Your hair is just gorgeous!  I can’t believe it’s a wig!  It makes you look so grown up!  And that dress really shows off your figure.  You are so cute I just can’t stand it!”

“Thanks, Mrs. Henderson.  I do look cute, don’t I?”

Our neighbor laughed to hear me carry on in such diva fashion.  My mother, on the other hand, gave me a strange look.

“I think I’ve created a monster,” my mom said.  “My ‘daughter’ has become so vain lately.”

Mrs. Henderson giggled.  “Well, I think it’s sweet.  You’re a lucky woman to have a son with such a sense of humor.”  The grin on her face made me smile. "Thanks again for dressing up for me, Greg.  This is the most fun I’ve had in months!  You make such a wonderful ‘daughter.’ I always knew you were talented. Most boys your age are such a pain in the rear! I’m glad you turned out so well."

Prompted by my hostess’ remarks, I did everything I could to play the role of the teenaged girl from next door. I giggled and said "neat!" and “awesome!” a lot, and I played with my jewelry and primped my hair and touched up my makeup every chance I got.  I loved looking at my reflection in my makeup mirror.  And just think, a few days before I couldn’t stand it.

The look on my mom’s face said I was probably overdoing my little act, but that was all right; as far as I was concerned, "Greg" was hiding at home, and "Pamela" had center stage. I felt as silly as heck, but I was determined to keep it up for as long as I could.

Then I got a taste of reality. Most guys would have hated sitting there with two grown women and listening to them gossip and chatter away, but I have to admit, it was pretty educational. Between listening to all the things my mother and Mrs. Henderson had to endure during childbirth and having our hostess’ two year old son, a hyperactive little demon, climbing all over me and tugging my dress up above my legs and wanting me to get down on the floor and play, I was a nervous wreck. Within ten minutes I swore that I was never going to have children, not even if someone was going to pay me a million dollars.

"I’d rather have Mrs. McCuddy’s poodle climbing on me instead of that little brat," I fretted silently as I tugged my skirt down around my knees.

Before we left Mrs. Henderson offered to let me hold her baby. I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but Mom insisted.

"It’ll be good for you, sweetie. You’ve never held a baby before. Don’t worry, you can’t hurt him," she assured me.

Hurt him!? Somebody should have told him not to hurt me! I’d held the little darling in my arms no more than five seconds when he grabbed one of my earrings and started tugging. "Ow-ow-ow!" I cried out, and it took a second for Mrs. Henderson to free me. Our embarrassed hostess apologized profusely, but Mom just laughed, saying that the same thing happened to her all the time when my brother and I were babies.

"It’s just something you have to get used to," she said matter-of-factly.

Once that immediate crisis was over, I kind of had fun, though I wouldn’t admit it in a thousand years. Holding that little baby turned out to be natural for me, and I found myself moving and adjusting myself as he squirmed, like I actually knew what I was doing. In turn, I was shocked at how easily he took to me, snuggling in and making himself at home in my arms.

The only other problem I had was when he turned his head toward my bosom and rubbed his nose against the tip of my breast. I started to panic as he grabbed for me with his mouth, and Mrs. Henderson laughed and said it was getting close to feeding time. I thought I was going to die when I realized what she was talking about!

“You want to see what it feels like, honey?” she said with a giggle.  “You can drop your top and let him have a little nibble.  It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Um, I don’t think so,” I replied.  My face burned hot with embarrassment at the thought of exposing my mutant girlie-breasts to this young mother.

Leave it to my mom to push me out of my comfort zone.  “Oh, come on, ‘Pamela,’ give it a try.  Mrs. Henderson is right, it won’t hurt at all.  You might even like it.”

I felt helpless as I felt my dress being undone.  I thought I was going to cry as my bra came loose, but I managed to hold back the tears.  The cool air hit my bare skin as my breast was exposed and I blushed to see Mrs. Henderson’s eyes go wide with delight. 

“My goodness, you’re more of a girl than I thought, Greg.  I had no idea you had such nice titties.  Lucky you.  My little man is going to love getting his lips on you!”

I felt weak in the knees as I was handed the baby.  I barely had the chance to snuggle him in my arms before he turned and grabbed at my naked boob.  The next thing I knew, he had my nipple in his mouth and was sucking away like there was no tomorrow.

“Yikes!” I squealed, just like a girl.  I half-giggled, half-sobbed in awkward delight.  “It tickles like crazy,” I whispered anxiously.

“He’ll get mad in a minute ‘cause you don’t have any milk,” Mrs. Henderson said.  “He’s hungry as heck so he’ll want to eat right away.  Just sit still so you can get a taste of what it’s like to be a mommy.  I was right, though, wasn’t I?  It doesn’t hurt at all, huh?”

I nodded, then winced as the tiny mouth did its best to take a piece of skin from my nipple.

“Ow!  He bit me!”

Both women laughed.

“See?  I told you he was hungry,” our hostess repeated.  “Sometimes I’m so sore, I can’t stand for my titties to be touched at all.”

I nodded again, doing my best to keep from swooning.  The sensation of the tiny mouth sucking away at my nipple was overwhelming.  I imagined for an instant what it would feel like for a boy to do that to me and I almost messed myself right then and there.

"See, sweetie?" my mom said with a smirk. "Even little babies think you’re a girl. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have any teeth."

Mrs. Henderson giggled.  “Isn’t that the truth!  My husband doesn’t understand how much it hurts.  I mean, he’s worse than the baby!  He’s actually bitten my nipple more times than I can remember.  One time he got so excited he even drew blood.  Men can be so careless sometimes.”

Despite my embarrassment I was fascinated to hear such talk.  A shudder of pleasure swept over me and I looked down at that little baby sucking away at my boob.  I felt that stupid tingling between my legs and all of a sudden my mind saw the image of Kevin Johnston nibbling away at my nipple.  I closed my eyes and tried to block out the thoughts in my mind, but they only got worse.  I shuddered as I imagined Kevin’s hands roaming my body as he sucked away at my breast, his fingers fluttering over the front of my girdle and poking up between my lycra-covered bottom.

“Oh, my,” I whispered in pain.  A sudden erection pushed my aching penis against my girdle, forcing me to squirm in uncomfortable ecstasy.  Mom looked at me and smirked.  It felt like she was reading my mind.

*   *   *

It was just getting dark when we finally left Mrs. Henderson and her babies.  Having survived my first experience as a nursemaid, I was feeling woozy but happy.  While my mother drove us to the supermarket I primped and touched up my lipstick and acted generally like a big sissy, much to the amusement of my mother. But that was all right; I was determined to give her the show of her life, no matter what it cost me. As I got out of the car I upped the pace just a little bit, giving an added swing to my purse and my hips. I prayed that none of my friends were around to see me as I played my role to the fullest.

"Just wait ‘til Rita sees me," I said with a hollow confidence. So far the store looked pretty empty of teenagers. "I bet she won’t even know who I am in my new wig and your dress!"

"Oh, I wouldn’t count on that," Mom said with a laugh.  “She’s a pretty smart cookie.”

To my horror Mom led me straight to the feminine hygiene products and made me pick out some “necessities.”  I felt my face heat up as I rummaged through countless categories of tampons, feminine pads and douching supplies.  My hands trembled as we made our selections and I felt my insides quiver and shake as I thought about how these little instruments of torture made me feel behind the closed door of my mother’s bathroom.

We did manage to find my old babysitter working at the pharmacy.  I stepped up before her and smiled.  She smiled back and said, “May I help you?”

I looked down at the feminine products in my arms and sighed.  I was in this far, why not go all the way, right?

“Oh, yes, thank you,” I replied.  “I’ve been having some terrible cramps lately and was wondering if there is anything you can recommend?”

The teenager frowned for an instant and looked at my purchases.  She then smiled.  “I see.  Well, miss, I’m not exactly a doctor, but you might try ….”

Rita’s voice trailed off as she looked over and saw my mother standing beside me.  She frowned again, then looked at me, then back at my mother.  Her eyes went wide, then her frown brightened to a huge, beaming smile.

“Mrs. Parker?  If that’s you, then who is … Greg?  Is that really you?  Oh!  My!  God!!!!  Greg Parker?  It really is you!!!  OH MY GOD!!!!”

I thought the poor girl was going to climb over the counter, she was so excited to see me.  She buzzed herself around the security gate and rushed to hug me with so much force it scared me.  Well, just a little bit.  She squeezed me so hard I couldn’t breathe.  I was pleased, however, to feel her breasts and her hips pressing against my feminine clad body.  It was a sensation that I would treasure for a long time.

“Gregory Parker, you little tease, you!  What did you do to your hair?  Where did you get that dress?  You look absolutely amazing!”

I glanced over to my mother, who gave me that “I told you so” look.  I in turn nodded and sighed my usual sigh of resignation.

Rita’s reaction thrilled me to no end.  Not only was she surprised to see me parading around in my mother’s dress; she was equally pleased that we took the time to find her and show me off.  Encouraged by her genuine enthusiasm, I gathered my composure and fussed at her as if I was a real girl.

“I’m sorry, but you must be mistaking me for somebody else.  My name is ‘Pamela.’ I have no idea who this ‘Gregory’ is.”

My response caught both Rita and my mother off their guard.  There was an instant of silence, then Rita started giggling like the teenager she was.  My mom laughed, too, shaking her head.

“I do not know what’s got into you, Miss Priss, but you are certainly full of yourself tonight.  It makes me wonder if I’ll ever see my drab, boring little Gregory ever again.”

Mom was right. I was indeed full of myself that night, making a big deal about posing as her teenaged daughter, and we all had a really good laugh over my performance.

Rita kept on gushing about my appearance.  “You are simply gorgeous, ‘Pammy,’ simply gorgeous! I didn’t recognize you at all with that big hair and those boobs.  It’s hard to believe you’re really a little boy underneath all that woman!”

I blushed and looked down at the floor.  I remember seeing my breasts heaving with excitement and I felt my heart racing.

“Thanks, Rita.  It’s kinda fun dressing up like this.  You should have seen the look on your face when you finally figured out who I was.  That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

That’s when Rita sprung a small surprise of her own on me.

"You want to see funny?  Before you leave you’ll have to be sure and stop by and say ‘hey’ to my little brother. Kevin is working one of the cash registers out front. You can surprise him when you go through the checkout line. I really think he’d be interested in seeing you in that wig and dress. He’ll love it, I’m sure!"

That caught me completely off guard. I hadn’t known Kevin was there. I glanced at my mom, who in turn gave me a haughty smile. After the conversation we’d had about boys, I guess I wasn’t too keen on seeing Kevin right at that moment.  I mean, I thought about him all the time, but I just wasn’t ready.  Not yet at least.

The matter was out of my hands, however.  I said something lame about not having time, but Mom stepped in and assured my old babysitter that we did have plenty of time and that we would be seeing Kevin before leaving the store. The next thing I knew, I was clip-clopping my way across the store to confront my worst fear.

“Don’t be such a scaredy cat, ‘Pamela,’” teased my former babysitter.  “You made a huge impression on my little brother when you came to visit the other day.  I don’t know what you did, but he talks about you all the time.”

My mother found that little tidbit interesting.  “Really?  That is so nice, isn’t it, ‘Pamela’?  To think that Kevin has been talking about you all this time.  I bet he’d be interested to know how much you’ve been talking about him?”

“Mother!” I fussed.  “Please, don’t say anything else!  Please?”

Rita laughed. “Now this is getting to be really interesting,” she said brightly.  “I always wondered what kind of person my little brother would find attractive.  I guess I now know.”

My performance for Rita’s little brother wasn’t going to be as enthusiastic as it could have been. It was one thing being silly for my mom and her friends; but to show off like an idiot in the presence of a boy — especially a boy who liked me that way! — that kind of bothered me. Mom must have sensed my reluctance; she told me that she expected me to keep up my prissy act no matter what.

"This is your chance to convince me you’re sincere, little miss," she said with a smile. "Back out now, and I’ll know you were just trying to buy me off until the next time you go see your father. I hope that's not the case."

"It isn't, Mom," I said weakly. "I'm trying to be good. I promise."

"Then don't disappoint me, sweetie pie. Be nice to Kevin."

I’m not sure how well I did.  My head was spinning when I spotted Kevin working the cashier station and my knees nearly gave out as I got in line.  He gave me a curious glance as I handed him the box of tampons but didn’t say anything.  I thought I was going to get by without him recognizing me, but Mom poked me in the ribs with a sharp fingernail.

“So, um, Kevin, you don’t … you don’t recognize me?” I stammered awkwardly.  “Do I look that different from the other night?”

The tall blond boy stared at me for an instant.  His eyes drifted from my face down over my body, then back up again.  I noticed him looking slightly down.  I thought he was staring at my boobs, but I remembered my necklace.  I fingered it nervously and smiled.  He smiled back and nodded. 

“Nice trick,” he mumbled shyly.  “You almost got me on that one.”

As excited as I was to see him, I kind of hoped I wasn’t going to have to talk to him.  It was time for his break, however, and after checking us out he followed me and my mom to an empty lane where we talked for a few minutes.

Kevin didn’t say much, but he kept looking at me and grinning, nodding his head in answer to my mother’s barrage of small talk. After a few minutes Mom gave me another nudge in the ribs and I forced myself to make some small talk of my own while she went back to get something she forgot. I felt like a fool, but at least he didn’t openly laugh at me or punch me in the face.

"I guess you think I look pretty stupid, huh?" I finally said. I clutched my purse to my bosom, as though it might protect me from anything he might say. "I wouldn’t blame you if you did."

I remember Kevin’s eyes flickering, as though he was trying not to look too hard at me. I felt kind of funny as they wandered over my body for a moment, and then finally fixed on my own eyes.

"Oh, uh, no. Not at all." His face turned red as he glanced away. He acted like he was embarrassed to be caught looking at me. "I … uh, just think this is all pretty interesting.  You know, with the big hair and all.”

“Interesting?”  I actually found myself pouting.  “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

Kevin frowned and shook his head.  “That’s not what I meant.  I mean, you look awesome!  I just, well, I never thought you could look like this.  You look so … so sophisticated and all.  I still think, uh, that you could be a model … that is, if you really wanted."

The grin on his face was shy, almost sweet.

I blushed as I realized what was going on. Kevin was flirting with me — again! — and to make things even more confusing … I didn’t exactly hate it.

"Well, that makes sense," I thought to myself. "He’s probably gay and I’m some sort of fairy-freak running around in my mother’s dress. So why not?"

For some reason I felt a tingling in my nose. I resisted the temptation to wipe my eyes as I knew I’d end up smearing my mascara.

There was an awkward silence, and then I said something dumb about playing my dressup game with Mom. Kevin answered by flashing me the neatest smile. I had no idea what he said to me, but for that one moment, with that one look … he made me feel as though I wasn’t as dumb as I thought I was.

*   *   *

After leaving the drug store, Mom drove the car over to the high school stadium, just like she had promised me. I thought we were headed home and I couldn’t believe it when she pulled into the school parking lot and shut off the engine!

"Omigod, she's calling my bluff!" I thought as we sat there in silence.

"Why don’t you freshen up your makeup, sweetie," my mom finally said. "You want to look nice for your friends, don’t you?"

I felt like I was in a bad dream, but I did as I was told. My mouth was dry as an old rag as I got out of the car, but I held a steady course and joined my mom, our heels clicking loudly as we walked along the pavement. As we lingered in front of the trophy case out front of the school, I saw my reflection and felt myself getting dizzy.  I looked nothing at all like Greg Parker.  It wasn’t just the big hair wig and polka dot dress.  It was the way I stood and moved.  Or something.  Whatever.

I took a deep breath and felt a burst of newfound courage as we approached the stadium.  I was resolved to keep playing the girl to the bitter end, even though I was terrified of being recognized and exposed.

As we passed through the gate I didn’t attract too much attention. The man taking up tickets kind of stared at me for a moment.  I felt a wave of shame hit me as I realized he was looking at my boobs.  I just clung to my purse and prayed that something awful didn’t happen.

It seemed that we walked forever, my mother leading the way in that slow, sauntering gait that made my life so miserable; I was so worried I focused my eyes on her feet, not daring to look up for fear of being humiliated.

At long last we emerged from the stairwell and made our way through the crowd and took our seats on the bleachers. I was so nervous, I couldn’t tell if that was my heart or the bass drum in the band that was pounding so loud. It took me a minute to get up enough courage to look around. Mom finally nudged me in the ribs and told me to sit up straight.

"What’s the matter, sweetie? I thought you wanted to come to the game." She gave me a quizzical look. "Aren’t you enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, sure, Mom. This is great."

I forced myself to smile. Deep inside I wished I could run off and hide in the dumpster, but there was no way I was going to let my mother know how scared I was.

Funny thing … there we were, in the middle of the crowd, and nobody seemed to know who I was. On the other hand, thank goodness, I didn’t see anyone I knew right off. Then I realized the gang I hung out with was probably running around in the lower levels. Most everyone sitting around us were either older kids or parents. Nobody seemed to pay me any attention, which was perfect. I guess it was because my mom was with me. For a little while I was even able to enjoy the game, though I had to force myself not to cheer. The last thing I wanted was to attract too much attention.

Our team was losing … again. But they were putting on a pretty good show for themselves. I’d thought about trying out for the freshman team at one time, but baseball practice always seemed to get in the way. And now … well, I tried imagining myself out on the field, running down that final winning touchdown. A glance down at the hem of my dress decorating my nylon-clad legs brought me back to reality.

At half time Mom gave me some money and sent me down to get snacks. I’d have rather jumped off the tops of the bleachers, but I just grinned and said "Sure, Mom. No problem." Somehow I managed to make my way down the steps in my heels without killing myself. I wondered how long my luck would hold up.

I about died when I saw several of my male classmates down by the stairwell. I steeled myself for the barrage of teasing remarks I knew was about to hit me. Pulling my arms close about my upper body to conceal my prominent breasts, I tried to remember the little speech I’d been practicing in my head. If that didn’t work, well, I wondered how fast I could run in my heels.

As I made my way down the stairs I felt my stomach turn sour.  There, right in the middle of the gang was a tall dark-skinned boy in a leather jacket.  I recognized Joe instantly and I froze.  My last encounter with him was violent and terrifying.  I could barely move, my fight or flight instinct sending all the right signals through my trembling body.  The only problem was that I was in no position to either fight or flee.  I glanced down at my high heels and sighed.

“Here it comes,” I thought fretfully to myself.

I gingerly made my way down the stairs and steeled myself as I stepped into full view of Joe and his friends.  The tall boy looked right at me, his eyes dropping almost immediately to my boob and my butt.  Judging from his smile he had no idea who I really was.  I bit my lip, pulled my shoulders back and moved forward.

“Oh, baby, look at this,” my archnemesis said suggestively.  “Mama, why don’t you come home with me tonight?  Those are some fine titties you got there.  I wouldn’t mind rubbing my face all over them.”

Joe’s comments made me blush and I had to force myself not to look at him.  My reaction wasn’t exactly subtle and his friends all jumped in with stuff like “nice boobies, baby” and “lookit that ass!”  I tried to lessen the sway of my hips and move as little like a girl as I could, but between my girdle, heels and weeks of repetition and practice, I failed miserably.

“Stuck up cunt!” Joe spat as I walked within his grasp. 

I felt a frighteningly familiar sensation and realized that he’d grabbed the hem of my dress.  For an instant my girdle and the tops of my stockings were exposed for everyone to see.  A wave of whistles, groans and ugly comments drowned out the sounds of the game.

Fighting panic, I turned and gave the grinning boy an icy look.  Despite my flushed face I must have done something right.  He paused, then glanced down.  For just a moment I could see the little boy that he’d once been.  A burst of courage lit up inside me and I couldn’t help but grin.

“Are you done looking?” I said in my Louise impression.  “Because that’s all you’re going to do, little mister, is look.” 

I reached over and grabbed his arm.  I was amazed to discover that the tough looking leather jacket he wore was nothing more than a cheap plastic imitation.  A spurt of daring energized me and I pressed my sharpened fingernails through the thin material and deep into the muscles of his biceps.  I was pleasantly surprised discover it was more fat that muscle.  I pressed harder and got the reaction I wanted.

“Ow!  Dammit, girl, that hurt!  Fuck me, get them talons outta my arm!”

I turned my grin into a mocking pout, sticking out my bottom lip for the benefit of his rowdy friends. 

“I’m sorry.  Did the prissy little girl hurt the mean old boy?  I’m sorry, sweetheart.  Maybe you should go find a little sissy boy to pick on.  From what I hear that seems to be more your speed.”

I don’t know exactly how it happened, whether it was my acting or my grip on his arm or the silly wig and dress I wore … or maybe it was just a combination of all those things.  I could feel half a dozen pairs of eyes on me as I smiled and winked at his friends.  I couldn’t believe it worked!  I mean, it was like I suddenly in charge and they were all in on my little joke. 

Whatever I did, Joe’s friends all picked up on what happened and they went after him like a pack of hyenas on a wounded lion.  Still clutching his arm, the young black man forgot all about me and found himself in the midst of a riot of teasing jibes, insults and challenges. 

I gave his arm a final squeeze, eliciting another yelp of pain.  I then turned to walk away.  Instead of giving me any grief his friends all stepped aside. I simply resumed my errand, blending into the crowd with as much grace and dignity as my racing heart would allow.

“Wow, that was something,” I thought as I reached the bottom level of the stadium.  “I had no idea I could do something like that!”

My luck finally ran out at the concession stand. Some kids I knew from my homeroom were working there as part of some fund-raising effort.  I suddenly found myself facing someone who would see right through my girlish disguise.

"You look awful familiar,” the blond teenager said with a suspicious stare.  “Do I know you?”

I took a deep breath and nodded.  There was no sense in making this last any longer than necessary.

“Um, yeah, Christine.  It’s me.  Greg?”

The Christine Watson looked into my eyes, then let her eyes wander over my polka dot clad body.

“Greg?  Omigosh! Greg?" Christine said in a musical tone. "Greg Parker?  That is really you, isn’t it? What in the world are you doing …in lipstick … with that hair … and that dress?  Oh … my … gosh!  You’re stunning!!!"

I cleared my throat and acted as though nothing was wrong. "Um, hi. May I have two popcorns, please? And two small diet Cokes?"

"Sure, just a second." The girl looked at me funny for a moment and gave the boy working the fountain my order. It was Robert Young, a sophomore who I knew from art class. I felt sick to my stomach as I thought about what would happen if he recognized me. I heard Christine mention my name, and I was looking right at him just as he was looked me right in the eye, a curious look on his face. I felt the blood rushing to my face, but I managed to keep my cool, giving him a blank look in return.

"Maybe if I act like I don't know him, he won't recognize me," I thought desperately.

My experiment was inconclusive. Robert furrowed his brow, finished fixing my drinks, and went on to the next order. He looked at me again as I paid for my purchases, but he was too busy checking out my boobs to bother figuring out who I was.

Christine didn’t let me off the hook so easily. "You are absolutely stunning, Gregory Parker!  Your hair looks awesome!  Oh, my god!  I wish Danny was here tonight.  He’d just die to see you all dressed up like this!  You were pretty cute the last time you guys got together, but you’re beautiful now! How come you’re all prettied up tonight? Did you come here with Kathy?"

I couldn’t help but blush.  As much of a pain as she was, Christine was genuinely happy to see me and I couldn’t be mad at her for that.

"I, uh …. Not exactly. I’m here with my mom. She hasn’t been to a game before, so we just got dress up and, well, here we are."

"Well, that doesn’t explain the lipstick and purse," my new friend said with a grin. "Just wait ‘til I tell Danny. He’s been so mad at you ever since you cut your hair.  Did you guys have a fight or something?" 

I shrugged, then smiled.  “Or something.  I’d like to see him sometime.  I hope he’s still not mad at me.”

Jenny stared at me for a second, then shook her head.  “He won’t be when he sees how awesome you look!  My gosh, that wig is outrageous!  I can’t believe it’s you!  I just know that when Danny finds out you were here looking like that … he'll just kick himself.  Oh, boy, will you be in trouble then!"

I was a nervous wreck by the time I got back to where my mom was sitting. I’d passed at least a dozen or so of my friends as I’d climbed the stairs, but no one seemed to notice who I was. Joe and his gang were nowhere to be seen, thank goodness.  I couldn’t have been happier.

"I see you had a little trouble," Mom said upon my return. “That boy was a nice little challenge. You did well, however.  Nicely done, indeed.  Did anything else happen that I need to know about?”

I shrugged and shook my head. She pressed me for details, smiling brightly when I confessed that I’d been confronted by Christine at the concession stand.

"Sounds like you’ve got both boy trouble and girl trouble," she said with a laugh. "Danny obviously has a crush on you and Kathy seems like the kind of girl who likes things her way."

"Oh, she is. Believe me.  And Danny is another story all together."

Mom sipped her drink and winked.  “Don’t forget about Kevin.  I think the two of you will be seeing quite a bit of each other.”

Blushing at that thought, I quickly changed the subject. "I can’t believe how easy it was to handle Joe.  What’s even weirder, when I walked past all those other guys, I can’t believe nobody recognized who I was. I mean, I walked right by them, Mom. I know they saw me."

"Oh, they saw you, all right, sweetie. They just didn't see who you were."

"What do you mean? They do know who I am, don't they? How could they miss me?"

My mother looked as though she felt sorry for me. "Don’t you understand, you goofy thing? Oh, ‘Pamela,’ think about it, dear. Use that head for something more than a pretty place to put a wig. You mean to tell me that after all you’ve been through, you really don’t know why those boys didn’t recognize you?"

Feeling stupider than usual, I just shrugged my shoulders. "Okay, I don't know. You tell me. Why didn't they recognize me?"

"That’s because they weren’t looking at your face, silly girl! They were looking at your body." Mom glanced down at my bodice and grinned. "They’re boys, remember?"

It took me a couple of seconds to get it. When I did, I didn’t like what she was implying. "You mean they were looking at me … like THAT?" I felt sick. "Mom! No! Please, don’t say stuff like that! Eeww, that’s gross!"

Her laugh was so loud, I got even more embarrassed. "Well, it’s true. Think about it. What do you look at when you see a pretty girl?"

I started to say something smart, but held my tongue instead. I didn’t like where this was going. Not at all.

"Uh-uh!  Don’t go making anything up. I know you. You’re just like your father, you know that? The first thing you two see when you look at a girl isn’t her face. It's usually her boobs, right? Or her butt. Why should those boys be any different?" Mom leaned close, whispering in my ear. "Just think, sweetie … tonight, when they’re home safe in bed and jerking off, they’ll be thinking of that cute little girl in the red polka dot dress with the long legs and big boobs."

"Mom!" The look on my face must have been something. The mental image of a bunch of guys masturbating while fantasizing about me — a boy! — was enough to make me queasy.  To hear my mom talking like that — in public! — made me physically ill.

She grinned. "It’s a fact. While they’re pulling on their pathetic little wieners they’ll be thinking about you and your cute boobies and fat little bottom. Imagine that.  Really, you should be proud of yourself, sweetie. You're only fourteen and already you’ve got your very own little ‘jerk off’ fan club.  Doesn’t that sound like fun?"

I made an ugly face. "Ew, Mom ….! Please!"

As disgusting as all that sounded, I knew she was right.  Heck, it wasn't like it was anything new; ever since the first time I got drug out of the house kicking and screaming in a dress, I'd been looked at and stared at and gloated over by boys.  It wasn't exactly anything new, but that didn't make things any easier.  It’s exactly what I would have done if I’d seen a good looking girl. And for all intents and purposes, even I had to admit I looked like a cute girl. Despite my stupid haircut.  I thought about what Mom said about my dad and I wondered for an instant what he’d think if he heard any of this … and I got this really queasy feeling in my stomach.

"I don't like boys looking at me like that," I muttered angrily. "I hate it!  It’s sick!"

My mother nodded. "And that’s why you have to be careful when you’re in public. Didn’t you see that boy a little while ago, trying to look up your dress while you were going up the steps? The way you let your skirt flop around he had a perfect view of your girdle and hose."

I craned my neck around to see who she was talking about. The way I felt, I had a good mind to go punch him out.

My mom laughed.  "Oh, don’t bother looking, you silly thing. He didn’t touch you. He was just being a boy."

"But Mom, he was being rude!"

"That may be. Of course, you do it all the time. I mean, as ‘Greg’ you do, right?"

"Not anymore," I vowed.

Mom gave me ‘that look’ again and laughed. "Oh, yeah. Right."

We ended up staying up until the final quarter. Throughout the remainder of the game I sat quietly, very ladylike, clapping at the appropriate times and paying careful attention to the game. I crossed my arms in a vain attempt to hide my boobs and I made sure to keep my knees together … just in case.

"A guy can’t be too careful," I thought ruefully.

From that day on things began to change between my mom and me.  As much as I hated to do it, I threw myself into being the best "Pamela" I could be. No more whining and complaining, no more trying to prove I knew better than she did, no more sneaking and planning behind her back. That was all in the past.

Life was now much, much more complicated.  It was also more interesting and kind of fun.  I mean, between the jealous looks “Pamela” was getting from other girls to my experiences with guys like Danny and Kevin and, yes, even Joe, I was never bored. 

As "Pamela" I worked hard to please my mother, to keep peace in the family.  "Greg" was somebody I left behind each day on the school bus. And the tension between Mom and me, well, it was still there sometimes, but it slowly began fading. It almost made my decision to give up fighting her worthwhile.

Almost.

 

To be continued ….

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