Saturday, October 23, 2010

Chapter 23: Growing Up Girl

The next summer, I went home again. I was looking forward to finally getting a respite from my girl clothes, but my mom seemed to really like seeing me as a girl. She made me dress the moment my dad left the house, and took me on adventures around the city as her daughter Audrey. I don’t think anyone ever knew. Of course when my dad was home, I was in pants and a shirt with panties underneath. It kind of felt weird to be back in boys’ clothes. It had been almost a year since I had put them on.

My mom even went as far as buying me a bikini one day. I refused to wear it, but after a good sound spanking over the bathtub, I was wearing my pink and red little rose bikini. I felt the most self-conscious that I ever had the day she dragged me to the beach. Of course I pulled the bottoms up tight, and with my slim body and pretty hair it was quite possible I could pull it off. Still there was a real fear of something coming loose. Anything can happen near water, which is why I prayed the strings stayed tied on my bikini bottom, and luckily they did.

A few weeks later, I forgot to even think about tan lines, and started changing my shirt in front of my dad.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Those tan lines on your chest, it’s like you were wearing…a bikini.”

“Oh, that…some girls thought it would be funny and put that on my when I fell asleep in the sun when I was at the beach.”

He kind of looked at me suspiciously, but I guess he wanted to believe it.

“Girls can be tricky sometimes. You have to watch yourself around them. Next thing you know, you’re married to one.”

He tousled my hair and went on his way. I said I was never going to wear the bikini again, but my mom wasn’t about to let her investment be wasted. I spent the whole summer in a bikini and dresses, and writing letters to Brittany. Needless to say, I did not change in front of my dad again.

When fall came, my mom convinced my dad that I was better off continuing with my schooling away at Miss Samantha’s.

“He has a lot of friends down there. It would be a shame to pull him away from all of that.”

Too busy to argue, my dad agreed, and I knew this process had no end in sight.

“I guess it’s fine if he’s getting something out of the experience. We’ll keep sending him down there. It’s worth the money if it’s helping him with his anger issues.”

Happy at his agreement to my continued education, my mom packed my bags, and I was disheartened to learn I would spend yet another year as a girl. That meant another year of shopping for clothes. This time I got my first real bras. They were just training bras with a little padding, but my mom made a big deal about it and took me out for ice cream.

Of course another year meant more lessons with Miss Samantha too. I bet I knew more than most girls at school about what the difference between a demi-cup and a balcony bra was, or how to tell a good brand of lipstick from an overpriced one. After school each day, I was given thirty minutes to rest up from school, and then it was time for my feminine lessons. It was like another school for me. I had to look presentable, greet Miss Samantha as I walked in, and sit with my back straight, prepared to study. Usually she would have articles ready for me to read, torn out of different magazines on subjects like, “How to Coordinate the Colors of Your Wardrobe” or “10 Beauty Tips to do Before Bed.” I also received active lessons on how to walk, how to apply makeup, even the history of fashion.

Of course after feminine study, I still had to complete my other responsibilities for the day such as cleaning, doing my homework, and fixing my nails. That left little time for friends or TV, but I had about an hour each night that I could devote to that. Usually, I did my nails, talked on the phone and tried to watch TV so I could keep up with everything.

I had made up with Vanessa since our fight before the dance. She found out a few weeks later that she didn’t like James anyway, and didn’t want that incident to get in the way of our friendship anymore. I think part of the reason she wanted to make up too was that she was impressed that I was hanging out with older girls, and wanted to be part of that group. All the girls in my grade wanted to hang around with the older girls. Whatever the reason, I was glad to have her back as a friend and talk to her each night before I went to bed.

Brittany didn’t like Vanessa, however, so the three of us barely hung around one another. That put me awkwardly in the middle of two friendships. I talked to Vanessa on the phone a lot at home, but a lot of times I hung out with Brittany on the weekends. Her mom didn’t really think of me as a boy at all anymore, so she let us hang out in her room unchecked for hours at a time. As far as her mom was concerned, I was just her cousin Audrey and we were on her bed having girl talk and doing each others’ hair - which we were - but in between those moments, we were stealing kisses, and Brittany was running her hands up my stockinged legs or over the padding of the training bra on my chest. Her eyes looked at me with wild fascination and I just laid there and dreamed.

I hadn’t quite reached puberty yet, so we really were like two girls exploring our sexuality. It wasn’t anything passionate; we were just curious. I had seen foreplay on TV before, so I knew the actions, yet the motivation eluded me. Still, our girlish explorations felt good. I enjoyed being tender with Brittany on her princess bed.

Her mom, however, didn’t see what we were doing as innocent fun. One night, she happened to open the door while we were in a tender embrace. We lay on our sides, and our bodies were intertwined. We were giving each other several small kisses and giggling.

“Brittany, what’s going on here!?”

We quickly separated.

“Nothing Mom, we were just playing a staring game.”

“Well I think you two better play in the family room the rest of the night.”

After that night we didn’t get a lot of alone time together, but we still hung out a lot and snuck kisses in when we could.

No comments:

Post a Comment