A Boy With Girly Hair - The Contest - Part 5

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After lunch, Mom and I drove to a poor section of town where the houses are tiny and close together and had little square lawns. We parked in front of a bungalow with white aluminum siding. Mom suggested I wear my pumps, which sounded like a good idea. No use hurting my feet in a place where no one could see me. We walked through a gate to a side entrance that had an aluminum awning over it, down a couple of stairs, and into the basement. A small, trim lady in a white beautician's dress greeted us in a heavy Spanish accent. "So nice to see chu, Mrs. Jamison, and this is our son, no?"

"Yes, Maria, this is Nick."

"He is gorgeous, no," Maria said with a wide grin on her face.

"Thank you," Mom replied.

"Hello, Nick, or should I say, Nicky," she said, rolling her r's.

I managed to say "hello," but the words came out in my worst boy voice.

"Do not be feel bad. We do lots of men and boys here. I hear chu is in this year's pageant. Last year. I went. It was wonderful. Oh yes, wonderful. I hope chu wins.

"Thank you," I said, feeling more at ease.

Mom and I followed Maria to another room in the basement that had paneled walls covered with posters in Spanish of girls in fancy upswept hairdos. The recessed ceiling lights and the glass block windows provided light, but still, the room wasn't as bright as a modern salon. One chair faced a mirror on the wall. The counter below the mirror was packed with brushes, combs, and bottles. Another chair was off to the side, and another was by a sink.

"Mrs. Jamison, is it ok with you? I do your hair first?" Maria asked.

Mother agreed and walked to the chair by a sink to have her hair washed.

After her hair was washed, Mom sat in the chair facing the mirror. Mom always wore her hair the same way for as long as I can remember: chin length and turned in like what I think they call a page boy.

"Let's try something different, Maria," Mom said as she handed her a clipping from a magazine. "What do you think, Nick?" Mom called to me with her hand outstretched, holding the picture. "Do you like this style?"

I walked over and held the picture in my hand. It was a woman in a short hairstyle with curls around the face. I just stared at it, entranced by the smaller sketch of a face that showed the placement of the rollers and the little arrows showing the direction of the rollers. "I like it, Mom," I said.

Maria smiled, said it was indeed a pretty style, and began to cut Mom's hair. She cut and pinned a section at a time; cut and pinned. Without thinking, I stayed where I was watching Maria.

"Your little boy, he likes pretty hair, no?"

"Yes," Mom answered. "He loves pretty hair."

Maria looked again at the picture in my hand and began combing strands of hair and wrapping them around rollers. Soon Mom had rollers from ear to ear. "See how I am doing, diss," Maria said, smiling at me. "Someday, you set your mama's hair. You can be her little beautician, yes."

I could never do as good as you," I answered.

"Oh, yes, nene, you can. Here try," she said, handing me the long thin black comb.

"Is that ok with you, Mrs. Jamison?"

Mom said, glancing over her shoulder towards me. "Yes, it's ok."

I tried, but I was so nervous that I couldn't do anything right. Mom's hair was shorter than mine and was hard to wrap around the small roller. I fumbled and fumbled with the hair and roller, trying to handle them both simultaneously. Finally

Maria giggled, said, "He est too nervous with his mother's hair. But when chu are alone, you can practice."

Mom was all smiles, almost laughing, as she watched me in the mirror try to handle the strand of hair, hair roller, and bobby pin.

"It's not as easy as it looks, is it, Nick? Stay here and watch Maria," Mom said to me. "You might want to be a hairstylist one day."

All the time, I stood watching Maria set Mom's hair. Once she was finished, I sat in the chair.

"Maria, I think Nick's hair would look more radiant with some highlights," Mom said.

Maria studied my hair for a while and announced that she knew just what was needed. "You will like to diss, I think," she exclaimed as she set Mom under the hairdryer. Maria draped me in a plastic cape, unraveled the twisted row of hair on top of my head, and combed it out. I felt the pointed top of the plastic bottle slide over my head and hear the spurting of the bottle as she squeezed a liquid out of it.

She then shampooed until my whole head was covered with foam.

"I will be back," Maria announced and patted my shoulder.

I looked around the room. Mom was reading a magazine. My head was kinda burning, and if I could, I would have asked Mom if this was ok. I watched the clock on the wall, anxious to see Maria. In about 15 minutes Maria returned with a

the girl behind her.

"Nicko, this is my daughter, Alicia."

"Hello," Alicia said with a smile on her face.

I returned the "Hello."

Alicia was stunning in her hip-hugging blue jeans and her full breasts; they were pushed so tightly into a white halter top that I could see the outline of her bra. Her thick black hair was slicked back in front and sides and braided high on her head in

a braid that rested against her breast and dangled her down almost to her waist.

"I'll rinse your hair," Alicia said to me. At the washbasin, I positioned myself in the chair and lowered my head into the basin. I squirmed a little to get my neck as comfortable as possible, and Alicia tucked lots of towels around my neck. She had only a slight accent, and her voice was clear and lyrical. "We don't want to get that pretty dress stained, now do we?"

I didn't say anything.

As Alicia hovered over me, her braid danced against my cheek, the loose hairs at the end close enough for my lips to kiss. "You're one of the cutest boys we've ever had in here," she said to me in a soft voice.

I didn't say anything. I wanted to, but I couldn't.

Holding the spray in one hand and separating my hair and keeping the water off my face with the other, she rinsed my hair, applied a creme, and rinsed again. I loved the feeling of having my hair washed by another person and wondered if women loved it as much as I did. Alicia turned off the water, and I struggled to sit up. She wrapped a towel around my head and patted my hair. She took my hand and led me back to the center chair, where she put a new plastic cape over me and combed out my hair with a wide-toothed comb. Then with a blow dryer, she began to dry my hair.

"How'd ya want to wear it for the rest of the day?" she asked me over the dim of the dryer.

"I don't know, anyway, I guess," I answered, raising my voice to be heard.

"I think I'll do your hair in a Gainsborough Braid. It's very becoming to young girls. Your mother says you like your hair tight, like so many of you boys do. Is that right?"

Before I could answer her, the doorbell chimed: once, twice, three, four times.

Alicia talked to her mother in Spanish. "Excuse me," she said, and she quickly left. I heard voices in Spanish at the basement door. Alicia came back and talked to her mother in Spanish. I could tell by the scour on her face that Mrs. Rodriguez was unhappy with what was going on.

"Ask Nicko," her mother said to her in English.

"Nick, can we go outside to the patio?" Alicia asked in a little girl's voice as she took my hands in hers. "I can do your hair outside, and you can meet my friends. They're lots of fun, you'll see."

I hesitated as Alicia pulled up on my fingertips. "Go ahead, Nick, Mom urged."

"You have to get accustomed to meeting people as Nicky."

"Ok," I said, shrugging my shoulders. Alicia jumped with enthusiasm, pulling me up to my feet. By the hand, she led me to the backyard and the cement block patio, where another girl and three boys stood talking to each other. Suddenly they were all speaking in Spanish, moving their arms and talking kinda loud to Alicia. I think they were talking about me because they keep glancing at me as they spoke. They all had black hair and brown skin. The boys were in blue jeans and tight T-shirts, and the girl in cutoff jeans and a black knit top. They were all small, my size, but two of the boys had the beginning of mustaches and looked tough like I bet they were in a gang.

"This is Angela, Carlos, Jorge, and Rocky," Alicia said, introducing them to me.

Then she spoke in Spanish. I caught the words "Mrs. Jamison," "Nick," and "Nicky," but that's all I understood. Now, I was really glad that Mom put more makeup on me.

"I'm sorry I have to speak in Spanish," Alicia apologized. " Rocky and Jorge don't understand much English."

Alicia moved two of the curved benches directly in front of them and sat down on the furthest bench, facing them.

"I can fix your hair while we talk," Alicia said, gesturing for me to sit on the bench between her and her friends. Clumsily, I smoothed out my dress and sat in the middle of the bench. With legs close together, feet flat on the ground, and palms face-up on my lap, I sat looking straight ahead at her friends but trying not to look into anyone's eyes. With the edge of the comb, Alicia began parting my hair in the center and then from ear to ear. I could feel the comb run along a line on my scalp and then flick stray hairs in place. She worked quickly, all the while talking rapidly in Spanish and then to me in English. Like she would talk for a long time and then say a few words to me. They all talked nonstop. I only smiled and concentrated on not making a mistake by looking at any of her friends for more than a second. I wasn't embarrassed that they knew I was a boy, but the more they laughed, the more I thought they must be laughing at me. Worst of all was that I was much better dressed than they were. If I had on my straight-leg girl jeans and tank top and my hair in a ponytail, I bet I would better fit in with them, I thought to myself.

"I told them you're going out on your first date with an older man tomorrow and that you're in a beauty contest Sunday. They all hope you win," Alicia said to me.

"Thank you," I said. I wanted to explain that I was just having fun, that it was like a Shakespeare play that I was in, that it wasn't like a real date, but my mouth was so dry, from the sun, that I couldn't get the words out.

I felt Alicia divide and pin my hair into four sections, pull each section into a side ponytail, and cover each band at the base. Then she removed the band from the top left ponytail, braided it tightly, put a band on the end, and pinned it on top. She did the same to the top right section. Her fingers moved quickly as she pulled and braided and pulled and braided. I'm sure she was trying to be gentle, but she often tugged hard on the strands of hair, pulling them from my head and pinching my tender scalp. I was concentrating on the braiding so much that I almost didn't hear Alicia.

"Carlos says he doesn't believe you're a boy," Alicia repeated. "He thinks we're playing a joke on him." I moved my head to look at him. "Don't move, Sweetie, or I'll lose my place."

She spoke in Spanish, "nene malo."

"Bad boy," she said to me in English. "He's a bad boy," Alicia said again.

"Why?" I asked.

"You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do. Tell me," I insisted.

"He says he won't believe you're a girl unless you lift up your dress and show him you're a boy. I told him he was a bad boy."

Everyone laughed at that and pointed to Carlos, and Angela pushed him on the shoulder.

I couldn't help myself and look at Carlos. He was all smiling. I studied him. He was the most handsome of the boys with the lightest complexion, short hair, and a beautiful smile. Once I realized I was staring, I quickly averted my eyes away from him.

Everyone continued to watch Alicia braid my hair and talk to her in Spanish the whole time. After braiding the bottom two ponytails, Alicia unclipped the braids, and I felt them drop to my back. She brought the bottom right braid across the nape of my neck over to the left side, tucked it under the base of the left braid, and fastened it with a hairpin. Then she brought the bottom left braid over the right braid and pinned it in place. Alicia then tucked the end of the left top braid underneath the braids at my nape and pinned it in place. Finally, she brought the right braid over to the left side and pinned it in place. "Nene Lindo," I heard someone say.

Alicia spoke in Spanish to Angela, who hopped off the table. After a few minutes, she returned with two mirrors. I held the rectangular mirror, and Alicia had the smaller one by the handle behind me. My hair looked darling! The four braids crisscrossed each other, so orderly, so feminine, so girlish that if it were just Mom and me, I would have squealed with delight. I could feel the weight of braids languishing on the back of my neck. They were so arousing that without thinking, I squeezed my thighs together.

As Alicia turned the mirror, I could see the sunlight shimmering off my hair's new light brown color. Everyone seemed to like my hair, as they were all smiles and shaking their heads yes. Alicia said there weren't many Anglo girls or boys in her school and those that were attracted a lot of attention.

"Carlos says you're too pretty to be a boy," Alicia

continued.

I didn't say anything.

"Show them," Alicia said into my ear. "Show them."

I sat motionlessly.

"Just pick up your dress and let them see that you're a man.

I didn't move a muscle.

"Lift up your skirt and spread your legs. It won't take a minute."

I still didn't say or do a thing.

Alicia whispered in my ear, "You look like a white Anglo angel, so perfect in your yellow sundress, but you know, an angel who is a little naughty is much more interesting and has so much more fun."

I looked around. A high wooden fence surrounded the yard on both sides, and a garage sealed off the back. I couldn't see how anyone else could see me. I grasped the hem of my dress and slowly lifted it a couple of inches to reveal my panties. All this talk and my lovely braids were all fascinating, and my manhood was very aroused.

"Higher," Alicia urged.

I lifted the hem of my dress as high as it would go.

"Now spread your legs," Alicia urged.

I spread my legs a little bit, then more, and then as wide as I could.

"See, I told you," Alicia said to her friends in English for the first time. "Why don't you satisfy yourself against the fence. I know that's what you want to do, don't you?"

The pressure was building and building, and I thought I'd explode if I didn't relieve

myself.

"You do want us to watch you come, don't you, little boy?" Alicia said in a seductive voice. "Come with me, and I'll help you."

I stood up and followed Alicia to the corner of the fence. Alicia stood behind me and took the hem of my dress, and lifted it to my waist. With thumbs under the waistband of my panties, I picked up my legs and, after struggling over my erection, pulled my panties to my ankles and down over my pumps. I began to rub my penis in front of the staring eyes of her friends. I held the base with my left thumb and index finger and with the right thumb and forefinger. No one said a word as I rubbed and rubbed, stroked, and stroked with my other hand the area just before the head. In no time at all, my penis was as straight as a broom handle. Within minutes a tremendous surge that seemed to come from the tip of my toes shot through me. "Ahhh," I gasped, closed my eyes, and shot one, two, three streams of white liquid on the fence. I twitched as a shiver went down my spine, and I jerked forward one more time. Opening my eyes, I watched my semen slide down the wood. I felt so weak for a minute that Alicia had to hold me up.

"See, I told you that he was a man," Alicia repeated.

"Thank you, Nicky," Carlos said with an accent but in clear English. "You are a very beautiful person." Which I thought was very nice of him.

No sooner had I gotten composed than Mom walked out. She looked so different with soft curls that it took me a second to recognize her. I joined Mom at her side.

And we began to walk to the front.

"Nick, did you thank Alicia for giving you such pretty braids?" She said to me.

"Thank you, Alicia. I love my braids," I said to her, looking more at the ground than at her.

"I hope I can do them again for you one day," she responded. "Hope to see you soon," Alicia called as we walked through the gate. "Yes, we all would want to see you again, I hope," Carlos added. On the way home, I told Mom how pretty she looked in her new hairdo. Mother asked me if I had fun with Alicia and her friends. I answered with what I thought Mom wanted to hear. "They're ok, I guess."

"Alicia is 18 and going to graduate in January. She seems very nice the way she helps her mother out," Mom said.

"Yes, she is nice. I hope she likes me."

"I'm sure Mrs. Rodridgez will tell me if she does. You can be sure. We talk now and then," Mom said.

Once we got home, I ran to the bathroom mirror. Holding a hand mirror, I could see that my hair was a beautiful color, even prettier than when I first saw it. And the braids, they were, just the cutest hairstyle ever. If I wasn't so tired, I'd looked at myself a lot longer, but I was really beat, so I changed into a pair of straight-legged girl jeans and a blue knit top and got comfortable on the living room couch.

Mom said I was just like my dad, who could fall asleep on the couch at the drop of a hat. She brought me a hairnet, which she put on me. In no time at all, I had fallen asleep. I was in dreamland when I awoke to the sound of people talking. I couldn't believe that it was 6 already and time for dinner. I don't know how Mom had the energy to cook.

"Geez, was I tired? Going to the beauty shop is murdering," I said groggily.

"Let's see your hair," Sis said, removing the net. She and Dad loved my hair color and went crazy over my braids, staring and touching them. Wow, what a certain hairdo will do to some people! Sis and Dad also said how pretty Mom looked in her new hairdo. Over dinner, Sis and Dad wanted all the details of the day, but I wasn't awake enough to tell them the whole story. Anyway, I don't see why I have to tell everyone every detail of my day. "Mom gave me lessons in walking and lady-like behavior, and we ate at a fancy restaurant, and we went to this lady's house where she colored my hair, and her daughter braided my hair and where I met some of her friends, " I concluded in one long sentence.

After dinner, we relaxed in the family room, except Mom, who was still in the kitchen. There was nothing on TV, so Sis read a magazine, Dad the paper, and me. I was thinking about Alicia and her friends and how they got me to do what I did. I was beginning to think they tricked me when Sis broke the silence, "Dad, can you dance with Nick so he can practice his dance steps? He really needs to practice with a man. We went over the steps, but he needs some realistic experiences."

A couple of minutes later, I said, "Sis, I don't need more practice."

"You want to make a fool of yourself? Sis asked angrily. "And what if Ed notices you leading like a guy and Ed's friends see that you're a guy, huh? You want people to know that you're a sissy dancing with a man?"

"Now, Jean, don't be nasty to your brother," Dad responded. Which I really appreciated.

Sis got off one more shot, trying to make her point. "You want to step all over his feet and make him look clumsily?"

That last remark made me think of Ed again. I just looked at Dad. Dad hesitated. Sis knew her idea was in trouble. "Come on, Daddy, we all know you're a great dancer. Please," she said in a little girl's voice. "Help Nicky be a good dancer for her debut as fem fatal."

"What do ya think, son? Are you up to a dance lesson with your old man?"

"I waited a few moments, and since nothing in my brain said not to, I said. "Ok, I never danced as a girl before, so I guess I could use a lesson from the master," As I slipped on my pumps, Sis rolled up the area rug and pushed it off to the side. Sis was always good at getting me to do things she wanted me to do.

Sis hurried to the phonograph console, which was an old one that stacked records that dropped one by one on each other. It was so old, it could even play 78's by turning over the needle. Sis and Dad shuffled through albums and put on some 33's. Dad seemed energized as he walked over to me with arms outstretched.

Suddenly the lights went down. What the hell are you doing dimming the lights? I was about to say when Sis spoke. "This is for atmosphere, to get you two in the mood to be realistic."

"May I have this dance, Miss," Dad said, offering me his hand.

As the song began, I answered him, "Yes, you may, sir."

There we were, Dad and I, in the dim lightroom. Me in fancy braids, a filled-out blue tank top, straight-legged girl jeans, and white 3/4 inch pumps; and Dad in his white shirt, blue suit pants, and black loafers.

Dad went over lots of instructions about how to dance as a girl. I had taken a dance class in 8th grade and was a good dancer, so I was told. But of course, I never danced as a girl; I hardly danced as a boy. Dancing by itself was scary; dancing with another guy, especially my father, was a scary trip. I figured if I could dance with my father, I would feel really comfortable dancing with Ed or any other person.

After settling down and getting my thoughts in order, I placed my left hand gently but firmly on his shoulder and laid my right hand into Dad's left hand, as instructed. At first, it felt funny, our palms touching. The touch of Dad's hand on my back, just below my shoulder, sent a shiver down my spine, not a lousy shiver but a good one. As the record played, Dad talked to me. "Move counterclockwise around the room. While your date is supposed to watch by other couples, you, too, should watch for them. Relax, Nick, so you can follow my lead."

To the strumming of a guitar and the heavy beat of an organ, the song started. With a crisp, clear voice, a girl sang,

A thousand stars in the sky,

like the stars in your eyes.

I'd heard Dad play this song before. He once said it reminded him of his youth. He said more than once, "you never forget the songs of your youth even if you live to be a hundred." I never paid much attention to the words, but somehow I had some memory of most of them. At least with the oldies, I could understand all the words.

As the song played on, I followed Dad's lead. The steps were easy, just two steps each way, but the turning was the fun part.

Each night I count the stars in the sky,

hoping you aren't telling me lies.

You're with me tonight.

I'm captured by your charms.

Oh, pretty baby, won't you hold me in your arms.

I felt Dad's right hand apply pressure to my hand, so I turned in a semi-circle to my right.

"Very good, Nicky," Dad said.

Dad's hand applied pressure to my side, and I turned sideways. Dad was very pleased with me and said so.

Each night, I count the stars in the sky, hoping that you aren't telling me lies.

You're with me tonight; I'm captured by your charms.

Oh, pretty baby, won't you hold me in your arms.

A thousand stars in the sky make me realize you are the one love that I'll adore.

Tell me you love me, tell me you're mine once more.

To move backward, Dad pulled me towards him with his right hand on my shoulder blade.

For some reason, the song meant more to me now that I knew about Dad's past, and they meant more now that I knew Ed and that I would soon be dancing with him.

For a while, I closed my eyes and concentrated on my steps, trying very hard to listen to the words and dance well.

Mom's voice came from the kitchen. "John, do you have to play those silly old songs?"

With that, dad put on another record, whispering, "Your mother hates me to play the songs I like; she hates the good memories I have." My mouth dropped open when I heard Dad say that, but I held my tongue. It seems to be a girl for a week who brought out lots of hidden things in everyone.

"I'd love to stay," Sis announced, "but gotta run."

"This one drives your mother bananas," Dad said as he turned up the volume. A female chorus in what sounded like an echo chamber started in a robust and lively beat,

If you were a woman and I was a man,

would it be so hard to understand that a heart is a heart, and we do what we can,

if you were a woman and I was a man.

Dad and I danced around the room. Then a gusty female voice came on strong.

How's it feel to be a woman?

How's it feel to be a man?

Are we really much different; tell me, where you stand?

I look at you; you look away.

Why do you say we're night and day.

I'd like to try another way. Oh baby, for just one day."

I had to concentrate really hard to follow Dad, but I was able to. I guess Mom really didn't like that song because we saw her go upstairs. Now we wouldn't have to whisper when we talked.

I soaked up the words of the song.

How's it feel to be the hunter,

how's it feel to be the prey.

Is there really a reason for this game to play?

I look at you; you look away.

Why do you say we're night and day.

I'd like to try another way.

Oh, darling, just one day."

Dad and I did great together, dancing two quick steps and turning in all directions, twirling around the room so fast that I was almost dizzy. A couple of times, I stumbled, but Dad made up for my mistakes. Dad led wonderfully; I hoped Ed could do as well.

Then the musicians played a long time, drums, guitar, and piano with lots of syntonization.

Hey, we're just two people trying to love.

Oh, but how can we love with this wall between us, holding us back.

If you were a woman and I was a man, would it be so hard to understand? We do what we can.

If you were a woman and I was a man, if you were a woman and I was a man.

I was breathless at the end of that song and was glad the next one was slow.

I got pictures of you in funny poses.

Letters from you with fresh yellow roses.

I've got souvenirs of fun times together.

And I'll cherish those years forever."

I never dreamed dancing could be so much fun. As we turned and moved back and forward, I giggled, and Dad laughed. "We're another Fred and Ginger," he said.

We started out dancing a foot apart, but by now, my bra was rubbing against Dad's shirt, and I felt the inserts rocking against my chest like real breasts would, I thought. We listened to that album until it ended with a song called "No Way to Treat a Lady."

"Why not practice in your heels for the last album," Dad suggested. So I grabbed them off the floor by the sofa and put them on. It felt strange looking into my father's eyes, which for some reason, looked sad. "This is a song by a black group called the Drifters. Your mother and I were seeing each other at the time, and I was also seeing another person."

Looking into my father's eyes, I asked him, "Are you glad you stopped being a woman to marry Mom?" It was the question I'd been dying to ask. I had to concentrate on hearing his words and the songs at the same time, but I was able to.

Dad hesitated. "Yes, if I didn't marry her, I wouldn't have wonderful children like you and Jean." That answered sounded too made up for me.

"No, really, Dad, be honest."

"Nick, you can't have everything in life. You can't be everything you want to be or do everything you want to do. You'll learn that lesson when you get to be my age."

Dad stammer for a while and, in a voice choked with emotion, said, "Nick, I probably haven't been as attentive as I should have with you, but let me say now that you're a wonderful son and a wonderful daughter if that's what you want to be."

The song played on, and Dad squeezed me closer to him.

Around and around the room, we danced, moving backward and sideways and forward, with Dad expertly leading me. All the time, I picked up my feet to show off my heels. Father pulled me closer and closer to him until I could barely move and turn. His arms dropped to hold me around the waist. I slid my arms around his neck, hanging on to him. Soon we were standing still, shuffling our feet. I knew Dad wasn't dancing with me, and I didn't think he was dancing with Mom, either.

I felt a bulge growing in my pant, and I'm sure I felt Dad's. "Daddy," I shivered and said in my little girl's voice. "You're getting me excited. If we don't stop, I'm going to come in my jeans." I couldn't believe I could talk that way, but I guess my experiences had done something to my thinking over the last few days.

"I'm feeling the same way, dear," Dad said to me.

"Daddy, I can hardly move."

"Sorry, Nick, I was thinking of, well, something, someone else."

We pulled apart, and I regained my composure.

"Daddy, when you were dressed as a woman, did you ever have a boyfriend. You know, like a real girl has a boyfriend?" I asked him

When I was dressed as a woman, I did."

"And did you like it? I mean, did you like doing things that boyfriend and girlfriend do together? Personal things, I mean."

"Now, Nick, you're too young to have a real girlfriend, much less a special boyfriend," Dad responded.

"You know what happened today, Daddy? I jerked off in front of some girls and boys. Against a fence. Where Mom and I got our hair fixed. Outside while I was waiting for Mom."

"And how do you feel about what you did?" Dad asked.

"At first, I felt guilty, but then on the way home, I thought how much I liked it, having people enjoy watching me. Was I bad, daddy?" I asked.

"I'm not calling anyone 'bad,' but just don't let anyone pressure you into doing something you don't want to do. Your Mom is good at that," Dad answered.

Dad continued, "Here's one bit of advice. Hang on to your dreams. Because once they're dead, you might as well lay down and pull the dirt over you."

With the end of the song, Dad thanked me for the dance, and I thanked him for asking me.

That night I was dead tired but, as usual, had tons of new things to think about. I was upset to realize that Dad wasn't as happy as I thought he was, and I was upset to see that side of Mom that I never saw before. And I realized that I was in the middle of something between them. I satisfied myself thinking wicked thoughts about Ed and me, and oh yes, Carlos, and that helped me to quickly fall asleep.