A Boy With Girly Hair - The Contest - Part 4

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Dad made a great fuss over me. "Mom," dad called, "what do you think of our boy? Isn't she something!"

"This is the dress I'll be wearing to the reunion with Ed," I informed Dad. "Do you like it?"

"Yes, I like it very much, but it's those shoes that have caught my attention," Dad said as he walked over and sat next to me. "It's those shoes that I love." Dad got down and looked real hard at the shoes.

"My your feet must hurt, Nicky," he said to me.

"They do," I said.

"Would you like me to rub them for you?" He asked.

"That'll be great."

Dad took each foot and rubbed it for me. His strong hands massaging my feet felt terrific, and the sensation of his hands against the hose was very exciting. The soreness seemed to disappear immediately. I think Dad would have gone on all evening if we didn't have dinner. I practiced eating in the dress. I thought about what I was doing each time I brought the food up to my mouth, being super careful not to stain my dress. I must have looked funny eating so slowly and carefully, but it didn't bother me for some reason. After all, I had had lots of funny things happen to me.

Before I went to bed, I carefully hung up my dress, rolled off the pantyhose, and put my bra on my dresser. What a difference, I thought, from the time as a boy when I threw my clothes in a pile on the floor.

Dad's knock on my door surprised me. He entered my room and sat next to me on the bed.

"Here," he said, unfastening my bra, "let me help."

"Thanks, Dad," I said as he undid the clasps and swung the bra over the desk chair.

"I can tell you're looking forward to the big day," he said.

Not being sure of what he meant, I repeated, "Big day?"

"Yes, the dance."

"It's just a class reunion, Dad," I continued as I pulled my nightgown over my head.

"I mean, it's a big day in that you've never gone out so publicly before, I mean so

public as a girl," he went on.

"Sorry, Dad, I don't get the point," I said to him as I undid my ponytail. Whenever Dad had something serious to say, it usually took him forever to say what he really wanted to say.

As I was about to brush my hair, Dad slide the brush from my hand to his, saying,

"Here, I'll do that." With long steady strokes, Dad brushed my hair as he talked.

"What I'm saying is that you're a boy dressed like a girl, and you'll be going on a real date with another male. Dancing is related to rites of passage: births,

graduations, and marriages; all of these are important turning points in a person's life. So I guess this dance is a rite of passage for you."

I was nearly put to sleep by the movement of my neck moving back and forth to the rhythm of the strokes. I heard what Dad was saying but didn't get the point.

"Nick, are you sure this is what you want to do? Is it the life you want to live?" he asked.

"But Dad, it's just practice for the pageant. That's all. Anyway, it's just harmless fun."

"Nick, we both know it's more than that."

I regrouped my thoughts. "Dad, it's fun being a girl and being with Ed. When I get dressed up, everyone says how pretty I look, unlike when I was a boy, when nobody hardly paid any attention. You just don't understand!" I blurted out.

Dad put his arm on my shoulder, "Nick, I do understand. I started dressing as a female just out of high school."

"Dad, you?" I gasped.

"Yes, Nick. I dressed as a female for ten years, most of them exclusively as a woman. I wore my hair long, much longer than yours, and had a wardrobe larger than your sister's and your mother's combined."

"Did you like being a woman?"

"It's wasn't a question of liking it. I always thought I was born to be a woman. My earliest memories are of playing with my sister's dolls and dressing in her clothes. I felt I was just myself when I was put on my sister's clothes and makeup and did my hair."

I tried to answer him, "Dad, I never," but couldn't say anything to him.

"Now, is that true for you? Are you just being yourself when you're Nicky, or are you Nick pretending to be Nicky?"

"I don't know; maybe I won't know until after," I answered him, not know really what I wanted to say. A second later, I blurted out, "But you and Mom?"

"Your mother and I started out like girlfriends. I'm eight years older than your mother. I fell in love with her, told her my secret, and she said she could never love me except as a man. And here we are." I had so many questions that I think I could have talked with Dad all night.

"And here," Dad said, handing me a box. I opened it up and stared at the contents.

"They're silicone breasts that I used to wear. I hope you enjoy the effect as much as I did."

I said "thanks," not know really what effect he meant, and with that, Dad got up off the bed, walked to the door, and said, "goodnight."

For several minutes I wiggled the silicone in my hand. So many thoughts surged through my brain that I thought would explode. If I wasn't so totally exhausted, I never would have fallen to sleep.

I woke up that Friday with the hope that last night's talk was all a dream. I was glad that Dad told me about himself, but I was sad for him because he seemed sad last night. For hours I lay awake in bed until Mom's calling my name makes me get up. I quickly put on a bra and a nightshirt that hung to my knees and went downstairs. Walking barefooted felt wonderful after wearing hi heels so long yesterday. I relished the carpet between my toes. That's the first thing that hit me that morning, how much as a girl, I enjoyed the smell and feel of being a girl.

The smell of perfume, powder, creams, lotions, and the feeling of silk, cotton, nylon, and even the feel of the carpet.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom said. "We've lots of lessons to review for this weekend."

Friday morning, I awoke thinking about last night's talk with Dad. For an hour, I tossed and turned in bed. But Mom kept calling my name, so I finally got up. I slipped into a plain white bra and a pink cotton nightshirt that hung to my knees. I untwisted my hair, dropping a handful of pins on the dresser as I left my room. Walking barefooted down the stairs, I relished the carpet between my toes after wearing hi heels yesterday. That's the first feeling that hit me that Friday, how I enjoyed smells and the feel of things much more as a girl than as a boy. The scent and texture of perfume, powder, creams, and lotions; silk, cotton, and nylon; and even carpet between my toes.

"Saturday morning, sleepyhead," Mom said with a sour look on her face. "We've lots of lessons to review today. It seems everyone is determined for you to be a girl this week, and I'm committed, too. I don't want you to embarrass yourself or this family."

"Thanks, Mom," I said as I gave her a kiss on the cheek, something I hardly ever do. As Mom made breakfast for me, I wondered if I should talk to her about what Dad told me last night but decided not to. No, I'll wait until she's in a better mood.

Right off the bat, Mom got upset with me. "Nick, you're eating horribly! And watch your sleeves. Don't stain your nightshirt." I slowed down and cut my pancakes into tiny pieces, and ate them carefully.

"If you can't even eat like a girl, how are you going to do all the other things like a girl?"

"Sorry, Mom," was all I said.

"And you didn't even comb your hair. What kind of a girl are you, anyway?"

"Mom, I've only been a girl for a few days. Give me a break," I snapped back in my boy's voice. I was surprised at myself. If Dad was home, I know he'd yell at me for that outburst, but then again, maybe not. It seems Dad's been on my side all this

week.

Mom continued, "If you learn your lessons well today, we'll go out for lunch. You need to practice eating like a lady. You're going to eat at the reunion, aren't you?"

"Ah, sure we are," I answered but didn't know for sure.

I barely finished eating when Mom ordered me to the family room to practice walking.

"Mom, I went through this already," I whined.

"I know, but your sister said you needed more practice. You want to trip and fall on your face during the dance or contest? Or maybe break a leg and have to go to the hospital. Then they find out you're a boy and sent the police to investigate and find out that we let you dress as a girl and arrest us?"

I was stunned. Geez, Mom must be losing it, I thought. All I could say was, "Ok, Mom, you're right."

Mom barked orders, and I followed them. "Now walk, keeping your back straight, Nick. Keep it straight while you walk, stand, sit, and do any other thing. Now walk around the room, sit down, and do things. Don't lumber; walk. Be flexible,"

She continued. "That's better. Keep your chin parallel with the floor."

On and on, Mom gave me instructions. Each suggestion I repeated in my mind back straight, not rigid, chin parallel.

I did what Mom said even though it was boring and silly. But after a little while, it was fun and even funny. There I was, barefooted in my loose-fitting nightshirt, with uncombed bouncing hair, a flattened bra, and no makeup, looking very much like a who-knows-what, walking like a girl back and forth in front of his mother.

"Don't walk too fast. Shoulders relaxed, pull in your stomach, tuck in your rear,

legs close together with small steps those are too small, feet straight ahead, think tall Nick, for God's sake, pick your feet off the floor completely

with every step," Mom went on like a drill sergeant. I never knew walking could be so complicated and began to take her instructions seriously. As a boy, I just walked, but then I remembered what Sis said, "women don't walk; they perform."

"Legs close together. It'll feel different with girl clothes on, walking like a girl.

Sway and rotate of your little hips and butt, no, more like this," Mom said, demonstrating what she meant. "Now for a turn. Take several steps forward in a straight line. Stop with your right foot in front of your left foot. Now with your weight the same on both feet, raise a little on the balls of your feet and make a 180-degree turn. Stop when your left foot, which is now in front of you, is straight and your left foot is at a 45-degree angle to the left foot."

"That's a silly turn," I blurted out.

"What's silly is a teenage boy going to a dance with a man," Mom blurted out. A minute later, she regained her composure. "Now make your turns, dear."

Even though it sounded complicated, it wasn't, and I made good turns.

"Now sit on this folding chair. Sit tall, keep your legs together, feet straight out palms of your hands upward on your lap. You're doing good, son," Mom

said, now all smiles.

"Good. Now pretend you're getting into a car... That's it, stand up... Now sit down on the seat. Keep your feet outside on the ground, then swing them into the car, lifting them in front of you. Now pretend you're getting out of the car. Put your feet on the ground and lift your body out."

"You're a good teacher, Mom."

"I should be; I went through all this with your father years ago. Why don't you get dressed for lunch? And wear that pretty sundress. It looks good on you since you don't have much of a waist. Then I'll apply your makeup. First, wash your face. And use the cleansing lotion. And pull your hair off your face so you can wash around your hair e and ears. And use your father's shaver if you need to."

As a girl, everything took so long. As a boy, I could dress, eat breakfast, and be out of the house in half an hour. But as a girl, it took three times as long. But it was fun doing things as a girl. Doing things slower made me think about what I was doing, and then it was more fun doing them. In my room, I undressed, carefully folded my nightshirt, and placed it on my bed. Naked except for panties, I walked to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like my old self, Nick, the boy. I started to wash my smooth face and, of course, got my hair wet.

Remembering what Mom said, I pulled back my hair and searched for a covered hairband. Damn! There were always tons of them around the house, on every table, but when I needed a hairband, I couldn't find one. By the time I finished, water was dripping on my shoulders and down my back off strands of wet hair.

Once in my room, I slowed down. Getting dressed like a girl was as much fun as opening a birthday present. I sat on the edge of my bed, took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly as I was about to say goodbye to Nick and hello to Nicky. In front of my dresser mirror, I saw myself hold up a white bra, a sports bra it's called, with a Y-back. The fabric was wonderfully soft and light. I slipped the silicone breasts of Dad's into the crumpled cups, slid my arms through the straps, and pulled the bra over my head to my chest. Wow! I felt a pull on the bra straps and saw the cups fill out. Finally, I had breasts, or at least what could pass for them.

Dad and I must have been the same size because they filled the cup perfectly. Right away, I felt the weight and swing of my new breasts. I walked in front of the mirror, towards it and then away, to the one side and then the other; moving my body, observing my bust, daydreaming that I was in a skin-tight dress, with lots of cleavages, that my breasts quivered as I walked swinging my arms and hips. People couldn't help but watch me. Now I liked my bust. And I liked the tightness of the wide bottom band that squeezed me across the chest. Geez, I thought, I wonder if Ed will notice?

I slid on my sundress. It was a soft yellow with a little orange flower pattern, a scooped neckline, one-inch shoulder straps, short sleeves, and a skirt that brushed my skin just below the knees. Walking, and even moving my arms, felt different now with the added weight. Part of me was hoping Mom would say something like, "Wow, you look great," and part of me was hoping she wouldn't say anything.

"My, my, don't you look pretty," Mom said as I rejoined her in the kitchen. I guess. Mom was in a better mood now.

When I heard that, I instinctively pinched my dress at the sides and pirouetted on my toes, just as Sis did when she was little. As a girl, it was fun to be called pretty.

I sat on the kitchen chair facing Mom, glancing several times to the side to spy at the tray of cosmetics on the table. She leaned towards me with a sponge and applied the liquid to my face, Moisture Whip Liquid Foundation, Ivory, the bottle said.

Then using the sides of a brush, she stroked Estee Laude Peach Blush on my face, which tickled, causing me to twitch. "With your round face, I'm putting the blush on top of the outer cheekbones."

That worried me, so a minute later, I asked, "Is that good, having a round face?"

"Yes, dear. A round face if very attractive," Mom said as if that was a really dumb question.

"Now for the lips. This is the hard part," Mom said.

"You know boy's lips aren't like girl's lips."

Sure I knew that but didn't know what it means for me. Anyway, Mom applied a foundation on my lips with a sponge. She traced the shape she wanted to make them fuller with a lip liner and not so thin, she said.

"What color is that," I asked, having to know.

"Sugar Plum Ice," Mom answered. That didn't tell me much.

I felt the stroking of the lip brush over my lips. First at the corner, as Mom spread the color inward. I tried not to breathe so hard, but it wasn't easy because, to me, having lipstick applied is the most exciting part of makeup.

"Most girls your age can apply their own makeup," Mom said. I thought, give me a little while, and I sure can do what any 16-year girl can do. "Blot," Mom said, holding a tissue up to my lips.

I hesitated.

Mom waited, tissue in her hand.

"Close your mouth on the tissues and press your lips to it."

Which I did. With the tissue against my mouth, Mom brushed some powder over the tissue.

After she was finished, I asked, "What's that for?"

"To matte your lips."

"Why?"

"So your lips aren't shiny."

I wanted to ask one more "why" but was anxious to get on with more makeup.

"All done," Mom announced.

"But what about eyeshadow and eyeliner and mascara? Don't I need them?"

Mom shot back, "You have on plenty of makeup for a young girl and much more than is needed for a boy, I may add."

"Do one more thing, Mom. Please, one more thing."

"Ok. Which thing do you want to be done?" Mom asked.

I thought for a second. "Eyeshadow !"

Mom left and returned with another tray. She began to line my eye and then used a small brush to press the eye shadow into the base of my lashes. It tickled as Mom used short strokes to dust first the upper lids and then the lower ones. Mom picked up the eyelash curler. Wow! I thought I'm getting my lashes curled.

"Here, you do this," Mom said, handing me the curler. I positioned it and squeezed. I know I must have looked like a clod; I was so clumsily.

"Again," Mom said. "Again. Ok, that's enough."

Mom then applied black mascara, flicking the brush once, twice, three times on each lash. "All through," Mom said. I was dying to spring up and run to the mirror, but Mom didn't make a move to let me out. I could tell she was enjoying herself by the sound of her voice and the twinkle in her eye. "Now, how shall I do your hair?

Turn around, Nick." Mom began combing my hair straight down my back. It always had a lot of bounce and curled from being twisted up all night, and Mom brushed and brushed. I could feel against my nightshirt her press down on the hair and hold it in place as she brushed most of the curl away, leaving the ends turned up. Then I felt the comb divide the top half, just above my ears, into two sections.

After that, she twisted each section into a corkscrew to make a narrow row across the back of my head and pinned it in place.

"You look so darling, Nicky, "Mom sighed. "I better remember to call you that."

"Thank you, Mother."

"I miss Jean now that she's all grown up and hardly ever home. I so enjoyed doing her hair and makeup," Mom sighed. You know, Nicky, I've been through a lot with your father and me."

I was hoping Mom would tell me more, but she changed the subject. "Nicky, now put on those hi heel shoes you love but bring your white pumps with you."

"Can I wear them for lunch, can I?" I pleaded. Mom nodded yes, and I ran upstairs to bring them down.

Mom inspected them. I put them on. "Wiggle your toes," she said, which I did.

"There's enough room in them. Before you wear heels this high, you should prepare your legs. I know it sounds silly, but it'll save you pain if you do. Now face the wall with your bare feet far enough away from it to form a 45-degree angle.

Bend your right knee; push your left heel into the floor to feel the stretch. Hold it and switch legs. Do this for a couple of minutes, and you'll notice the difference at the end of the day."

I did what Mom said because I had already had the pain she talked about and sure wanted to avoid it. With that out of the way, I finally got to put on my shoes, and we were off to lunch.

We drove to a fancy restaurant where we had to wait to be seated by a man in a suit.

I guess I was soaking up the room because Mom said, "Smile. Always have a smile on your face. Men think women are angry when they're not smiling. Men can be such blockheads."

Mom motioned me to go first. I tried to walk through the restaurant to our table in my best girl walk, especially moving what little hips I had. The place was packed, mostly of men. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught some of them watching me cross the room. I guess my yellow dress and high heels were eye-catchers. I felt like I was already in the pageant. Of course, I knew that men watch girls, no matter how old the men or how young the girls if the girls are pretty. It kind of hit home then: I

had to be pretty as a girl all the time if I wanted people to notice me.

I smoothed out my dress, sat on the edge of a booth next to the window, swung my legs in, and slid close to the window. "I see you're wearing your dad's present," Mom said." How do they feel?"

"Fine. And you know what? I said in a quiet voice. "I feel more real, more like a real girl." Leaning further over to Mom, I whispered, "How do I look? Do I look like a real girl?"

"Yes, Nicky, you do. You look like an average awkward teenage girl," Mom answered back. That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. I wanted her to say that I was a knockout. I guess Mom saw the disappointed look on my face.

"You look very pretty, and I noticed several persons watching when you sat down."

That brought a renewed smile to my face. I couldn't remember ever sitting down with my mother alone in a restaurant where we had to look at each other and talk to each other. I looked at the menu for a long time. I didn't know what a lot of the dishes were. Mom suggested chicken and mashed potatoes because that's what's usually served at reunions. So I had chicken for lunch. At least I tried to have chicken. I ate just the way Mom told me. I sat up straight and put my left hand in my lap as I ate. I picked up the water glass with my fingertips and didn't wrap my hands around it as I usually did. I moved slowly, deliberately, lady-like, and I didn't talk while I was eating. I had to think about what I was doing because I was still forgetful of my new bust, which got in the way every time I reached for something. I cut off as much chicken as I could but finally gave up getting all but the biggest pieces. Now, if I were my boy self, I'd pick up the pieces and clean the bones like a vulture.

Mom talked about lots of things that she might be going to visit her parents in. After the pageant, Dad might get a promotion, Michigan that Sis was getting engaged and moving out in a few days to live with her boyfriend, nothing very interesting, but I tried to be a good listener and a good talker. I know Mom was helping me practice talking about adult things. So I asked lots of questions like I was interested in what she was saying. Lunch was fun but not the same kind of fun as going to McDonald's and chowing down a Big Mac, but it was fun enough to do it again but with someone other than Mom.

"Nicky, I need to have my hair done, and you might as well have yours done too."

For a minute, I didn't know what to say. "But isn't Sis going to fix my hair for the dance or you?"

"Your sister is doing your hair for the pageant, and I'm going to do it tomorrow,"

Mom answered. "But Maria is going to give it some highlights to bring out the prettiest shade for you."