A Boy With Girly Hair - Part 1 (Series 1)

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PARTS - PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

Chapter 1.

"Wait until you get my age, dear. Then time really does fly!"

"I was riding my bike, it was summer vacation, before dinner, and it was a hot day. Mom, I can see in my mind everything that happened that day."

"See ya, Jeff," the long-haired boy called as he lifted his body and pushed down on the bike peddle with all his weight.

"See yeah, Mike," the other boy called as he bicycled off.

"Phew," Michael exhaled. Man! Was he beat! He and his friend had been riding their bikes all day, but it was more relaxed when they started. Now it was hot, really hot. His armpits were soaking wet, and beads of sweat dribbled down the center of his chest. But worse was his long ponytail that stuck to the back of his neck, scratching it every time he turned his head. He was almost tempted to stop in at Mrs. Anderson, where his mother had her hair done, and get a short hair cut. Anyway, he'd have to get it cut before high school. School policy said no long hair on boys, and he WAS a boy.

"Better not," Jeff said, "your mom would kill ya unless you ask her. Anyway, I, you know"

Jeff was right. Michael knew his mother liked his hair long, and so did Jeff. Big deal, he thought, I can get a haircut any day, but for sure before September. His house was cooler than outside, but not by much. The young boy grabbed a Coke and headed down the few stairs off the kitchen to the family room. Wow! The icy can felt good in his hand. Michael popped the tab and gulped down the Coke so fast that he snorted liquid out of his nose.

"You boys have fun?" his mother said, entering the kitchen.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head and rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, "but it's too hot."

"Well, that's what we've been waiting all winter for."

Mom always says that when anyone complains of the heat.

The family room was cooler, and the young boy plopped down on the couch, with his legs dangling over the armrest. No use asking his mother to turn on the air. All she'd say is, "Can't you feel that lovely breeze." Breeze, my butt! Michael thought.

"What'd we having for dinner?" Michael called over his shoulder.

"Aren't you hot, Michael, with that long hair on your neck?" his mother asked, standing over him.

"I don't know; a little, maybe."

"I'm sure you'd feel cooler with that hair off your neck."

"Off my neck? Yeah, sure, guess so. I was going to get a haircut, but another day, I figured."

"Haircut, hum. I could roll it in a bun or comb it into a French twist or some other way."

That was the way his mother fixed his hair when he took a bath, but he wasn't feeling like a bath now. "Nah, not now."

"Michael, why not? You'll feel so much cooler with your hair off your neck."

The teenage boy grimaced as if he was doing some serious thinking. Yes, he would feel cooler. But later, he thought.

"Now, Michael, you know you have such nice hair, and the sun gives it such lovely blond highlights. Why not let me fix it really nicely for you? Do it for your mother, won't you?"

Geeze, Mom, Michael thought. I'm getting too old for this!

"Please, Michael."

Michael sighed a long sigh. Now his hair WAS bothering him, and all his mother's talk made him even more conscious of it on his neck.

"Michael!"

Now his mother was becoming more irritating than his hair.

"What, Mom, what!!"

"Michael, let me do something with your hair. You'll feel more comfortable. Promise. We have a couple of hours before dinner. Let me do something with your hair, and we'll be through with this conversation."

Mrs. Reed was surprised by her son's stubbornness. Usually, he was such an obedient child. "Guess he's growing up," she said to herself. That's something she dreaded.

"Mom, as I said, I was thinking about a hair cut, a real hair cut, not a trim. You know, with school coming up. The policy."

"Umm, tell you what. Let me fix your hair today, and next week you can get a hair cut IF you still want to." Mrs. Reed had read and reread the policy, and she didn't like it, not at all.

Michael dropped his left leg over the couch and held out his right hand. "All right... all right," he said in a voice that meant he would but under duress.

"Sit here," Mrs. Reed said, taking her son's hand like a fish takes the bait and leading him to one of the card table chairs set up in the corner of the room.

"In no time at all, you'll feel as cool as a cucumber. Anyway, if you don't like it, you can comb it out."

"Okay, okay!"

Michael pulled out a clanging metal folding chair, steadied it with a bang, sat down, and waited for his mother. He quickly straightened up as he felt his ponytail lifted off his neck. Off came the hairband. The young boy felt his mother spread apart his thick hair and slide her fingers through the tangles, unweaving the snags.

"My, my, look at your hair, Michael! I don't know why you always wear it in a ponytail. It's so lovely hanging loose. My! My! It reaches the middle of your back. Do other boys ever make fun of you?"

"Nah. like I told you, Mom, maybe one or two, but I don't care. The girls love it. This one girl in school, Sally, wanted to fix it. One day she invited me over to her house to play beauty parlor, whatever that was. Anyway, Jeff said that he read where Buffalo Bill had long hair cause the Indians always wanted his scalp, so he was daring them to get 'em."

"Tempting them?"

"Uh, Huh."

Mrs. Reed considered Michael fortunate. He lived in a small community where most people accepted almost everyone. With so many young people leaving, everyone was made to feel welcome. To the other kids, Michael was just a boy with long hair. Mothers wanted to protect him, girls accepted him, and boys didn't see him as competition for the girls in town.

Michael twisted the plastic rod, opening up the blinds to have a better view, and Mrs. Reed began combing her son's hair to one side and then to the other, working out the snags until a curtain of hair covered her son's back. Slowly she glided the comb through his hair, from his forehead to his shoulder blades and beyond, in one easy motion. Squirt, squirt.

"Mom, what'd a-doing?"

Squirt, squirt.

"Water helps to keep every hair in place. You know that."

"Yeah, we don't want to miss any hairs."

The water felt good. A drop rested on Michael's forehead. He resisted touching it... felt it trickle down his face, stuck out his tongue trying to catch it. The comb glanced down the side of his head like a zipper opening up a jacket.  A quick shiver ran down his spine, and his shoulders twitched. The corner of the fine-tooth comb danced off his head as his mother parted his hair, combed it to one side, and then gathered it together and secured it with a covered band. Skillfully, Mrs. Reed divided the mass of hair in her hand into three sections, and with quick fingers, crossed the left strand over the center strand and then the right strand over the center strand, pulling taunt each plait. Crossing and crossing and pulling tight strand after strand. Mrs. Reed smiled as she molded her son's hair into a braid along the side of his head and down his back.

"Mom, whatcha doing?" Michael wondered with all the pulling and twisting going on.

"You'll soon see, dear."

Michael knew his mother was in a world of her own. That's the way she got some times. Now and then, he'd find her just sitting like she was in some really deep thoughts. He closed his eyes and soaked up the sensations: the tugs on his hair, first here, then there, the feel of the comb, his mother's finger pressing against his head, and the tightness, almost painful tightness on his hair. Sure his mother had combed his hair before, but this was different. Now his mother moved to the other side of his head, separating and pulling and overlapping strand after strand of hair.

"You have such lovely hair. It's fun styling nice hair." Mrs. Reed was trance-like as she continued. "You know Michael, when I was a young girl, I remember a neighbor would braid her son's hair, right on their front porch and in front of everyone. And when people came over, they'd all fuss and fuss over his pretty long braids. Luckily for you, we're not on the front porch for everyone to see. Then she would tie red ribbons to the braids; so your see, dear, you're not the only boy who has ever been in braids."

"Braids! Mom, no way. Not today!"

Michael tried to protest, shifting his shoulders, twitching, and turning his body sideways.

"Dear! Braids are pretty and sexy."

"Sure, on girls," Michael said, sinking down into the chair under the pressure of his mother's hands.

"Yes, dear, I'm braiding your hair. Braids are just so girlish."

"Mom, in case you forget, I'm not a girl!"

"Of course you're not! You're a darling, sweet boy," Mrs. Reed said, still nudging her son down onto the chair with the palms of her hands. "Braids don't make you a girl anymore than long hair makes you a girl."

Michael tried to picture in his mind exactly what his mother was doing. Now he was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, even excited, by his picture in girlish braids. Without thinking, he blurted out, "On. Sally, Sally Smith. Man! What a babe! One time she wore her hair in a long braid on the side of her head. God! I'd a given my baseball card collection just to"

This was a new kind of excitement. Even worse, he began to think of that boy whose mother braided his hair in public. Wow! He must have felt terrible, Michael thought. Imagine in public a boy with his mother braiding his hair. He wondered if the boy was embarrassed... or did he like to be seen in public? What would people say to him if they saw HIM with braids... what about that boy... what about...lots of things? Now he was suffering as the bulge in his pants grew and grew. He folded his hands over the mound. And squirmed.

"Next, you'll want me in dresses," Michael blurted out.

"Only if that's what you want," his mother answered.

"Yeah, sure, like over my dead body," he said gruffly. Mothers sure can be silly at times, he thought.

"One more," Mrs. Reed proudly announced as she twisted a covered band around the end of the second braid, leaving only an inch of loose hair at the end.

"One more?"

"Yes, dear, I'm braiding your hair into three braids."

"Three braids. Mom, please."

"Shush, dear, I'll be finished in a minute."

Time seemed to stand still as Michael waited for his mother to finish. He scrapped his fingers on the side of the chair, anxiously waiting. "Phew," he exhaled. There he sat, looking out the window. After all, what teenage boy wouldn't suffer under the same circumstances? But already felt cooler, so maybe, he rationalized, this wasn't such a bad idea. Of course, he couldn't tell his mother that. The wheels in Michael's mind spun and spun.

"All done," Mrs. Reed proudly announced as she twisted a covered band around the end of the last braid, leaving an inch of uneven hair loose at the end.

Michael sighed a long sigh. His mother gathered her supplies, and he waited anxiously for her to leave. Michael's mother left with a smile and pat on the shoulder, and he hurried to see himself in the mirror. "Ah," Michael said to himself as he stared at the image. He couldn't believe such a transformation could be achieved by a simple hairdo. Over and over, he patted his braids, entranced by the symmetry, the tightness, and the pattern.

Chapter 2.

"Isn't it strange we've never talked about that day?" Michelle said, leaning forward to pull off her banded black sandals. She stuck out her toes. "Ahhh" The moving air from the fan felt good on her feet. Shoeless, she scooted her legs under her body, digging her toes into the sofa.

Mrs. Reed agreed. "I guess so much happened that summer that we never got around to speaking of it, or else you felt you were too old to talk to your mother like you used to. As a teacher, I DO know about the changes adolescent boys experience in their bodies and thinking. I was almost certain that you had femininity that was dying to come out... and, well... all I had to do was provide an environment to let it blossom."

Michelle smiled. "You know, Mom, at the time, I was glad we didn't have a front porch, or else you'd make me sit on it and fix my hair in public."

"Well, I'm not sure I would have been so bold, but I remember how much I enjoyed myself. Even now, after so many years, I get goose-pimples thinking about it."

Mrs. Reed began to draw imaginary circles with her fingers tips on her son's shoulder. "A little boy in a girl's hairdo is so stimulating, and I think you were enjoying it, weren't you?"

"Oh, Mom, it was terrible. I was getting so hard that I, I was in trouble, especially when you said you were braiding my hair into three braids. The testosterone was working overtime."

"Overtime?" Mrs. Reed asked.

"You know, Mom when you were braiding my hair. I got to thinking about girl things, and that was so exciting."

"Girl things?"

"Yes, their bodies and... you know... sexual things. Mom, a 14-year-old boy, has only one thing on his mind, and that's girls."

"And those girl things got you excited, didn't they?" Mrs. Reed asked.

"Wow! Did they! I remember I was thinking about this cute girl at school. I know it's weird, but I was putting myself in her shoes. I was her, touching her own breasts and moving her hands to the middle of her legs. I remember after you finished, I took my time walking to the bathroom. Didn't want to seem too anxious. I remember staring at myself in the bright light, turning to one side, then the other, tilting my head up and down, and looking at the back through a hand mirror. What fascinated me was that everything was perfect; every hair was in place; every twisted strand exactly like the other, every row just like each other. I remember trying to swing my braids over my shoulders. And I remember thinking, 'they're perfect.' I just couldn't believe the difference a hairstyle can make. Especially a girl's hairstyle on a boy. You'd told me lots of times that I had a pretty face, but at the time, I hated to admit it — admit I looked like a girl. But I sure didn't want to be a girl, at least not then. I liked the girlish image in the mirror, but I wasn't ready to be a girl just then."

"Tell me what happened then," Mrs. Reed asked.

"Mom, you know, I just did it."

Michelle's mother smiled. "I thought you looked tired coming out of the bathroom. That's when I asked you what you thought of your new look."

"And I said 'I look silly,' trying to sound as disgusted as I could, but I guess you knew that I wasn't being honest."

"Yes, I knew, and I told you that you looked darling and to leave your braids in for a while, so when you took them out, your hair would have lots of body. With that, you hurried off to your room."

Mrs. Reed rose from the sofa. "Can I bring you a coke?"

"Mom, I'll get it."

"No, you sit here, and I'll be back in a minute."

Mrs. Reed handed her son a glass wrapped in a paper napkin. Taking it, Michelle swallowed a sip, set it in her lap, and stared at the fan whirling above.

Mrs. Reed raised her hand towards her son. "I... I hope that... I hope that being a woman makes you happy Does it, son?"

"Yes, Mother, it makes me very happy, but I wasn't all that happy at what happened next. I... I remember I was in my room reading."

Chapter 3.

"Come with me, dear," Mrs. Reed said, placing her hands on her 14-year-old son's shoulder, "I want to show Mrs. Philips your new do."

Michael protested. Folding his arms across his chest, he sat on his bed, determined to win this one. "No way, Mom!"

"Come on. It's only down the road. And you can visit Jeff for a while."

"Nope."

The young boy was stretched out on his bed with his legs tight together and feet crossed.

"Come on, come on!" his mother urged, standing at the foot of the bed. She wiggled her finger. "Come on. No one will see your braids."

"MOM, Mrs. Philips a, and Jeff, and his brother and his sister will see them. that's a lot of people," Michael said in his most masculine voice.

Mrs. Reed reasoned with her son. Usually, he could see her point of view. "Mrs. Philips is my best friend, and Jeff is your best friend. Wilma is with her father, and Will is too old to care about you or what you look like, so come with me to Carole's."

Michael continued to argue. "Mom, Jeff'll laugh at me."

"No, he won't. Best friends don't make fun of each other. Anyway, Jeff never has laughed at your hair, has he?"

"Yeah, Sure! NOT," Michael said. But then he had to admit that Jeff WAS his best friend. "Yeah, Jeff is my best friend... but we still sometimes make fun of each other."

"Never mind, Jeff, Carole's dying to see how cute you look, so please, come with me."

Michael sat adamant, thinking, 'Cute. Mom keeps saying I looked cute. Boys hardly ever say something is cute. And for sure, no boy likes to be called cute.'

Mrs. Reed kept it up. Finally, Michael had enough. He figured his mother would hound him for the rest of the day, or maybe the rest of the week. Anyway, it wouldn't be as bad as for the boy on the front porch.

Michael was relieved that no one saw them as they drove the mile or so down the road.

"Carole."

"Jean."

The two ladies said hello like women do with a hug. Michael was glad his mother had a friend like her, two women without husbands.

"Oh My, Oh My! Isn't he darling," Mrs. Philips gushed. "You make such adorable braids. I only wish  of course, if Jordan was alive he'd never allowed such a thing. It's been a long time since I saw a boy in braids."

Mrs. Reed beamed with delight. Michael also had to admit to himself that he liked the compliment.

"What do you think of your new look, Michael?" Mrs. Philips asked.

"Feels cooler, I guess."

Michael started to relax when he heard a voice. He froze.

"Hey, guy," Jeff's brother called as he ambled down the stairs. "Hey, what's hap... pen...ing?" Will starred at his brother's friend, his mouth half-opened.

"Oh, no, he's going to crack up laughing," Michael said to himself. How he wanted to run out the door and get back to his own house!

"Mom said that, ah you had a new hairstyle, but I didn't think I thought maybe a haircut."

Michael wanted to crawl under a rock. Jeff's older brother was staring at him like he was a freak. Michael started talking as fast as he could. "Ah... my mom got this idea to braid my hair, you know to keep it off my neck, you know, 'cause it's so hot. She was just goofing around; you know mothers, and she said to show your mother, and here where's Jeff?"

Will answered, "You missed him. He left. Before your mom called. On his bike."

"Better go," Michael said, turning towards the door.

"Michael," his mother said sternly.

"Nah, stay," Will blurted out, "I've been playing Jeff's new computer game, Mega Monster."

Michael heard of the game and was dying to play it but not under these circumstances.

Mrs. Reed smiled at the son. "Isn't that the game you wanted to buy?"

Mrs. Philips joined in. "William, why don't you show Michael the game while Mrs. Reed and I talk girl talk?"

"Mom, can't we go home?" Michael whined in a high-pitched voice that brought a smile to the faces of the ladies.

"Michael, in just a little while. Anyway, you've been dying to play that game, so now's your chance. Play it, and if you like it, I'll buy it. Just a little while, promise."

With open hands, Mrs. Reed urged her son to leave. "Now, scoot, scoot."

Michael felt silly and nervous following Jeff's older brother up the stairs.

Will spoke first. "Haven't seen you for a long time, Mike. Always remember you with long hair, but seeing you like this is a real shocker."

Michael didn't feel much like talking. After all, 14-year-olds hardly ever talked to anyone as old as Will, that is, if they could help it. At least Will had long hair, which he wore in a low six-inch ponytail. The two boys sat down at a computer desk, and each took a joystick.

"What kind of computer do you have?" Will asked as he clicked on the game icon.

"It's old," Michael said with a shrug.

"I just got this one."

Michael was bored. "Watch for the things that come out of the walls and floor. They're hard to see. Zap them with the left button... push forward for speed... watch for the flaming darts they shoot." Will proceeded to explain the game.

"Wow! this machine is fast," Michael said, getting into the game. "Great graphics, too!" After fifteen minutes or so, Michael surprised himself by his score. Heck, he thought, this game isn't all that super.

"Got ya. Yeah! Yeah!" Michael hollered as he blasted away at the figures on the monitor. "Bam, Zip, Crash," the computer blared.

"Damn. You know, for a kid, you're good."

"Thanks, Jeff and I play computer games a lot."

"I know. My brother says you're a computer geek. In a good way, that is," Will stared at his brother's friend; Michael felt a tightness in his stomach.

"I look goofy, don't I?" Michael said, dropping the joystick and leaning down his head. "I was just going to comb out this silly hairdo, but Mom,"

"Not, really." Will interrupted, "You, you well, you look fine, look really nice!"

Will's stare made Michael's heart pound in his chest. Even made him lose his breath. Michael wanted to say something but first had to swallow real hard.

"You like this. look!" Will didn't answer. Michael wondered, how could a twenty-one-year-old like the look of a fourteen-year-old boy in girlish braids? Will studied him for a while. Michael thought, Will's holding it in he's about to burst out laughing.

"Looks great to me."

"Yeah, sure," Michael said, disgusted, still looking down at the floor.

"No, really. Looks cool. Never saw three braids. Seen two braids, of course, and one, but never three. Your mom invent it?"

"Nah, saw it in a magazine and wanted to experiment on me, I guess; Mom said she once saw a boy in braids. His mom braided his hair on the porch for everyone to see."

"Really," Will said. "Did she say who that boy was?"

"No."

Michael was beginning to relax when Will asked. "Can I touch them?"

The young boy was startled and responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

Will took that as a yes and began to caress one braid. "Feels soft," he said in a low voice.

Michael's stomach tightened up, and his throat went dry. Then slowly turned his back to the older boy, allowing him access to all three braids. Michael could feel Will sliding his hair through his fingers until each braid dropped limply against his back. One after the other. Michael moved his head, and Will pulled harder as he played with the golden brown plaits. Minutes went by in silence, except the whirl of the ceiling fan, with the older boy caressing the tight braids — stroking them in sequence and twisting them around his fingers. Michael turned towards Will. He wanted to speak, to say something, but wasn't sure what. His tongue, even his body, was so tense that it hurt.

"How does it feel?" Will asked.

"Huh?"

"How does it feel?"

"Cool. Nice."

"Jeff likes your hair, too."

"I know," Michael admitted.

Mrs. Reed's voice calling through the bedroom door startled the two. "Michael, ready to go?"

Michael hesitated. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he liked Will touching his hair. Somehow, Will seemed to understand him.

"See ya," Will said softly.

"Yeah."

"How was the game?" Mrs. Reed asked in the car.

"Huh?" Michael wasn't listening.

"The game. Did you like it?"

"Oh. Yeah. Guess so." Michael stroked his braids, one at the time, without thinking. Michael imagined himself as the little boy on the porch as they drove home. He could see Will walk over to him, climb the stairs and caress his braids, his long, long braids. All the way home, his mind repeated this picture.

Mrs. Reed smiled at her son playing with his hair. "I invited Jeff over at 7 tonight. I know how you two like Buffy. Anyway, it's only fair for him to see your braids."

"Jeff, over." So much was going on in Michael's mind that he could only answer with a, "Yeah, sure."

Michael stared at the blank TV in the family room as he waited for his friends to arrive. He had smoothed out his braids ever so carefully, even used a little spray, as his mother suggested, to keep the wispy ends in place. After all, if he had to be seen in braids, he might as well look nice. Any minute he expected to hear his mother announce Jeff's arrival. How should he behave? Same as always, he decided. He was the same, just a little different look, a passing experiment. Jeff had always behaved the same way towards him. No reason things should change now. Lots of thoughts surged through his mind. Michael's heart pounded when he heard his friend's voice.

"Hey, Mike."

"Hey, Jeff."

"Heard you got a new hairdo," Jeff said calmly as he sat on the sofa.

"Yeah, Mom, said it would be cooler."

Jeff gave his friend a close inspection, bending over him from every angle. Jeff swallowed hard. "Looks cool."

"Yeah, it is."

Soon the boys were talking about the weather, friends, and boy-talk.

Michael sighed a quiet sigh of relief. His friend was the same, so he relaxed and enjoyed the breeze created by the ceiling fan. Both boys suddenly focused on the television.

"In every,y generation there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the vampires... the demons and the forces of darkness. She is, the slayer."

Buffy: "Hi, guys."

Zander: "Hey, Buffy, twinkie?"

Willow: "Zander, that's gross."

Buffy: "So, are you guys set for tonight."

Jeff spoke over the television, "So, ah your mom, ah, fixed your hair."

"Yeah, so it'd be off my neck."

"Feel better?"

"Kinda."

Zander: "Sure, hanging at the Bronze sounds cool to me."

Willow: "Actually, I dunno. I have this chemistry paper to write and,"

Michael was beginning to feel neglected. After Will's reaction, Jeff seemed almost bored with his new look, and it was so much work. "Your brother and I played Mega Monster. Cool game. I almost beat him."

Buffy: "Wow! C'mon."

Willow: "Sure, I don't want to be a bad influence."

Buffy: "What do you mean?"

Willow: "You know. Get in the way of your training."

Buffy: "You don't know how scarily similar to Giles your sound."

Jeff responded, talking over the TV sound. "Yeah, he's good at that game. Almost beat him once. Anyway, he liked your look."

Michael didn't know how much he should say about their time together. Didn't want to give up any secrets. "Guess so," he answered.

"What did my brother say to you?"

"Just said, you know, it looked cool... you know being so hot out. Said he never saw three braids, seen two and one, but never three." Jeff was quiet, so Michael continued. "Said they were soft, looked soft. He stayed long at home, your brother?"

"Said a little past September, until he goes back to school, to be a lawyer."

Michael became bolder as he caressed his braids. "They feel really soft."

Jeff shifted his weight. He was clearly into the conversation. "I remember Wilma...she once had braids; they were soft, too," he said.

Michael didn't know Wilma very well. She seemed to come and go was living with relatives, he thought. She was a lot older, so he didn't pay much attention to her. But he remembers her as being really pretty.

Buffy: "One night of fun isn't going to kill anyone."

Zander: "Y'know. That's exactly the attitude that got you into such trouble at that frat party."

Buffy: "Which frat party?"

Zander: "Exactly how many frat parties have you been to where you nearly get sacrificed to a lizard demon? Remember that little soiree?"

The boys laughed at that line.

Buffy: "Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten about that."

Zander: "Springer should do a special: teens and paranormal denial."

They laughed even harder.

"Springer should do a special on boys who wear their hair in braids," Jeff joked.

Michael laughed. "I bet I'd be the only one."

"Maybe not."

Michael continued. "Mom says she knew a boy whose mother braided his hair right in front of everyone. It musta been murder."

Jeff shifted his weight on the couch. "Maybe at first, but maybe later he liked it." Jeff continued to squirm, trying to get comfortable. Michael stretched his neck and wiggled his shoulders. Michael knew his braids looked beautiful. For sure, no boy could resist them. For sure, Jeff couldn't. Will said Jeff liked his hair. Neglected, that's how he felt. First, Will falls over him, and now his best friend almost ignores his new look. At least his friend should touch them a little. Michael began to stroke his right braid, lifting up the long twisted shaft of the hair, twisting it in his fingers as he pulled it forward all the way to the end.

Zander, Buffy, and Willow are walking down an alley towards the club Bronze.

Buffy: "Ahh. It's so nice not to be knee-deep in graveyard dirt with the stench of decaying yukky stuff in my nostrils."

Zander: "You've never been in the Bronze toilets?"

Suddenly the three are attacked. There are slamming bodies, knicks, punches, kicks, and lots of sound effects.

Buffy: "Xander, are you okay? Anything broke?"

Xander: "One night of fun's not gonna kill anyone. Huh? How about seriously maim?"

Finally, a commercial and the boys faced each other.

"Your brother asked if he could touch them," Michael said, still holding a braid in the air.

"And?"

"Said, I guess so. You know, no harm. So he did."

"You let him touch your braids?"

Yeah, why not? And he said they were soft."

"My brother's got some strange ways. You'll see." Jeff said.

Michael made a face. "So, you think your brother was strange for wanting to touch my hair?"

"No way" Jeff swallowed hard. "It's just that Will can be overbearing. You know, after all, can't just touch someone's hair like that, you know."

Michael brushed his face with the hair at the end of one braid. "But I said he could touch them."

Jeff got all serious. "And could. I, you know touch them? You know, just to see. You won't think I'm weird, do you?"

Michael smiled. "Not if you don't think I'm weird for letting my mother do this to me."

Both boys laughed. Michael tilted his head towards his friend. He felt a tug on his hair. Jeff was caressing his braid, just like his brother.

"Cool," Jeff cooed.

Xander is working out with a body punching bag, talking to Cordelia.

Cordelia: "And, ow. What happened to your eye?"

Xander: "I'm learning karate in this place downtown. The scene is pretty intense."

Cordelia: "Why?"

Xander: "Coz. I'm sick of having my butt kicked all the time."

Jeff tickled Michael with the end of a braid, and both boys laughed. Soon Michael was doing the same to his friend.

Cordelia: "I heard about the Karate Boy buying the farm. Weirdness and disaster are as common as bad hair days to you guys. Anyway. News flash. Isn't Buffy the president Kung-Pao expert? She'll train you."

Xander: "I'm trying to avoid being humiliated by people I know."

Cordelia: "So you'd rather be humiliated b total strangers."

Xander: "Exactly! Now step aside. I have another lesson soon tonight."

Cordelia: "I have concealer for your eye. It's just your color!"

Xander: "Sure. Wear makeup to karate class, and yet I'm trying to AVOID being beaten up."

"She's really hot, don't you think?" Michael asked his friend.

"Yeah, but I like Buffy better."

"Me, too." Michael agreed. "She's too girly-girly."

"Buffy's more like a guy. I mean, she's cute but not so gushing," Jeff added.

"Yeah, she's got more guy-sense."

"How about some concealer for you?" Jeff asked as he poked his friend with a braided end. "Then you'd really get beaten up going to high school."

Michael became severe and turned his back to his friend. One after another, over and over, hypnotically, his friend lifted the shinny plaits and stroked them from end to end. Jeff was in heaven. He was now doing something he'd dreamt about a hundred times. Jeff squirmed. It was almost too much for him. Michael, too. For the first time, Michael realized the feeling of being a girl in a small way. His mind again drifted into thinking of that little boy on the porch. Did he let other boys play with his braids? He must have. Both boys squirmed, feeling a growing hardness in their pants.

There was a noise, and the boys dropped back into their chairs and resumed watching the program.

On TV, Xander was battling a giant monster with a wolf-like face. The two battled. Xander was getting the worse of it when Buffy burst in with a long sharp stick. The boys turned around and watched with intensity. Buffy was on the ground; the creature was over her, ready to dig its huge claws into her.

Buffy: "Ever try breath mints?"

Suddenly Xander grabbed the sharpened pole.

Mrs. Reed came into the room at the worst time. "Boys..."

"Shusss."

Xander stabbed the creature, which exploded into a mass of green goo.

Xander: "I've gotta cut down to one a week this vampire killing habit. It's killing me."

Buffy: "Well, you killed it."

Xander: "I'm allowed to be the hero occasionally, right?"

Buffy: "Yes. Well, don't make a habit of it. These things are best left to professionals."

"Jeff, what do you think of your friend's new hairstyle?" Mrs. Reed asked.

Jeff squirmed. "Different, you know, just different. But, it's that, nice, I guess."

Jeff moved to get up to go. He was sweating. "I gotta go. I got my bike, so I'll see ya, Michael."

Jeff hurried to the door with Mrs. Reed and her son following.

Mrs. Reed put her hand on Jeff's shoulder as he was about to leave. "Tomorrow, I'll be taking down Michael's hair. If you want to be there, you're invited. Come just before noon for lunch."

Jeff stumbled for words, "Ah, well, I got a lot to do so I can't sorry, can't make it Bye."

"Be careful riding home," Mrs. Reed called as the figure rode off into the night.

"Night," everyone called to each other.

Chapter 4.

"Now, Michelle," Mrs. Reed asked while she sipped her drink, "what really happened in Will's room? He didn't get fresh, did he?"

"Mom, no way. He was ah just fascinated... Guess it reminded him of lots of things. We just played the computer game."

"I remember Mrs. Philips called and said that Will couldn't get over how you looked. She said he kept talking and talking about how you looked so cute in braids."

"Mom, I don't remember him saying that I looked cute."

"Sweetheart, how did it feel having a much older boy get interested in you?"

"Mom, I didn't think he was interested in me except as a specimen, you know, someone he could identify with, but at the time, I was curious, and even a little scared, about having someone so old interested in me."

"Well, I can certainly understand your feelings!" Mrs. Reed said sympathetically. "What 14 year old wouldn't. After all, Will was much older. Now, of course, 7 years doesn't seem so far apart in age at your age, but when you're 14, it is."

"Mom, I just wasn't sure if Will liked me or thought I was... I don't know. I thought maybe he wanted to analyze me or something. I just didn't know." Michael's voice broke, betraying his former maleness. He cleared his throat and continued, "All I knew was he acted weird. Of course, now I know why."

"Remember Jeff coming over?" Mrs. Reed asked.

"Of course. He didn't want to be obvious, but I knew he liked my hair. Geeze, was I a flirt!"

Mrs. Reed leaned toward Michelle. "Did you feel like a girl at the time?"

"Don't think so, just caught myself flirting like a girl. Like the girls do in school, especially Sally. Now she was a real flirt! It was like I was able to do something they could do. Yet, I was still a boy. It was all, like I said, very new to me."

Mrs. Reed moved close to her son as if she didn't want anyone to hear their conversation. "And you didn't suspect anything about Jeff or Will?"

"Really, Mom, nothing. I just thought they were a little strange like I was. That's all — really."

"You know, dear, I peeked in from the kitchen to see you two. With the lights off, you couldn't see me, but I could see you in the light of the TV. You two seemed to really be enjoying yourselves with all that braid holding. Were you getting excited you know sexually?"

"Of course I was. That's why all the squirming. I thought I'd die. I knew something strange was happening to me, and I was afraid."

"And what did you and Mrs. Philips talk about while I was upstairs with Will?" Michael asked.

"YOU, of course. I knew in a few months you'd be entering high school, so it was now or never for you to be a girl. For you to decide. Especially with the school policy about long hair on boys. I always suspected you had feminine feelings, with or without your long hair. If you didn't, you wouldn't have grown your hair so long. And you always combing it. I just asked Carole what she would do in the circumstances, and she gave me some advice."

"Women can sure be crafty," Michelle said, grinning.

Mrs. Reed leaned over to her daughter. "You learned that early in your life as a girl, didn't you, darling."

"That was another feminine trait I was learning."

"The next day, I decided you'd be more of a girl, or I'd die trying."

Michelle leaned forward, giggling, "And you certainly tried very hard.".