The characters are fictional, their names and lives a fabrication. The story is not intended for commercial use and is not to be posted at any other site without the author's permission. It is intended for readers considerably older than its fourteen-year-old hero.
Chapter Eleven: How Could He Have Been So Stupid?
There was mud everywhere. Although it had not rained in more than a week, Steve's driveway appeared to be an asphalt island in a sea of gumbo. As the two of them played basketball, one-on-one, Kyle's feet would occasionally slide off the pavement onto the muddy turf. Gradually, the burgundy of his sneakers and the plaid hem of his jeans darkened into chocolate brown.
Kyle, however, paid no heed to the mess, for he was concentrating mightily on beating Steve at least once before they had to stop acting like 'guy' friends and, with their 'date' formally underway, begin behaving like 'boyfriends' - with the one aggressively courting, the other shyly demurring.
As Kyle enjoyed hanging out with Steve, he wished that they didn't have to treat the dinner and basketball game that evening as a 'date,' but he already knew that Mrs. Lancer would insist on the formalities, including a goodnight kiss.
As he thought about the dreaded kiss, Kyle lost concentration. He was, therefore, unable to recollect just how it happened - just how he went sprawling into a pool of muddy water at the foot of the Lancers' driveway. When he surfaced, he was covered in muck from his nose to his toes. He looked like he had been wrestling in a pigsty.
Steve was extremely apologetic: "I slipped," he lied. "I got mud on my shoes and I lost my footing. Can you forgive me?" And then before Kyle could answer, Steve said, "There's no way you can go to dinner or the game looking like that. We'd better ask my mother what to do."
Elvira showed no surprise when the two boys trailed mud into her kitchen. It was almost as though she had expected that her zealous efforts that week to water her lawn might produce some 'unfortunate' results.
She took one look at Kyle and knew immediately what had to be done: "Kyle, you're going to have to get out of those muddy clothes so that I can wash them. There should be enough time to wash and dry them before your date. In the meantime, go on upstairs and have a shower to clean yourself."
To Steve she said, "Your clothes are also a sight. At the very least, change your jeans. You also need to shower."
Then, to both boys, she announced, "There won't be enough hot water for two showers and for a washing-machine load. So you boys share a shower, do you hear?"
Steve then placed his arm around Kyle's shoulders and started dragging him to the door, saying as they went, "We'd better do as she says. We've got a big shower stall, so there'll be lots of room for the two of us to soap each other off."
As he crossed the doorsill, Steve briefly turned to wink at his mother, who was giving him the thumbs-up.
As for Kyle, he had scarcely said a word since he'd fallen into the mudhole, for he was benumbed and befuddled by the obviousness of the Lancer family's plot. True, he hadn't been completely sure of it at first, but as soon as Mrs. Lancer suggested he shower with Steve, he knew that his muddy state was no accident. They were conspiring against him!
In other words, his 'date' had already begun. And now he had a lot more to worry about than Steve's slipping him some tongue when next they kissed. Kyle had seen the remake of 'Psycho'. He knew that deadly things could happen when one stood naked and vulnerable in a shower. If he weren't extremely cautious, his virginity, his 'straight' identity, and his future with Joannie would be soon spiraling down the drain.
Naturally, he thought of tearing himself free from Steve's bear hug and announcing that the 'date' was off: He'd wear his filthy clothes home instead. But then there'd be no basketball game. Consequently, Kyle decided to rely on obduracy rather than flight.
As they got into the bathroom and Steve started to disrobe, Kyle looked around frantically for some cover. There it was on the back of the bathroom door - Elvira's pink silk bathrobe. Kyle decided it would be enough to protect his modesty and chastity while his own clothes were being laundered.
To get a chance to put it on, he announced to Steve: "You know that I'm wearing a bra and panty, in order to win the moped, right? I feel really shy, real awkward, about your seeing me in girls' lingerie. I can't strip in front of you."
"If it embarrasses you for me to see you in girls' underwear, there's an easy solution," replied Steve. "I'll turn around and you can strip off all your clothes while I'm not looking. Then you can get into the shower and I'll join you."
Believing that Kyle had bought into the plan, Steve turned his back. Assuming, not unreasonably, that Kyle would be easier to seduce if they both were naked, Steve tore off his own clothes. Then, stark naked, he turned around to eyeball Kyle.
To Steve's dismay, Kyle had replaced his muddy outerwear with Elvira's bathrobe. Kyle's hair looked more feminine than usual, for in pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he'd undone his boyish coiffure. His makeup also showed up under the harsh glare of the small bulbs ringing the mirror; and with his bra poking through his women's bathrobe, Kyle looked disturbingly feminine.
Steve stood there gaping: Until now he'd never thought that Kyle could actually look like a girl. Dress like a girl, yes certainly. But look at all like a girl? Steve would have said 'no way' until now.
Steve became almost numb with confusion when he realized that it didn't turn him off to see Kyle looking like a girl: "But does it turn me on? What do I want? A boy? A boy-girl? A girl?"
Steve didn't realize that this was the question that his mother had been desperately hoping he'd ask ever since he'd announced to her that he was 'gay for life.' As she'd fervently hoped, the feminization of Kyle was reopening the question of Steve's sexuality. If she got her way, Kyle would become so feminine - ideally through hormones and surgery - that Steve could be led through his infatuation with Kyle to the love of women.
Elvira had told her son that Kyle was a transsexual and that they had a duty to help him to find the feminine hormones essential to his transformation.
She'd even asked, "If I procure the estrogen, will you help to ensure that Kyle actually takes it? You see him every day at school, and we can have him over on weekends. If we act as a team, we can make sure that he takes the hormones regularly enough to develop in a few months time some breasts to fill those bras he bravely wears. What do you think? Do I have your support, kiddo?"
No she did not. Steve was attracted to boys. He wanted Kyle to look as masculine as possible. He adamantly refused to help to feminize his boyfriend. Without Steve's help, there was no way that Elvira could lace Kyle's milk with female hormones, and so she settled on trying to make sure that the great love of her son's life would at least acquire 'falsies.'
Steve was not the only one staring slack-jawed at another boy. Kyle's mouth also gaped in adolescent amazement at the spectacle of Steve's body. It had been a couple of years since he'd last seen Steve in the nude, and he remembered a skinny youth - one with less-than-average muscular development. But Steve now had rippling muscles wherever Kyle dared to look.
Did all those muscles turn on Kyle sexually? Sexually? No, he would have denied that fervently. But turned on? Yes, definitely. In his mind, he wasn't lusting after Steve's physique; he was coveting it.
He was dying to know Steve's secret: "Jeez, he's got to be best built guy in the ninth grade. No wonder he's so strong. How did he get so darn muscular?"
Steve broke into Kyle's thoughts: "I'm freezing," he said. "Let's get into the shower." This he did. Then, with the hot water streaming over his body, he beckoned to Kyle: "Come on. The water's great."
Kyle declined: "I'd rather shower alone. I'll wait until you're done."
"There is enough hot water for two showers. The water will be cold. Come on - don't be a sissy. I've seen guys with no clothes on before, and so have you. What's the big deal?"
But Kyle was adamant: "The big deal is that we're dating, and I don't hop into the shower with anyone, guy or girl, on the second date. I'm not that kind of guy."
"Looking at the way you're dressed, I'd say you're not that kind of girl."
Kyle didn't laugh. In fact, he scowled.
Talk wasn't working; and so Steve turned to seduction: "Well, if you're not going to get into the shower, at the very least you can soap my back. You can do that while you're standing outside the stall."
Kyle bit the lure. He did start to apply soap to Steve's back. As his hand headed toward Steve's buttocks, Kyle became sexually aroused. Both boys knew it was happening: His hand and breathing were giving him away. Kyle would have denied then, and subsequently, that he was being turned on by the thought of sex with a male. No, it wasn't sex he wanted. Rather he was aching to have a body "just like Steve's."
Kyle resisted temptation. To avoid losing control, Kyle handed the soap back to Steve: "Here, your back is done. Let me know when the shower is free." He then retreated to Steve's room to compose himself.
As he saw Kyle retreat, Steve sighed, "Mother was right. She said he'd never go for the shared shower idea."
In that case, why had Kyle's clothes been muddied and taken away from him? The answer is fairly obvious, if you're Elvira and you're bent on Kyle's feminization: She wanted to force him to change into something even more 'feminine' than the girls' clothes he had worn to the Lancers.
The "power blackout" that darkened the house while Kyle was showering suited Elvira's plans so perfectly you'd have thought she had deliberately overloaded the house's electrical circuits herself. The power outage ensured that Kyle would get the cold water he'd been promised if he didn't share a shower, and it helped to explain why his own clothes had ended up a soggy mess in the clothes dryer.
Indeed, the outage even made sense of Elvira's failure to dry Kyle's bra and panties after Steve had obeyed her instructions to bring them to her to handwash while Kyle was showering.
It was unnerving to shower in total darkness. With the water getting ever colder, Kyle finally fled the shower to find that his underwear and Elvira's bathrobe had gone missing. A bath towel was all he could find to wear. Worried that Steve and Elvira had sinister designs on his body, he covered up as best he could.
As Kyle wrapped the towel around his torso 'like a girl' so that he shielded his nipples and navel as well as his groin, his mind filled with warm childhood memories of being bathed by his mother: "She always used to wrap the towel around my whole body. It made me feel so loved and protected." And then he asked himself, "Why did I ever stop wearing my towel this way? It's so warm and comfy."
Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway with a candle in each hand. They revealed white bikini briefs and a bare chest. In the chiaroscuro of the flickering light, Steve's body looked like Caravaggio had painted it. Once again, Kyle marveled that a boy so young could be so well developed. Yet flight, not sex, was foremost in Kyle's thoughts. In the bathroom he felt cornered. He made good his escape by grabbing one of the candles.
He trotted off to Steve's room, hoping there to find his clothes. Instead, he found more darkness. The only light came from two, small devotion candles framing the bed.
"Kyle," Steve hesitantly asked as he vaguely pointed to the bed, "What do ya say? I figure we've got time. There's always enough time to have fun."
Kyle spurned the offer: "Where are my clothes?" he demanded. "I want my clothes and I want 'em now."
"They're in the clothes dryer," Steve explained. "But they're still a soggy mess thanks to the power's being out. I'm sure they're not going to be dry in time for you to wear to the game."
"What!" Kyle screamed. "Do you mean that I'm going to miss the game? After all I've had to put up with! What the hell!"
"Now, don't be a hysterical female. You'll go to the game. My mom has the solution to the clothes problem. She's always has a solution."
"Which is what?" Kyle demanded.
"Well, she shops for Christmas months ahead. In fact, she's always finished her shopping by the first of November. She bought you some new clothes. I was supposed to give them to you as a Christmas present. But I could give them to you now. You could wear them to the game. Everything would work out fine."
Kyle was skeptical: "What kind of clothes? What are they like?"
"I don't know. I've not seen them," Steve replied. "They're already in gift wrap. And I wasn't with her when she bought them."
It was true: Steve didn't know what the packages contained. Yet he figured they had to be boys' clothes, for his mother knew that the Moped bet would be long gone by Christmastime. His mother had mentioned jeans. Steve hoped they'd have the cowboy cut that he liked to see on boys.
He headed off eagerly to his mother's bedroom to find the shopping bag in which she'd stowed Kyle's gifts. In the hallway, he stumbled into Elvira, who had the bag ready for him. At her insistence, Steve surrendered his candle to Elvira, who blew it out. So dark was it then in the hallway that Steve had to feel the walls to find his room again. Once there, he followed her instructions to snuff out the brightest of the three remaining candles so that Kyle would have to examine his new clothes in the flickering shadow of two devotion candles.
Kyle didn't object to the darkness. He took comfort in the protection it gave to him from Steve's leering eyes as Kyle hunted for some underclothes to wear. As he tore into the gift-wrapping, Kyle failed to note either its dominant colors - pink and baby blue - or its themes of young girls playing various sports.
Unlike Steve, he wasn't unhappy to discover that Mrs. Lancer apparently had bought him girls' clothes. Indeed, he was quite relieved, for they'd permit him to attend the game without jeopardizing his bet for the moped. And so, when his fingers located the bra and panties, he immediately resolved to put them on.
He was peeved when Steve refused to look away as Kyle changed into his new underwear. However, Kyle decided that the ill-lit room had given his friend little to see. Even so, Kyle felt vulnerable to be standing in his bra and panties in Steve's bedroom, considering that the boy, clad only in his cotton briefs, obviously was still hoping for some action. Thus, Kyle paused not a second to examine himself in his new lingerie. Instead, he scrambled to put on the outerwear that Elvira had bought - the jeans, the socks, and the top before he took any time to get a sense of his new outfit.
In the candlelit room, Kyle was in any case not likely to see anything amiss. His jeans, for example, had the exact same fit as his jeans with the plaid hem and pockets. Indeed, they had the same designer. Similarly, his top had the general look and fit of the jerseys he had been wearing for a week. Nor was there anything untoward about the socks. "A boy could wear these," he thought. That was true as well of the red sneakers: Their two-inch heel he now found normal.
Elvira had purchased wisely: The outfit differed only in the details from the girls' clothes Kyle had been wearing for days. In poor light, one was not likely to pick out the subtle differences that made these clothes more feminine looking than anything he had yet worn in public. And poor light was all Kyle had to work with. As soon as he'd put on the new outfit, Elvira had bustled into the room without knocking to tell Kyle that he should sit with her downstairs so that Steve, no longer distracted, could finally get dressed.
"We're running out of time," she said. "Even if Steve gets ready almost immediately, we won't have time for a real meal. We'll have to eat in my car at the Indian Territory, the new fast food restaurant. Kyle, you'll love it, for the restaurant has a brand new concept: car service. Can you imagine? They take your order right at the car."
When Kyle learned that Indian Territory served buffalo burgers, he was eager to learn more, and together they found their way downstairs, Elvira thanks to a small candle, Kyle thanks to his tight grip on the banister as he groped his way downstairs.
Once they were in the kitchen, he asked for a mirror. There was none to be found. Even had there been one, it would have been difficult to see what he looked like, given that the window shades were drawn and one small candle provided the room with its only light.
Kyle thought of using his sense of touch to get some idea of what he wearing, but Elvira sternly reproved him: "Young man, I'll not have you feeling yourself up in front of me. That's something for the privacy of your own room. I'll ask you to keep your hands on the table where I can see that they're fully at rest."
Elvira then used the light to examine Kyle's hair. As expected, it was unruly. Kyle wasn't surprised: His hair had gotten wet during his shower, and would need a brush and hairspray to get it looking manly again. Elvira was all apologies: "Oh Kyle, neither Steve nor I use hairspray. All I can offer is some European hair gel. It's tricky to use. Why don't I see what I can do with it? On which side do you part your hair?"
"The part's not important," he advised. "Just make sure I don't look like a girl. You'll see there's a particular way to brush my hair that makes me look real macho."
Yes, there was. But that's not what he got. Elvira deliberately gave him a girl's styling - which was, in any case, the easiest thing to do, given the original haircut from his mother and his hair's subsequent growth. When Kyle tried to pat his hair to see if all was in order, Elvira playfully slapped his hand, while telling him that he'd ruin the macho look if he messed with his hair again.
She completed Kyle's makeover by redoing his makeup. It certainly needed work, as even he admitted, for most of it had gone with the mud he'd dissolved in the shower. When she told him that some of the makeup survived in streaks down his cheek, Kyle agreed she could re-do his face, provided, he said, "that no one can tell I'm wearing makeup."
Elvira didn't follow his instructions closely. The eyeshade, eyeliner, and mascara were definitely noticeable, even if the hint of color in his cheeks could only be seen in a bright light. Kyle hadn't noticed her lightly use the eyebrow pencil, but he couldn't help but see the lipstick tube: "Don't you dare use that," he said. "There is no way I'm wearing lipstick to a basketball game." And that was that - for the moment.
Elvira finished getting Kyle ready for his date by offering him some 'cologne' to wear. As he recognized the bottle as something being marketed to guys, he agreed to splash himself with 'Obsexion' perfume. He didn't realize that there was any difference between an eau de cologne and a perfume or that this particular perfume was, despite its unisex cachet, being worn almost exclusively by women.
Did Kyle now look as well as smell like a female? Most definitely. Everything about him said 'teenage girl.' His clothes spoke the most eloquently. His jeans, for example, were loose enough to add width at the hips while revealing nothing at the crotch. There wouldn't have been much to show in any case for the Playtex control panties flattened Kyle in front while spreading his rear.
However, it was not so much the new curves or the pocket-free rear that announced 'girl' but rather the embroidered daisies climbing two feet up both legs from their root at the boot hem. The socks, it turned out, were daisy-colored, as was Kyle's jersey: Its back announced a tour by Backroom Sink, a 'boy band,' while its front sported stylized photos of the four pubertal singers looking their sexiest. Elvira had bought it with Steve in mind: She wanted him to gaze at the pictures of four cute guys every time he gawked at Kyle's chest.
And would he be gawking at Kyle's chest? Almost inevitably, considering that Kyle was wearing a padded bra that gave him the semblance of an A cup. His bust was, as hoped, sufficiently protruding to be seen, especially from the side, but not so obvious that Kyle would be automatically aware of the padding as he dressed in the dark.
Afraid to touch any part of his body while Elvira was monitoring his every move, Kyle had no idea that he appeared to have female breasts. Nor did he realize that his outfit, makeup, perfume and hair pronounced him to be a young teenage girl set to go out on a date with her boyfriend.
Elvira made sure that he did not see the light before they got to the arena. In the car, he was mainly preoccupied with fending off Steve's roving hands. Whenever he had Steve temporarily subdued, Kyle would check out the passing lights, marveling as he did that the power outage had affected such a tiny portion of the city.
As the car pulled into the drive-in restaurant, Elvira chose the worst lit parking spot so that Kyle would still have trouble figuring out exactly how he looked. The boy was in any case not checking out his clothes, for he was much more interested in taking in the spectacle known as the Indian Territory restaurant.
It was a wonder to behold: a gigantic teepee said to be tallest in Iowa housed the food preparation area. Two giant, concrete totem poles stood guard beside, while a Cherokee kayak hung above its front portal. Inside could be seen a huge, painted mural on black velvet that vividly depicted aboriginal life: Mohawk warriors harpooning beavers from the back of their Clydesdale ponies; Apache squaws paddling furiously in birch bark canoes laden with buffalo pelts; Shawnee families sharing their Thanksgiving turkey with gaily-dressed Puritan settlers at Jamestown, Virginia; and - most impressive of all, given its massive size - a battle scene showing General Custer, in full revolutionary war regalia, triumphing over the last of the Mohicans at the Battle of Big Little Horn.
Kyle was almost as impressed by the plastic saguaro cacti placed strategically between the parking spaces. Their many arms could hold the food and drink trays of an entire carload of Indian-food lovers.
Everything about the décor announced this to be an "Indian" restaurant - and appropriately so, since Iowa been part of Indian Territory before the Civil War.
Kyle was not as happy with the food as he was with the decor. There seemed to be nothing for an Iowa boy to eat on the menu that Indira, their waitress, rapidly rhymed off to them after she arrived in her "Indian maiden" outfit of fringed deerskin and an eagle headdress. Though Kyle couldn't see them, Indira was especially proud of her in-line skates, as they had been done up to resemble moccasins.
Indira's dark complexion suggested, thrillingly, to both Kyle and Steve that she might be an actual descendant of one of the Indians who had once roamed the Great Plains in search of walleye perch.
A lot of the proposed dishes Kyle spurned because they featured chickpeas or lentils. "Rabbit food," he sneered. The Ghee Whiz Burger he rejected when he found out that is came swimming in butter. Besides, it was made out of lamb.
"Where's the beef?" he asked. To his amazement, the restaurant served no beef or pork. Kyle, a carnivore, wanted meat: "What do you have that a real man could eat? What kind of meat do you actually serve?"
Given how femininely Kyle was dressed, Indira assumed that he was asking on Steve's behalf, and so she said to Steve in her high-pitched, singsong voice: "We've got chicken, lamb, goat and buffalo. That gives you lots of choice."
As she named the dishes, Kyle, Steve and Elvira became more and more confused. Most of the dishes on the menu had unfathomable names like Tandoori, korma, chappati, bhoona and chutney. Steve ventured they were Indian names, possibly Sioux or Kiowa, but this insight didn't really help them very much, for neither the Lancers nor Kyle had ever been to an Indian restaurant before. All three ended up choosing the Water Buffalo Burger. Half fearful that their dinner would arrive swimming in water, they were pleased to see that it sort of resembled an American burger, except that its brownish-yellow sauce was -- in their unanimous opinion - far too spicy.
Kyle joked: "I guess they call it a water buffalo burger because it makes you beg for water." He hadn't noticed the restaurant's proud boast that their buffalo came from the Mekong River region of the "Great Southeast."
As they pulled away, Mrs. Lancer apologized for the food: "I'd heard the place had gourmet burgers - just like McDonald's. But obviously I was misinformed. This place can't even get their bread to rise." Steve seconded: "It's a good thing we didn't live in Iowa in the olden days. We would have starved to death if we'd been captured by the Indians."
Kyle had to agree, for he had never heard of there being a lot of wild sheep or goats roaming Iowa before the white man arrived, and yet half of the authentically 'Indian' dishes seemed to be built around lamb or goat. He supposed the local Indians could have hunted mountain goats and Rocky Mountain sheep a thousand miles to the west. But he readily agreed with Steve that it must have been pretty rough being an Indian if one had to go all the way to the Rockies to bag a lamb chop.
"Maybe that's why Indian food is so spicy," Steve hypothesized - "so their meat wouldn't rot while they hauled it back from the mountains on burros."
"Yes, that had to be it," Kyle replied. "But, if the Indians are going to make a go of it in modern times, they should get some hints from Taco Bell or KFC on how to cook their food."
Time flew as the two boys conversed about the mysteries of Indian culture, and as Elvira followed a route of poorly lit back streets to reach the arena, both of them were as oblivious to Kyle's girlish appearance when they arrived at the game as they had been when Kyle had left Steve's darkened room.
Sure, they knew that Kyle was wearing girls' clothes. Yet they had no idea that he actually 'looked like a girl' until they tumbled out of the car at the floodlit parking lot near the arena.
Steve literally staggered when he got his first good look at Kyle under bright lighting: "Kyle!" he shouted. "What have you done to yourself? You've made yourself look do much like a girl that someone is going to take a shot at you! Cripes, I thought" - and he lowered his voice to a hiss - "you didn't want anyone to know you were wearing girls' clothes. God, you look like a sissy!"
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Kyle blustered. He then looked carefully at his boy-band jersey and flowered jeans for the first time. He had to admit that they didn't look very masculine. Indeed, the padded bra made him look like a girl - or worse, like a girl wannabee. Tears welled in his eyes.
"I can't go to the game dressed like a sissy. We've got to go home." Kyle then turned accusingly to Elvira: "You bought these clothes. You wanted me to look like a sissy. Why did you want that?"
His body shook with emotion - with humiliation, self-pity and rage.
Elvira tearfully replied: "Kyle, you're not being fair. Look carefully at your clothes and you'll see that they're very similar to what you wore to your date. I wanted to get you a present you'd really like, and so I deliberately bought clothes in a store where I knew you shopped. The salesgirls at Macy's assured me that you'd love what I was buying for you. They marveled at how well I knew your taste in clothing. I'm sorry you don't like your present. I was trying to please you, honest."
Kyle hadn't meant to make Steve's mother cry. He reassured her: "Please don't be sad. I like the clothes you bought me. They're ... gr...great. I just wish they didn't make me look like a girl."
"You don't look like a real girl," objected Steve. "You look like a painted sissy." Steve was upset; he wasn't being kind.
"I'm afraid, Kyle, that it's true. You're not quite convincing as a girl," advised Elvira.
"But I don't want to convince people that I'm a girl!" Kyle objected. "I want people to believe I'm a boy, dressed in boys' clothes, no matter how I'm dressed!"
"I'm afraid, Kyle, that you are hoping for the impossible. With your delicate looks, your slender, almost girlish build, and soft, hairless skin, it doesn't take much to make you look female. Now, Steve here, if he were wearing your outfit, he'd still look very much the male. No one would think he looked like a sissy. Isn't that true, Steve?"
Flattered, Steve nodded. He also puffed up his chest so that he'd look as muscular as possible.
Absolutely deflated, Kyle mumbled, "Then you don't think there is any way you could alter my appearance so that I looked like a normal boy in normal boys' clothes, and not like a sissy?"
Elvira sighed heavily, then said: "Kyle, somehow those clothes draw out the feminine in you. Honestly, I believe that you have only two options: Either we call off the game and take you home now or else we make you look more feminine, so feminine in fact that no one, but no one, will guess you're a boy."
Steve concurred: "Yeh, you'd better look a lot more like a girl before I'll be caught dead sitting beside you at a basketball game."
Kyle briefly mulled over his options, and then capitulated. He actually begged Elvira to make him look as much like a real girl as possible so that he and Steve could go to the game. He even seemed pleased as she handed him a shoulder bag, a teddy-bear pendant, two clip-on earrings, a tube of red lipstick, and two yellow hair ribbons. At her insistence, he also tucked in his jersey so that it strained more at his apparently budding breasts.
Steve was astonished that such small changes could achieve such a complete transformation: "Wow, if I didn't know you, I'd swear you were a girl - a pretty girl. You look like one sexy babe."
Kyle blushed. Bashfully, his long eyelids fluttering, he asked, "Is it true? Will no one will know that I'm really a boy?"
"Definitely not," replied Elvira. "Just as I told you, it's easy to transform you into a totally credible teenage girl. You've got the body for it. And so, are we ready to go to the game?"
Kyle, his eyes staring at his red sneakers, shyly nodded.
Elvira then said, "We can't be calling you Kyle, as that will quickly give you away. You'll need a girl's name. What should we call you? How about Bambi or Priscilla? They've always been two of my favorite girls' names."
"Call me Demi," Kyle said.
"Demi - a pretty name for a pretty girl," crowed Elvira.
"Yes, you are pretty," agreed Steve, who grabbed Kyle's left hand. Kyle stopped trying to free it when Elvira warned him, "Demi, don't be silly. Let Steve hold your hand, dear. If you show the world you're a couple, they'll be far more likely to believe that you're a genuine girl."
From then on the date resembled, more or less, their first one. As before, Elvira sat apart from the youthful couple, but close enough to capture their date on film. Once again, Steve was generous and dutiful. As the game was both exciting and closely fought, Kyle might have actually enjoyed the date, had it not been for Steve's nerves and Bernie's nerve.
As Steve was terrified that someone would guess that he was attending the game with a transvestite, he made sure that everyone 'knew' that he was dating a girl named Demi. Steve wore the name out, and was well on his way to wearing his welcome out until he had a chance to play the chivalrous knight to Demi's damsel in distress.
For Demi, Bernie had been a problem right from the start. An obese, balding, middle-aged man, he made his sweaty presence known every time Steve went to fetch their food and drinks. At first Bernie seemed merely friendly, and Kyle, new to the ways of girlhood, did not get suspicious when he first struck up a conversation. After all, Bernie was clearly alone and lonely, and he knew his basketball.
However, Demi began to suspect his intentions on Steve's second errand for hot dogs when Bernie commented on Demi's apparent interest in "wieners" while adding that his own nickname in college had been "Foot Long." During Steve's third trip for hot dogs, Bernie bluntly propositioned the teenage 'girl', and when told to "take a hike," stayed put. Indeed, his fingers began to play furtively with Demi's hair.
Kyle thought about turning around and punching the man. The man didn't look tough. Kyle figured he could have easily decked the slob. But fisticuffs risked blowing Demi's cover, and so Demi felt she had no choice but to seek Steve's protection.
"That man sitting behind me has been making obscene comments, and he's been touching my hair. Can you tell him to bug off?" Demi demurely said.
Steve gallantly rose to the occasion, literally. Standing so that he could intimidate the 'slob', Steve snarled, "My girlfriend tells me you've been bothering her. Leave her alone, you creep, or you'll be eating only liquid foods from now on!
"What are you talking about?" Bernie blustered. "I aint touched her once. And nor have you! I don't think she's your girlfriend, kid. You've not put your arm around her since the two of you got here."
To establish possession, Steve dramatically put his arm around Demi's shoulders and pulled her close. They sat like that for the rest of the game, Steve because he found it thrilling to hold his beloved Kyle, and Demi, because she didn't want Bernie to think that she was unattached and available.
Bernie refused, however, to believe that Demi preferred Steve. How could she? The youth was a wimp. Bernie would have to be told to get lost more than once before he actually did so. He still had his eyes on the young girl in daisy yellow. And so, when Demi finally headed off alone, Bernie was quick to follow.
Kyle desperately needed to take a leak: He'd drunk too much cola at the Indian restaurant. Naturally he headed for the men's toilets, but Demi never got past the door.
A bemused security guard insisted she use the lady's washroom: "I know there's usually a long line at the ladies', but we've got to observe the proprieties, young girl, and I'm not going to start a riot by letting you into the men's room. Besides, you're such a pretty young thing; I would have thought your mama would have warned you against flaunting yourself in front of a lot of college men. They're ravenous wolves when it comes to you a sweet young lamb like yourself. Now, you head over to the ladies' room, you hear."
Kyle didn't know what to do. He certainly wasn't going to use the ladies' room. The suggestion appalled him. Yet he was desperate to pee. If he waited another minute, it would begin to pour down his leg. So he went looking for a secluded spot, unaware that Bernie was close behind.
In a deserted corner in a stairwell, Kyle unzipped and relieved himself. As he joyfully drew a happy face on the wall, he heard an audible gasp behind him. Kyle, suddenly aware that a 'girl' shouldn't have the 'artistic' ability that he was now demonstrating, frantically zipped his pants, doing it so recklessly that he wet himself.
As he wheeled about shame-facedly, he stared into the gaping mouth of Bernie. The oaf looked stunned - as though clobbered with a billy club. Bernie spoke first: "You sure had me fooled, Demi. I thought you were a real girl. Gosh, everyone in the arena thinks you're a pretty girl. And half the guys are probably lusting after you."
"That's not ..." Kyle started, but Bernie interrupted: "I know from the way you've been eyeing me, Demi, that you groove on men. I mean real men, adults, not the sort of scrawny kid who's been bothering you. I could see that you'd prefer that he kept his hands to himself. As for me, your mouth said 'no,' but your eyes sure as hell said 'yes.' You've been looking at me like a bitch in heat."
"Are you cra...." Kyle began, but once again Bernie broke in: "But I've got to turn you down, kid. You can't talk me into having sex with you. There's no way. I want my girls to be the real thing. However, my brother would dig you. He really grooves on boys your age."
"Your brother can go to ..." Kyle commenced, but Bernie cut him off: "You can find my brother almost any day at Macy's mall. He hangs out at the public washroom nearest to the department store. I tell him he spends too much time there, but he's frigging obsessed with looking for a particular boy - he'd be about your age - who did a striptease for him in the washroom a couple of weeks ago."
"What a tease that kid was!" Bernie exclaimed. "He knew that Arnie - that's my brother - was looking at him through a peephole, yet he stripped down to his orange bikini underwear and bra and then waggled his ass like a table dancer. Arnie tells me that kid was so desperate for some hot homo sex that he wouldn't leave the bathroom. Arnie was about to risk going back into to screw the kid when the girly boy's mother showed up to ruin the party."
Kyle was speechless. His mouth could not form a word.
Bernie continued his pitch for Arnie: "My brother will be at the Macy's washroom tomorrow and the next day looking for that kid in the orange bra and panties. But Demi, I just know, he'll like you even better because you're the perfect girly boy. I promise he'll make you feel like a woman. He's really well hung."
Oblivious to Kyle's shock and disgust, Bernie advised: "But, if you want to make it with my brother, you're going to have to look enough like a male to get into the men's washroom. I suggest you borrow somebody's motorcycle jacket to wear, because if you wear normal boy's clothes, someone's bound to think you're a girl in drag."
"Incredible!" was all Kyle had time to say before Bernie added, "Demi, I can sure see why you've decided to dress as a female. Did you have any real choice in the matter? With a body like yours, with moves like yours, there's no way you'll ever make a convincing male."
As Kyle spluttered, unable to find even one coherent epithet, Bernie concluded: "Demi, I wish you were a real girl because you're such an incredible dish. Your body really looks feminine. My brother digs trannies, if they're young enough. Be sure to ask him for money. He'll definitely pay to get into your panties."
Kyle finally collected his senses sufficiently to make it quite clear that he had no blankety-blank interest in "dirty old men," regardless of their sexual orientation, and that he was more likely to call the cops on Arnie than to rendezvous with the "ped."
Kyle watched the last thirty minutes of the game in profound discomfort. His inner thighs damp with urine, he kept checking his crotch to see if the pee was seeping through in a telltale pattern that only a boy could make. Meanwhile, Steve was holding him in a bear hug. Kyle, to his intense humiliation and frustration, lacked the strength to free himself.
And, while Bernie did not resume his seat, he remained a constant presence, as Kyle fought unsuccessfully to clear his mind of the man's insinuations and insults. Bernie had struck one devastating blow at Kyle's masculine ego after another as he suggested that the boy had such a feminine physique that he'd have more trouble passing for male than female.
"He said I have a girl's body and that everybody in the entire place thinks I'm a female."
Was it true? Did Kyle have a 'feminine' body? The boy had to know, and so, against his better judgment, he asked Steve, "Do you think my body looks feminine ... er, even when I've got no clothes on, even when ...I'm not trying to look like a girl?"
The question came out of the blue. Steve had no idea what occasioned it. He wasn't sure what answer Kyle wanted to hear. But given that Steve was being asked by a boy wearing eyeshade, lipstick, nail polish, a teddy-bear pendant, earrings, and a noticeable bra whether he looked at all 'female,' Steve thought the reasonable answer to be, "Yeh, Demi, you look pretty feminine even when you're wearing nothing but your panties. After all, you don't have any body hair. You've got great legs that most girls would kill for, and you don't have much in the way of muscles to give away your true sex. You know that the girl cheerleaders do a lot of lifting. So I bet they've got bigger biceps than you've got."
Steve then whispered, "You don't have to worry about anyone guessing you're a boy -- not with your body, you don't. I think you're as pretty as any girl at school."
Then Steve, smiling, kissed Demi's cheek. He hoped she liked being told how feminine she looked. If she did, Steve might one day be in a position to tell her on the basis of very close inspection that, "there's no doubt in my mind that your body is definitely that of a potent male."
Kyle sulked for the rest of the game. One could hardly blame him. It's difficult to be cheery when one has a poor body image. Kyle had always known that he was no hulk, but he had never suspected, until this evening, that anyone thought his body - as opposed to his clothes - to be 'feminine.'
As Kyle became ever more preoccupied with his gloomy thoughts, Steve's hands became ever bolder. Kyle didn't much notice them at the time, and so was shocked when he received his copies of Elvira's photos to archive that he definitely looked like Steve's compliant girlfriend.
Kyle hadn't, for example, realized that Steve's hand had been glued to his buttocks for most of the time it had taken them to exit the arena and return to the car. He had simply been too deeply lost in self-pity to notice - or to care.
Just before they got to the cut-off for Kyle's house, he asked whether he could go to their place to pick up his clothes. Elvira nixed the idea. She pointed out that they'd be damp, and that she wanted to dry and iron them first. "Demi, I don't want your mother to think," she said, "that I shirk my housework. You got your clothes muddy at our house, and it's my responsibility to clean them for you. It's late. So why don't we just drive you home? Your mother will start to get worried about you if you stay out much longer. And besides, don't you want her to see your new outfit?"
Kyle then surprised both of the Lancers by saying he wanted to check the pockets of his plaid jeans to see if he left anything valuable in them. Elvira had checked the pockets, as Kyle must have known she would, and they had been empty except for two five dollar bills which she had put into his purse - as Kyle knew she had, for he'd used the money to treat Steve to a monster box of popcorn.
Her eyebrows went up: "Is Kyle trying to find an excuse for coming back to the house with Steve?" she wondered. In the rearview mirror, she saw that her son was smiling broadly. "Steve thinks the same thing I do - that Kyle is plotting to get laid."
In silent confirmation, Steve gave her a big wink as he nuzzled closer to his date. From Elvira's perspective, the timing wasn't perfect. In an ideal world, Steve and Demi would be on their third or fourth 'heterosexual' date before they connected sexually. Even so, if they had sex tonight, Steve would be making love to a boy named Demi - to a boy who had done his utmost to look and to act feminine for more than two hours.
So she agreed to take Kyle to her place to check out the contents of his original jeans. Not a light was burning in the Lancer homestead as they pulled into the driveway, but soon after they had fumbled their way to candles and a flashlight, Elvira was able - supposedly through a phone call to the power company - to get the electricity turned back on. And so, the lights were blazing when Steve learned to his regret that Kyle had actually gone to his bedroom to talk.
And to talk about what? About Steve's body, it seemed. At first, Steve found the topic tremendously encouraging: After all, when one boy says to another, "Your body is super," it usually means, "Let's get it on together!"
But not this time. Kyle wasn't making a pass at Steve. Instead, he was trying to learn how his friend had become so muscular, so quickly. Kyle was determined to get the kind of manly physique that would make it impossible for anyone ever again to say, "You're built like a pre-pubescent girl."
Kyle was in a hurry: He wasn't willing to work out with weights for years. The problem with his self-image had to be solved immediately. His body needed a quick fix, he had decided. His goal was straightforward: perfect pecs tomorrow, and absolute abs the day after.
Could Steve help? Yes, he said he could, as he credited his own muscle development to the synthetic hormones that he'd been taking for the past two years.
Steve explained: "Testosterone is what makes you manly. It gives you powerful muscles. It's the big advantage we men have over girls. It's the essence of virility. If you take a capsule filled with testosterone or with one of the other hormones that guys require, then you get what's called an androgenic or anabolic effect. That means, Kyle, that the pill makes you more macho and more muscular."
"Anabolic? As in anabolic steroids?" Kyle asked.
"Yeh, steroids, hormones, they're pretty much the same thing. I get the steroids from a guy who coaches high school basketball. He knew my dad. And so, he's been helping me to bulk up. I just know he'd be willing to help you too, as you are my excellent friend."
Kyle wanted clarification: "Are you saying that steroids are the same thing as synthetic guy hormones?"
Steve nodded. "Yeh, but I like to call them roids. Hormones sound like something a guy would take to become a girl. You aren't planning on doing that, are you, Kyle? You aren't going to become Demi permanently, are you? You can if you want to. It's your life. But I prefer you as a boy."
"There is no way I'm going to take hormones to turn me into a girl. I've told you many times - once I've got the moped, no more Demi! Now about these steroids, those I could see taking. But aren't they dangerous?"
"Nah," Steve replied. "I've been fine. I do have to warn you that there can be side effects to taking steroids. But they almost never happen. Anyway, here's the list of what could happen to you."
Kyle barely glanced at the government health advisory. Some of the problems seemed so unlikely - heart disease and liver cancer - that he could scarcely take the warnings seriously. "I'm just a kid," he thought, "and there's no way a kid gets a heart attack. It's just the usual government bull."
There were also some supposed side effects with big names. The first of these was 'gynecomastia.' As he had no idea of what that might be, he looked for something more familiar.
And he found it. The list contained a particularly dire warning: steroids could give you acne! The thought of acne was genuinely dismaying: "What will Joannie say," he fretted, "if I become a pimple face?"
Briefly, fear of acne put him off the idea of taking steroids, or 'male mones' as he'd be calling them, but he decided to take the risk when Steve assured him that the worst case scenario would be some acne on his back.
"No one will notice the pimples, if you get any," Steve advised. "Do you think I'd recommend anything that would make you look less sexy to me?" His leer commanded a 'no.'
Indeed, Steve so clearly wanted Kyle always to look and feel his best that Kyle felt quite safe in letting Dr. Steve prescribe to him. So he asked how he should take the steroids, and was told about 'stacking' different types.
Dr. Steve set a definite limit on how much Kyle should take each day, in order to make sure that nothing went wrong with his health, but Kyle was now in a hurry to get muscular, and he had already decided to double whatever dose his friend recommended.
It turned out that Steve had an enormous cache of capsules because, as he explained, the coach wanted to keep their drug contacts to a minimum. "You can have two month's supply right now," Steve offered, "provided you thank me properly."
And what was that? Was Steve suggesting that Kyle should, like some pathetic junkie, prostitute himself for a drug fix? Hardly, for Steve was a middle-class, fourteen-year-old living in Des Moines. All he wanted was a thank-you kiss from Kyle.
"If you give me a real kiss, a wet kiss, then all these capsules are yours. And I'll make sure you've always got the roids you need."
Kyle was touched. Steve was offering to provide him with 'male mones' that were probably worth a million dollars, and all that the silly, lovestruck boy wanted was a kiss!
Kyle took the initiative. As they embraced, for the first time in his life Kyle actively kissed another male. Was it a wet kiss? Yes indeed. In truth, it was downright slobbery. It was also sufficiently erotic that there is no telling what might have ensued had a door not slammed violently on the floor beneath.
Startled, they unlocked their mouths. Steve freed himself from Kyle's grasp so that he could scramble to his bedroom door. As he flung it open, both boys were shocked to hear Steve's mom swearing a blue streak about a telephone call she had just made.
"Demi, I want you. Come downstairs immediately!" hollered Elvira.
Steve looked worried: "When she gets in that mood, you'd better obey." They did, however, take the time to stuff Kyle's shoulder bag to the brim with bottles of synthetic hormones. And Steve sheepishly gave Kyle a quick hug.
Once downstairs, it didn't take Kyle long to figure out who had put Elvira into such a vile mood: It was his own mother!
Elvira sulked: "Your mother insists that you go home immediately. I tried to explain that we were more than pleased to have you stay overnight, but she wouldn't hear of it. She declared that it's a school night and that you know the rules. I gather you are already going to get into trouble, despite my pleading for leniency, for staying out past 11 pm."
Kyle was confused. He hadn't asked to stay the night. As for the eleven o'clock curfew, it had never come up before. He was surprised to discover that he even had a curfew. He had always been careful to get advance approval for late nights, and his mother had always said something like, "fine just as long as I know when to expect you."
"Something has really put her into a bad mood," Kyle mused. "But what it could be?"
He clued in from Elvira's rant: "Demi, your mother is not as open-minded as she pretends. When I told her about your date with Steve, about the new clothes, and about your courageous decision to go out as a girl, your mother got quite snippy. Indeed, she refused to believe me when I informed her that you practically begged Steve to treat you as his girlfriend at the game. Her next comments were very odd, Kyle. She said that I shouldn't try to control her son. She even accused me of putting you into skirts. Well, I've certainly not done that, have I Demi?"
"Skirts? Where did my mom ever get that idea from?" Kyle prevaricated. "I know you have my best interests at heart, Mrs. Lancer. After all, you came up with the lipstick, and the pendant and the purse when I worried that some people might think I was a sissy boy in drag. Thanks to you, no one tried to pick a fight with me at the game."
Kyle elaborated: "It wasn't your fault that the clothes made me look too feminine. They were, as you said, almost exactly like the stuff I was already wearing. The clothes should have been masculine enough for no one to wonder about my sex, but for some reason I looked like a sissy in them. Then you came to the rescue. You saved my ass. Oh, can you excuse me for using that word?"
As he finished, Kyle glumly thought: "I know why I looked like a girly boy in those clothes. It's because my body is all wrong. It's not masculine enough. But that will change."
Elvira, ever gracious, forgave Kyle his mild profanity. She then hustled the two boys into her car. Throughout the drive, as they held hands in the back, she lectured Demi on the importance of tolerance. "You must get your mother to appreciate," she kept saying, "that you are not a homosexual. She must understand that you are sexually attracted to boys because you're a transsexual. You love boys because it's natural for a girl to love boys. Can't you get your mother to accept the truth?"
"As for you, Steve, you should realize that it's Demi's essential femininity that attracts you to her. Demi is a beautiful woman. That's why you like her so much."
Steve was silent - and unnerved. It was true: He had been marveling all evening at how feminine Kyle looked when dressed as Demi. Demi was definitely a pretty girl. Yet every time Steve had fantasized that evening about having sex with Kyle - which was once or twice a minute - Kyle was most definitely a handsome boy each time.
As for Kyle, he paid Elvira scarcely any heed. Whenever he heard any word starting with "trans," he simply shut his ears. Let people babble on about his transsexuality. He knew it wasn't true. When adults became silly, it was best to ignore them. Or so Kyle thought.
On the front stoop of Kyle's home, the two boys put on quite a show for Elvira, who waited at the car with her camera, and Barb, who could be seen peeking through the drapes. The boys hoped to embarrass their mothers into ceasing their 'spying' on them, and the boys' amorous hugs and kisses might have compelled the two women to avert their eyes had they in fact looked like two males necking.
Instead, both women watched transfixed - Elvira because it looked like her son was finally interested in kissing someone who looked like a girl; and Barb, because that girl was her son.
Once he got inside, Kyle was anxious to reach the privacy of his own room. He didn't want to talk about his date with Steve. So he picked a fight with his mother for 'spying' on him, and as they argued, he soon became angry enough to stalk off to his inner sanctum, banging a door or two on route.
He was, of course, in a hurry to start his transformation. As he greedily gobbled down twice the recommended dose of synthetic male hormones, Kyle exulted: "I am soon going to have a perfect body."
It's possible the steroids would have built a macho physique for Kyle, had he been willing to work out. But he did no extra exercise during the months that he took them, and the steroids had only a minor anabolic effect. He didn't, as hoped, grow big muscles. What he did grow was breasts - mammaries, the real thing.
Kyle should have paid more heed to the medical warnings. At the very least he should have learned the meaning of the word 'gynecomastia.' Had he asked a doctor or a Latin professor, he would have been told that it meant "breasts like a woman's." Kyle didn't know it yet, but he would eventually become aware of a fairly common side effect of steroid abuse: the growing of women's breasts.
It is one of life's great ironies that the abuse of sexual hormones can totally backfire. By giving the body false signals, male hormones can actually feminize. Thus, it was Kyle's decision to take steroids that led his breasts to grow, his testicles to atrophy, and his growth spurt to end.
There were a lot of scheming people in his life, but it was his own scheming that most shaped his fate.
Chapter Twelve: Was It a Memorable Sunday?
"You slut!" she screamed. Kyle had just finished getting off the phone, and Joannie was ranting.
Once again Kyle had kissed and told. Yes, he bashfully admitted, he had been tongue-dancing with Steve; and worse, there was no talk now of wanting to wash his mouth with soap.
"Did Steve force his kisses on you?" Joannie had asked.
"No, not exactly," Kyle had answered. "I wanted to kiss him to thank him for a great evening. You know - for the game and other stuff."
"You can't mean to say that you actually kissed him?"
"Yeh, but don't worry. I like kissing you a lot better," said Kyle, hoping to placate her.
Joannie was implacable: "You shouldn't be kissing anyone but me, and I can't believe that you let him put his arm around you at the game. How could you, Demi James?"
She was unimpressed by Kyle's story about a fat man who thought he was a girl. She doubted it had happened. And in any case, a real woman didn't seek the protection of the nearest male when danger threatened. She stood her ground and fought. "If you're going to be my girlfriend," she told Demi, "you're going to have to stand up for yourself. You should have cracked the s.o.b.'s nuts with your handbag," she declared.
"If I'd hit the slob, people might have figured out that I was really a guy. I would have been lynched!" Kyle tried to explain.
Joannie wouldn't accept his excuses, for she was furious that Kyle had made his public debut as Demi while dating Steve. She had been attempting for more than a week to persuade Demi to go out in public with her - for example, to window-shop at the mall.
"But no dice," Kyle had said. He had been adamantly opposed to going out as a girl, and now he had actually done it - with another boy! Joannie's emotions upon hearing this revelation ran the gamut from A to F - from anger through envy to fear of losing her 'girlfriend'.
"Do you want to have sex with Steve?" she asked abruptly.
Joannie didn't like the pause, not one bit, as Kyle briefly envisaged Demi and Steve in sexual union. His "of course not" answer did not, therefore, reassure her, especially as he said it without heat or conviction.
"Demi's about to lose her virginity," Joannie silently concluded. "And she's going to lose it to Steve if I don't act fast."
And fast she acted. She invited Kyle over to the house. It was late Sunday morning, and Kyle hadn't yet had breakfast, but he promised to come around at two thirty. And yes, he would be dressed as femininely possible, though Joannie wouldn't know that for sure, Kyle warned, until he'd taken off hat, sunglasses and trenchcoat.
"You'll look like a spy," she said. "Someone will call the cops on you."
"Better the neighbors think that I'm a spy," replied Kyle, "than recognize me as the sissy, transvestite son of Barb James. I've got to live on this street, you know, and once I've got the moped, I'm definitely putting away all this drag. Jeez, the girls' clothes have taken over my room. It's like they reproduce themselves. Yesterday evening, while I was at the game, my mom packed away more than half of my boys' clothes to make room for all female stuff I'm accumulating. She said there wasn't enough room for my guy clothes."
"I can't believe it - all my regular jeans and every pair of underwear I own has been shipped off to the cellar. She says it can come back when I stop wearing girls' clothes, but I wonder whether she really means it."
"Can I have your boxer shorts?" Joannie asked hopefully.
"Certainly not. I'll need them when I start riding my moped. Anyway, you're supposed to wear sexy panties - like you promised."
"Demi, I only promised to wear girls' clothes on the days that you did. If you start dressing up like a guy, then I will too. So there."
Kyle didn't like that answer, not one bit. But he brightened up at the thought that he could get her into a bra and panties for their make out sessions simply by wearing lingerie himself to them. And he wouldn't have to wear a bra to school - not after the moped deal was won - for he would be able to change into something sexy on his way over to Joannie's.
"I'll have space for all my underwear, including the frilly stuff," Kyle silently calculated, "if I get rid of most of the girls' street clothes - like the Capri pants."
The Capri pants? Why did he think of them? Why? Because Joannie was talking about them. "I just know we'll have a super afternoon if we both wear our Capri pants," she was gushing. "And our Mary Janes." And then before, he could object, she added, "And your sexiest black lace because, sweet Demi, we're going to have the place completely to ourselves this afternoon. Gran will be playing bridge."
At that point, Kyle ended the phone call by saying, "Joannie, I've got to go. My mother now knows I'm awake and I hear her hollering. But don't worry: If she tries to ground me for coming home late, I'll find a way to sneak out. And then you'll be able to find out for yourself whether I'm wearing black lace. Wish me luck!"
And she did, just before she hung up the phone and called Demi a slut.
Did Joannie have her grandmother's permission to invite Kyle over that afternoon? Definitely not! In fact, Joannie had been expressly forbidden to "entertain either boys or Demi" - that was how Virginia said it - when there was no adult in the house.
Thus Joannie was disobeying a direct order, which she rarely did, but she felt she had no choice: She just had to prove to Demi that a girl could kiss more erotically than any boy could, before Demi foolishly traded her virtue for basketball tickets.
Demi's fate hung into the balance: It up was up to Joannie to make sure that she continued to love women, first and foremost, even as she journeyed to womanhood.
Since Joannie was liable to get into trouble anyway, she decided to go for broke - or at least to make her grandmother broke. Once again she stole into her grandmother's purse, and then onto the Internet, where she used Virginia's credit card to do some shopping for Demi. Joannie resented the fact that the Lancers had dressed up Demi like a paper doll. She resolved to be the one who'd choose the clothes for Demi's next date, and so she went surfing for something so 'excellent' that she and Demi would remember the outfit for the rest of their lives.
Joannie eventually found the perfect site. Oddly enough, it was a clothing store that catered to guys. Or maybe it was to gays. In any case, The Fantasy Male Shoppe, had exactly what she wanted; and they promised delivery in time for Demi to wear it to their Saturday night rock concert and dance.
After she got off the phone, Joannie sat for several minutes near the phone smiling like a Cheshire cat. She hadn't cracked a smile since she had first learned that Demi, 'that slut', had been probing Steve's back molars with her tongue.
Yet Joannie was almost mirthful as she drew a mental picture of Demi at the dance: Joannie had never seen Demi attempt to cross-dress as a male. What a sight it would be to behold!
And if Demi pulled it off? What if Demi managed to look like a girl even when she was dressed in clothes bought at a clothing store for guys? Well, then Demi would be allowed to go a lot more than halfway when they next got some privacy. All the way? A home run? Maybe not a four-bagger, but at least a triple.
And how would this all happen, given Virginia's reservations about boy-girl sex under her own roof? Joannie thought she'd be able to get her way once she'd thrown the biggest tantrum since she was toddling around in her 'terrible twos'. She planned the scene for Wednesday.
As for getting Mrs. James to agree to give Kyle one night's furlough from girldom, she would leave that up to Kyle to arrange. Joannie assumed that Barb would agree to a four-to-one trade - one evening dressed as a 'boy' in exchange for a four day's prolongation of his moped bet. "That's a good deal for Barb," Joannie thought. "I'd sure leap at it."
"I've thought of everything," Joannie decided. "Next Saturday will be best fun that I've ever had. What a gas! Demi's masquerading as a boy! The entire evening will be awesome, simply awesome."
As the net-shopping had wound her up, Joannie was too excited to wait around the house until Demi's arrival, and so, she headed off alone to Macy's mall to look for more clothes. A fib was necessary: She told her grandmother that she was going to the mall with several other girls; but the fib was a mild transgression, thought Joannie, compared to credit card fraud. Joannie actually felt quite virtuous, for she was going to actually use her own money if she saw anything fit for Demi to wear.
Aside from the balding fat guy on the bus who kept leering at her, Joannie's trip to the mall was uneventful. Nor did anything untoward happen in the boys' department of Macy's where she found several pairs of cotton boxers that would have looked perfect on her, but she virtuously decided to hoard her money for Demi. Still, there was a plaid pair that she just knew she'd have to buy for herself one day, for it had the same tartan as the pockets of Demi's favorite jeans.
It was in the girl's department that her visit to Macy's became noteworthy. It's not that she went on a spending spree. In fact, she bought only a single pair of pink silk panties for Demi (with white lace trim at the legs and waist), but that purchase did introduce her to Melanie.
Joannie, in a playful mood, had tried to shock Melanie: "Do you think?" she'd ask the salesgirl, "that these would appeal to a boy who has just begun to cross-dress? You don't think the panties are too pink, do you?"
Melanie, always eager for the sale, hurriedly said, "Of course not, any boy who likes to dress in girls' finery would just adore those panties."
And then she paused, as she gave Joannie a hard look: "Hmm, this girl is definitely the right age. I wonder if she knows Kirkdirk? She looks like a dyke. If she is, then she'd be the perfect girlfriend for a sissy like Kirkdirk. Well, there's no harm in finding out if she knows the little pansy."
"I know," Melanie began, "a boy who'd cream in his jeans every time he put those panties on. He and his mother shop in this department. We call him Kirkdirk, but I'm sure he'd prefer to be called Kyla. He's a blond boy about your age, and he's got a slender build, and the sweetest button of a nose. Kyla wouldn't by chance be the boy for whom you're buying those beautiful panties?"
"You mean Kyle? Is his mother named Barb?" quizzed Joannie.
"Barb? Yes, I believe that was her name. And Kyle was his. So you are Kyle's girlfriend? I can see why. He has excellent taste."
Joannie blushed: "He's my girlfriend too! We've got all the same clothes, and he even goes to school dressed as a girl. But I shouldn't talk about him, I should talk about her - about Demi. Demi's the name you should use. There is no Kyla."
Melanie probed: "So you dress alike? That's marvelous. I bet you wish you were twins - you know, with even your bodies the same. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Demi had ... breasts just like yours? Then you could trade bras."
"Well, Demi sort of has breasts like mine. They're very realistic."
"But realistic isn't as good as real, is it, Joannie? You do know, honey, that Demi could get saline implants that would give her real breasts? Just think of it - with the help of breast implants, Demi could become the perfect girlfriend, the girl of your dreams."