Exploring Mitsy
by slimv
If this story sounds familiar, it’s because I hijacked it
from Robin Diaz. Back in 2005, she wrote a story called “Discovering Mitsy”.
It’s about a boy who gets caught crossdressing. His angry mother tells him to
quit wearing her clothes. She tells him that she’ll buy him his own clothes,
but he has to ask. I loved the concept about a boy having to ask his mother to
buy him a dress. Robin did a great job with it, and I enjoyed it so much that
I wanted to explore it further, hence the title. There’s no sex in this story,
so its rated G, but it still has its moments of titillation. And of course,
unlike Robin’s original story, my version does include smoking. Thank you
Robin, for letting me do this!
Chapter One
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and held it in as I
imagined feeling worse than I’ve ever felt in my life. I wiped my hand across
my face. Did I look pitiful enough? I wondered if she’d go for it? Here goes
everything, I thought as my mother hurried past me.
“Mom I don’t feel good,” I whined. I looked up at her
with pleading eyes, while being careful not to spread it on too thick. I mixed
in a little toughness for good measure.
“What’s wrong sweetie?” She asked, as she stopped to feel
my forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t have a fever.”
“It’s my stomach, and I have diarrhea.”
“What did you eat?” What she meant was- did you eat a lot
of chocolate? Every time I eat chocolate, I get sick as a dog.
I told her I didn’t eat anything. That would make my
excuse believable. I’m always eating, except when I’m sick. I reiterated the
point by telling her I wasn’t hungry.
“I’m sorry honey, but I can’t stay home. I’ve got to go
to work. As a matter of fact, I’m running late.”
Duh! I knew that. She’s a substitute teacher. I’d
been planning on being sick ever since I found out one of the schools she subs
for had asked her to fill in. It wasn’t very often that she was given advance
notice. I’d have the house to my self. She wouldn’t be able to come home and
check on me. Dad was at work. Jeff had caught the bus to high school. I took
a deep breath and sighed. I’m so pitiful. Can’t you see how sick I am?
Don’t make me go to school. Let me stay home by myself so I can do the things
I need to do!
The look on her face told me she was torn and flustered.
She urged me to get ready for school.
“We’ll see how you feel when the bus gets here,” she said.
“Yeah, okay,” I said weakly as I pulled myself up from
chair. “I gotta go again,” I said as I stumbled off to the bathroom. I didn’t
bother to pull my pants down. I just sat on the edge of the toilet and waited
while looking at my watch. When the big hand was on the eight and the little
hand was on the six, it would be too late. She’d have to leave me if I missed
the bus. She wouldn’t be able to drive me to school and make it to her job on
time. My breathing became heavier as the seconds ticked away. I heard my
mother’s footsteps followed by the sound of her knuckles wrapping against the
door.
“Sweetie, I have to leave. Are you going to be okay?”
I told her I’d be fine and punctuated the statement with a
grunt. Oh yeah, I think, I’ll be real good after you’re gone, so just go
already.
“Drink plenty of water. You don’t want to dehydrate.”
I told her I would. As a matter of fact, I thanked her
for reminding me to drink plenty of fluids. I didn’t want her to leave without
thinking I’d be okay. Gawd! Wouldn’t that suck if she started feeling guilty
and wanted to come back? I knew she couldn’t do that, but I wasn’t going to
take stupid chances.
“And no chocolate,” she said through the door. “And that
includes chocolate milk.”
“Okay. I won’t. Just water,” I said. Was she ever
going to leave, I wondered?
“I’ll be home a little late. I have to pick your brother
up from football practice.”
“That’s Okay, I’ll be fine,” I said with stoic patience.
I wasn’t surprised by her hesitation to leave. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust
me to stay in the house by myself. My mom is just a good person. She worries
about people. She’s a real good mom.
I wondered what she was doing outside the door. What was
she thinking? My heart thumped against my chest. Could she hear it? I hoped
not. She moved away. I heard her heels click against the hardwood, growing
softer as neared the kitchen. This is good, I thought. This is very good.
She was going to leave me home alone, but I had to be sure. I couldn’t come
out until I knew she’d left. I strained my ears and listened for the series of
sounds associated with her departure. The kitchen door opened and shut. I
heard the whirling of the electric motor as it lifted the overhead garage
door. I grinned as her car roared to life. The engine sound grew softer as
she backed out of the garage. My heart raced as the electric motor restarted,
lowering the overhead garage door to the pavement. The house was totally
quiet, save for my heavy breaths.
I stepped out of the bathroom in time to catch a glimpse
of her car going down the road. Otto, our German Shepard, walked up to me and
cocked his head. He wondered why I was still home. Did he know what I was
thinking? Was it written on my face? He was just a dog, but still…I bought
his silence with a scratch behind the ear. Satisfied with the payoff, he took
a few paces and lay down on the floor.
I was standing in the living room, looking around my empty
house, giddy with anticipation. I couldn’t believe I was going to go through
with it. I wanted it so bad that it was making me sick. And that’s what mom
thought when she left me. What can I say? I’m a fool for irony.
I cast a glance toward the stairs and then looked back at
Otto. The dog wagged his tail. Maybe he wanted me to throw a stick or
something. I didn’t have a stick. Sorry Otto. I took another look out the
window. The coast was clear. I was on my own.
Otto lifts his head as I walk past him on the way to the
stairs.
“Good boy, Otto. Stay.” His tail thumps the hardwoods as
my feet hit the stairs running.
The door to my parent’s room was closed but not locked.
It was Otto they were trying to keep out of their room- not me. What reason
would I have to invade their room and their privacy? Besides, I don’t shit on
the floor like Otto does. I turned the handle and pushed the door open.
I know I shouldn’t be here. What I’m about to do is so
wrong in every sense of the word, but I’m not going to turn back now. I’ve
waited too long for this day and I’m not about to waste it now that its here.
I closed the door behind me and tiptoed over to my mother’s dresser. Why am I
trying to be so quiet? There’s no one in the house, except for Otto and me.
My parents aren’t home and neither is Jeff. I can’t help it. I’m so fucking
scared. If I make any noise, I’ll wind up scaring myself. My feet glide
quietly across the carpet.
I wince at the luscious thoughts dancing through my mind.
I’m going to be my mom today! Everything about this moment feels too good to
be true. I look at my watch. It’s not even 8:30. I have the whole entire day
to make this right! Time is on my side. Isn’t there a song like that?
I’ve been sneaking into my parent’s room for the last
couple years, borrowing things from my mother’s dresser drawers and closet. I
have perfected the art of becoming the ‘one minute woman’. It doesn’t take
long to throw on a bra and slip into a nightgown. With good time management, I
can pour through my mother’s lingerie and sample several cigarettes from her
sophisticated pack of Benson & Hedges in less than an hour.
Yeah, I know. I’m a terrible kid. I wear my mother’s
clothes and I smoke her cigarettes. And the worst thing about it is, I’m only
13! But I don’t feel thirteen when I’m doing it. That’s why I do it, you
know? That’s part of the reason I do it. The rest of the reason I do it is
because, I DON’T KNOW! It just feels good, and I can’t stop wanting to do it
over and over again, every chance I get.
I gotta stop. I know I do. I’m going to get caught if I
keep doing this. That’s why I have to do it right today. If I do it right
then I won’t have to do it again. I can stop thinking about doing it tomorrow
and the next day and the day after that if I take my time and do it right
today.
Today will be enough to last me for the rest of my life.
It’s going to be so perfect. I’m going to be my mom today. I’m going to feel
everything she feels when she does what she does because I’m going to do it
just like she does. I feel so soft and feminine just thinking about it!
I’m going to feel it all- the silk against my skin, and
the make-up on my face. I’ll feel the smoke from my mother’s cigarettes as it
saturates my lungs. I’ll be just like her today. I’ll be just as beautiful
and sophisticated as she is. I’ll be like every beautiful girl and woman I’ve
ever seen in my whole life, rolled into one. I’m going to be ‘That Woman’
today! The past was merely a prelude of the pleasure that awaited me.
My hand is shaking as I pull open a drawer and peer
inside. I see the sexy red baby doll nightgown that I wore two weeks ago, the
night my parents went to the movies, the night my brother Jeff stayed over at
his friend’s house. My cheeks burn with shameful bliss as I remember prancing
though the house past Otto, with my mother’s cigarette in tow. I smile as I
recall Otto looking at me as if I’d lost my mind, watching me with curious eyes
as smoke spewed from my lips.
I wonder what went through Otto’s mind as he watched me? My
oh my, look at Douglas. Douglas is a girl! Now how did that happen? Just a
couple of minutes ago he was a boy, but now he’s a girl like his mom. He’s
even smoking like her. Well I’ll be a poodle’s uncle!
I’m not sure if I was embarrassed because Otto saw me or
because I imagined what Otto was thinking when he saw me. I hadn’t dressed up
for my dog. I had done it for myself, but it was kind of cool that someone or
something had seen me. The thing that made it cool was that I got seen but I
didn’t get in trouble for it and I didn’t feel too weird about it. Lets face
it, I wouldn’t have thought it was very cool if my bother had seen me wearing
that sexy black bra and panty set my mom had gotten from Victoria’s Secret. It
wouldn’t be cool if he knew I smoked either. Put those two things together and
I’d rather be dead if someone found out. So why did I do it and why was I getting
ready to really do it now? Okay, so I don’t know why I do these things but
maybe you’d do it too if you ever felt like me. So what I’m saying is; you’d
have to be here to even have a clue.
I felt like a pirate with his treasure as I stood in front
of my mother’s dresser. What is this? I know what it is as I pick up Mom’s
black bra from Victoria’s Secret and hold it up to my flat chest. And this
slip! It’s to die for, I think, as I run my fingers across its lacy seam.
My heart flutters as my hands made love to the frilly
black silk and lace. It feels so soft as I slide it across my cheeks and
lips. Inhaling its scent, I shudder as I recall how these wonderful garments
had inspired this day.
I close my eyes and backspace my memory. I see myself
wearing the bra and slip as I sit at my mother’s vanity, trying my hand at
make-up, and doing a pretty bad job at it I might add; because I’d never done
it before. If only I had more time, I thought. What would I look like, how
would I feel, if only I had the time to do it right? And that’s when it hit
me; I saw all the pieces of the puzzle and my mind went to work at putting them
together. There were the clothes and the make-up and the hair and getting rid
of the unwanted hair. And of course there was the cigarettes and painting my
nails. You’ll know what I mean if you’ve ever watched your mom getting ready
to go out. The thing is; it takes a lot of time for a woman to be a woman! I
just needed the time to do it and now I had it!
I’m thirteen, you see, so I’m not a hairy ape by any
stretch of the imagination. I have a little fuzz here and there; more than I
want, so my plan was to start with a hot bath and take a stab at trying my
mom’s razor. Maybe it won’t be worth it, but then again, my mom doesn’t look
like a hairy ape either, and she seems to enjoy doing it. And that’s all I
really want anyway, you know, to feel what she feels. I have to know.
I turned on the bathtub faucet and let it run kind of
slow, so I’d have time to look through my mother’s drawers while the tub
filled. I was careful not to disturb her clothes. I took a mental snapshot of
what goes on top of what and next to what. She could never know that her
little boy is wearing her lingerie. I mean, Christ! What would she think? I
shuddered at the thought of such a disaster as I pulled out the black panty and
bra. I held it between my fingers and moved on to the next drawer. I found the
black slip and held it up to the bra. Together again, I thought as I pulled out
a pair of black pantyhose.
I laid everything on the bed and walked into the bathroom.
It took a few minutes to submerge myself in the hot bubbly water. As soon as I
broke the surface, my skin turned red. I picked up mom’s razor from the side of
the tub and gently mashed it against my leg, pulling it in a downward motion.
The bath beads worked, lubricating my skin and protecting it from the sharp
blade. I finished my leg and moved on to the other. This is marvelous, I
thought as I conducted a touch test with my finger. My legs felt so smooth.
What would it feel like to be hairless under my arms? I had to know. This was
a once in a lifetime thing. I balanced the thought of being discovered with
hairless pits against the experience I hoped to have and decided it was a risk
worth taking. I thought of what I might say if asked about the hairless nature
of my underarms. Shaving the second pit was easier than the first. I had to
do the second one, or else I’d be skewed, hairy on the right and hairless on
the left. I didn’t regret doing it. I felt wonderful. I was smooth all over-
just like a girl!
Satisfied with both my performance and the results, I
leaned back in the tub and soaked until the water began to cool. I would have
liked to soak longer, because it felt so nice, but I had things to do and
clothes to wear.
I pulled the drain plug and stood up in the tub. I turned
on the shower and washed my hair. Washing my hair is a chore into it self.
It’s very long. The ends hang past my shoulders and its brown like my
mother’s. Mom hates my long hair. She wants me to have a Marine cut like my
brother. At first I thought I was growing my hair long to be defiant. But then
I had my revelation. I realized I was growing it long because it was the image
that I wanted for myself. I wanted hair down to the middle of my back. I wanted
hair that flowed with my every move. I wanted hair that shined in Sunlight. I
wanted long hair that danced in a gentle breeze. I wasn’t being defiant. I was
being true to myself.
With all the bubbles gone and my hair conditioned, I
stepped out of the tub and patted myself dry. Instead of drying my hair with
the towel, I wrapped it around my head. I had planned to brush and blow-dry it
after slipping into the lingerie. Maybe it was the cool air touching my skin
after a hot bath, or the anticipation of what I was about to do, but I had
goose bumps.
I stepped into the panties and slowly pulled them up. The
soft satin glided across my smooth legs, caressing my skin. The front panel was
a floral lace pattern with a scalloped top. The panties had a snug fit. My
skin tingled. I felt energized.
I picked up the bra and slipped my arms through the
straps. I reached behind and hooked the clasp on the first try. I was proud of
myself for doing so. Any guy can hook it in his hands and then wiggle into it,
but it takes a girl, or guy that is as good as one, to fasten it behind his
back. I hadn’t come by the skill naturally, but I had spent a lot of time
practicing.
I stepped back and admired my image in the full-length
mirror. The black lingerie looked sexy against my pale white skin. My little
penis started to swell. I had never before pleasured myself, but I had thought
about it. I had always resisted the temptation because I had heard it was
something a guy shouldn’t do and if he did, he shouldn’t be proud of it. But
this time was different. Everything about this day was different. I’d do
things today that I’d never done before and might not ever do again. I touched
my crotch and began to rub. It felt nice- very nice, and I knew I didn’t want
to stop. The more I rubbed, the harder, stronger, and longer it got.
That feeling, that wonderful feeling, it’s so difficult to
describe. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before so I can’t say what its like
other than to say it felt great! I’ve done it since then, and it’s always
good, but I’ll tell you what, the panties make it feel better. I guess that
has something to do with the silk.
It didn’t take long before I felt a spot of wetness on the
panty. The idea of making a mess scared me crazy, so I scurried to the
bathroom. I didn’t want to make a mess but it wasn’t like I could stop! I
pulled the panty down and saw a clear gooey liquid. It felt slippery. I started
stroking myself. Within seconds, I felt a pressure; it was almost painful. I
considered stopping; because I thought I might be doing it wrong. It wasn’t
like I knew what to expect, and I guess that was one of the reasons I didn’t
stop. I couldn’t stop. There was so much pressure. I remember groaning loudly
and not being able to help it. The release was so unbelievable, because all my
stuff shot out with all this force and it was like it just kept coming and
going all over the place. I saw it land on the toilet seat and the tank. The
stuff dripped and it was kind of gross but I didn’t care because I felt so
good. It was like bliss. Yeah, I guess that’s what it was like, since bliss
is supposed to be like an awesome but wasted kind of feeling. So I’m standing
there with my penis in my hand and I’m looking at the mess I made, but I’m not
worried about it because I’m still feeling really really good. You know- that
blissful feeling.
Now keep in mind that I didn’t know a dang thing about
sex, except for what I pieced together from TV, and the things I heard my
brother and his friends talk about. But I had a pretty good idea. I wasn’t
without imagination.
I know I should be a guy in my mind while I’m thinking
about sex, but I’m dressed in my mother’s lingerie, so I’m really thinking
about my mom, you know, trying to think and feel like she would if she had just
had sex with my dad. I knew from watching TV and movies that a lot of women
like to smoke after they have sex- so why not?
I lit a cigarette from my mother’s pack of Benson &
Hedges and lay down on my parent’s bed while filling my young lungs with
smoke. Incredible, I thought as I exhaled through my nose and looked down at
the black bra strapped across my chest. I felt so feminine, relaxed and
fulfilled; yet I was also excited. Is this how my mother feels after she makes
love to my father?
I suddenly felt jealous of her. She was so lucky that she
got to dress in her pretty clothes and smoke her sexy cigarettes all day. I
envied her so much! My little penis got hard and came back to life as I smoked
my cigarette; my brain struggled to make sense of all the competing thoughts.
At 13 years old, I knew I was too young to smoke. But I
had been smoking secretly for the last two years. How old was my mom, I
wondered, when she started smoking? My parents would kill me if they ever
found out. What would my brother say if he knew? And don’t forget these, I
thought, as I ran my fingers across the silky panties.
The thought of getting caught jumpstarted my brain. I put
the cigarette out in my mother’s ashtray and cleaned up my mess on the toilet.
I hoped the wet spot on the panty wouldn’t stain after it dried. I felt a twang
of guilt. For a brief second I considered not going through with the
transformation. The brief second quickly evaporated, as the urge to know was
too strong.
I took the towel off my head and picked up the slip. I was
careful not to get it wet. I adjusted the slip’s straps so it would fit me
better. Again, I studied my reflection in the mirror. I started to rub the slip
across my panty-covered bottom with my hand. The way the slip glided over the
satin material was very sensual. That was the moment I discovered my affinity
for slips. I had to stop caressing my bottom, or I would need another visit to
the bathroom.
I rolled the pantyhose as I had seen Mom do, and slid my
feet into the openings. Then gently, careful not to tear, I pulled the
pantyhose up my legs. I added another garment, another piece of mom’s
clothing, and then another, as I soared to newer heights. My skin tingled. The
slightest touch tickled, without tickling. It was no wonder that women enjoyed
their clothes.
My fingers roamed over the cups of my black bra. It was
nice, but it was missing something. I was missing something. I’d forgotten to
stuff it. I could have used socks or anything else for that matter, but not
today. I remembered the cotton batting reserved for my mother’s arts and
crafts. She kept the bag of batting in the basement. I’d used it before and
knew just where to find it.
With each step I took down the stairs, I felt the lace
trim along the bottom of the slip caress my thighs. I could have spent the next
hour walking up and down the steps. I went to Mom’s craft cabinet and pulled
out the bag of white stuffing material. It was like a big cotton cloud. The
pieces tore off so easily, and I used them to stuff the ‘C’ cups. I massaged
the cups into shape and ran back upstairs to see how I looked.
I stood in front of the mirror,
exploring my body with my hands and eyes. I wished my breasts were real. I
wanted to know what it was like to have breasts. I ran my hand along my waist
and squished my flesh and the silk between my fingers. It was so sensual. I
squirmed. I was torn between completing the transformation and repeating my
earlier performance in the bathroom. I decided the bathroom could wait until
after my transformation was complete.
I sat at mother’s dresser and picked up the blow dryer and
brush. I worked on teasing my hair out. Unfortunately, instead of getting a
full looking head of hair, I was getting a head full of knots. Realizing I
needed to learn how to do my hair, I quit teasing it and brushed the knots out.
I then moved on to my make-up.
The first thing I did was to light a cigarette and paint
my nails a bright red. I took my time and was extra careful not to make a mess.
When the polish touched my nails it felt cool. After it dried, my nails felt
heavier. I never expected I would feel anything.
As silly as it sounds, smoking while wearing nail polish
added to the experience of putting on my make-up. Watching my hands move in the
mirror was as if I was watching someone else; a beautiful someone else. I
applied the red lipstick as I had seen my mother do. I set the lipstick down
and studied my image. I smiled at my white teeth outlined by the bright red
lips. Oh how sexy! I took a seductively long puff from my cigarette and
exhaled against the mirror. I giggled gleefully when I saw the red lipstick
stain I had left on the white filter. I acted like I was kissing my reflection.
I was hot. At that moment, I didn’t think or feel my actions were perverse.
With my lips done, I decided to move on to my eyes. I
looked around for some of my mother’s magazines. Surely one of them would have
an article or two about eye make-up. After searching the bedroom without any
luck, I lit one of my mother’s cigarettes and went down to the family room. I
found it in the magazine rack. It wasn’t until I turned and saw my neighbor on
his back porch, did I realize that none of the drapes were closed, and that I
was walking around in full view. I squeaked like a caught mouse and ran back up
stairs. Had he seen me? I hoped not, but I was excited that he might have.
Did he think he had seen me, or did he think he had seen my mother? I giggled.
Is giggling at your own thoughts, while alone in the
house, a sign of insanity?
I sat back down at the vanity, opened the magazine, and
went to work on my eyes. What the article failed to mention was how my eyes
would water. Of course the side stream smoke from my cigarette wasn’t improving
matters. I might be addicted but I still had a lot to learn about smoking like
a woman. After several attempts, I began to get the hang of using the eyeliner
pencil while keeping the cigarette clinched between my teeth. The blue
highlighter was easier to apply. The mascara started out simple until I got a
few specks on my cheek. The specks turned into smudges after I tried to wipe
them off. With some effort, and a cleansing pad, I was able to correct my
mishap.
Let the fashion show begin, I thought as I put away the
cosmetics and stood up from vanity. So many choices! Where should I start? I
began with my mother’s little black dress. It fit well and felt sexy, but it
was too formal to wear around the house. I then tried on a fitted black and
white striped skirt with a white blouse. The blouse felt divine, but looked out
of place with the black slip. I tried on several more dresses and loved them
all but were not what I was looking for. I decided to investigate the garment bag
hanging in the back of the closet.
I found a maroon sleeveless sheath dress. The dress fit
tight and I had trouble zipping the back. I studied my reflection, turning to
the left and then to the right. I struck several poses while holding my
cigarette like the fashion models do in the magazines. The dress was not what I
desired, but it was the best I had found. I wished I had a mini skirt like the
girls wear in school.
I decided to search on-line for an outfit. I picked up my
mother’s pack of Benson & Hedges, her lighter and ashtray and went into my
room and fired up the computer. I realized I was taking a chance by smoking in
my room, but I rationalized that my mother did it when she made my bed and put
away my clothes. There was still plenty of time for the smoke to clear before
my parents came back.
While the computer was connecting to the Internet, I
crossed my legs and straightened my dress. Again, I felt that tingling
sensation as the dress and slip glided across my nylon covered legs. I looked down
at my painted fingernails as I held the long white cigarette, at my smooth
legs, at my dress and my breasts. I was like a little girl playing dress-up in
her mother’s clothes. I spun in my chair so I could see myself in the mirror as
I sat with my legs crossed at the computer. I fumbled with the smoldering
cigarette as I tried to get a more feminine grip on it. I admired the way it
looked beside my painted nails, and the lipstick stains on the filter looked
divine. Did I say divine? Only someone who felt as feminine as I did at the
moment could have used such a word without feeling silly. I made an awkward
and exaggerated effort to hold the cigarette at an angle beside my face the way
I’d seen my mother do. I wasn’t doing it right, but I thought I looked hot any
way. I moved the cigarette to my face and lip locked the filter with my red
mouth. I shivered with excitement as I exhaled a cloud of smoke toward the
mirror. I’m just like her, I thought as I greedily took another puff. I
continued my feminine smoking antics in front of the mirror until I had
finished the cigarette.
I crushed out my cigarette and turned my attention to the
Internet and began surfing. There were so many outfits I wanted. I found myself
wanting a friend. I wanted someone to discuss fashion with. But girls won’t
discuss fashion or anything else with a girl named Douglas. I needed an
on-line female persona with a nice girl’s name. Who should I be? What sounds
good? I began with the letter ‘A’ and ran through all the common girl names I
could remember. How about; Anne, Amy, Alice, Abigail, Beth, Becky, Brenda; no
I didn’t want a common name. Then I thought of Sissy, and quickly nixed it.
That’s what my friends would call me if they could see me now. Perish the
thought. I closed my eyes and thought a little harder. What about ‘Mitsy’?
It had a nice ring to it. I’m Mitsy, I thought as I typed in the name, feeling
even more cute and feminine than I did a moment earlier.
After completing my profile, I searched for a chat room
for young girls. I found some, but there weren’t many girls on-line, which
made sense, because they were all in school. I did however find a lot of
traffic on the chat rooms for older women- like stay-at-home moms. Cool, I
thought, as I lit a cigarette and joined in.
Not really being a mom, I was shy at first. But as I read
what the ‘other women’ were writing about, I quickly realized that I wasn’t
completely out of my league. They were talking about their kids. I know a lot
about being a kid, I thought as I began typing.
A woman named Lisa2001 welcomed me to the group. Another
woman calling herself HotMom35 asked if I wanted to talk about anything. I
thought about it for a moment and typed in, “I think my 13 year old daughter is
smoking my cigarettes”. That started a flurry of conversations across my
screen. Most of them advised me to put my foot down. A few said I should
expect it since I was setting a bad example for my daughter by smoking my
self. With my cigarette clenched between my teeth, I chimed in with my
keyboard. “Oh really? Do you think so? That’s interesting.” I was having so
much fun and the best part is they really thought I was a woman and a mom! And
then they started talking about their husbands. Uh-oh, I’m not married, I
thought. What am I going to say? The only husband I could think of was my
father and that was kind of gross, so I put Brad Pitt’s face on him and started
typing about him the way I figured my mom would. I must have made my husband
sound pretty good because all the women on-line said they were jealous.
Those other women were jealous of me! I lifted the
cigarette to my pretty lips, drew its warm smoke into my mouth and allowed it
to settle in my lungs, beneath my cotton-batting chest, as I thought about the
things I’d written about my ‘husband’. It had been a weird thought and one
weird thought gives birth to other weird thoughts. My dad was a nice guy and I
could see how my mom could love him like she did. And no doubt about it, Brad
Pitt was cute. He’s cute. I pondered that as I exhaled the smoke from my
lungs and followed it up with another puff. Never in my life had I ever
thought of another guy as cute, but I’d just typed it for hundreds of women to
see. I exhaled as I remembered the feeling of cumming over the toilet. A warm
shiver ran up my spine. Is that how a man makes a woman feel?
“How are you feeling?”
The question hadn’t come from inside my head. It had come
from behind me. I spun around to see my father standing in the doorway, staring
at me. I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me. I uncrossed my legs
and stabbed out my mother’s cigarette before going into panic mode. There was
nowhere to run- nowhere to hide. I was stuck, so I sat in the chair behind my
computer, thinking, hoping, wishing, and praying for a way out.
“Are you going to tell me you’re delirious?” he asked.
His voice was flat. He didn’t seem angry. He stared into
my eyes. I looked back at him. I opened my mouth to talk but nothing came out.
I didn’t know what to say as smoke from the crushed out butt continued to
circle and rise from the ashtray.
“Your mom called me at work. She said you were sick. She
asked me to come home to make sure you were okay. I’m glad to see you weren’t
surfing porn,” he said sarcastically.
I felt so sick and dizzy. Was the room spinning? My
fingers felt cold an unattached. My throat and tongue were both thick and
dry. Maybe I was dieing. I hoped that I was. I’d never known humiliation on
this level. I couldn’t look at him, because if I had, I would’ve seen the look
of disappointment in his face. I looked down at my hands which were crossed
over my skirt and told him I was sorry. It wasn’t enough, but it was all I
could say. I felt his hard stare.
He told me to change my clothes, as he turned to leave in
disgust. I looked up to watch him leave, but he came back. I was looking at
him now and he was looking at me. The moment was slow death.
“On second thought,” he said. “Stay the way you are.
Your mother needs to see this for her self”.
The fear and shame of my mother seeing me this way forced
me to speak up. “Dad.” I lowered my head and spoke to my lap. “Does she have
to know?”
He stood silently as my heart pounded. I started crying. I
didn’t know if I was crying for him or for myself. I knew that I never wanted
to smoke or wear girl’s clothes again. I would never degrade myself again. I
would be a son that my dad could be proud of.
He stepped forward and handed me a tissue.
“I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again, I swear.” The guilt
was crushing me.
“Dry your eyes and wait downstairs with me.”
“Can’t I change, Dad?” I didn’t want my mom to know what
I’d done, “Please?”
“No, she needs to see you. And bring your cigarettes
too.”
I involuntarily played his words back in my mind. She
needs to see you. Bring your cigarettes. That was his way of turning the
knife that I had stuck in my self. Shame poured from my wounds as I picked up
‘my’ pack of Benson & Hedges from the computer table.
And bring your lighter too,” he said in an even voice that
didn’t crack or show emotion.
‘My lighter’, I thought as I picked it up and stood. I
guess I had to be thankful that dad wasn’t ‘angry’. But with dad it was hard to
tell. He never seemed to get excited unless it was a sporting event, and then
he would cheer and high-five people. He never yelled in a negative way. He
always cheered the team on. Mom once described Dad as a ‘glass man’, saying he
is neither half empty nor half full. She said he sees an empty glass as an
opportunity for a cold beer. I had learned to associate silence with my
father’s anger. I understood it was in my best interest to quietly cooperate
and wait until he wanted to talk.
I followed him down the steps into the living room. He sat
on the sofa and changed the channels on the television until he found a cop
show. I sat in the love seat and stared at the television without watching it.
I held ‘my’ pack of Benson & Hedges in my left hand and ‘my’ lighter in my
right hand. I wasn’t planning on using them. They felt cold and heavy. I
looked down at my skirt as it draped across my lap. Minutes earlier, it had
seemed so sexy and had made me feel so alive. And now it felt like a wet
blanket draped across a casket. And I’m the boy in that casket, I thought as I
swallowed back my tears.
Of all the bad things in the world that could have
happened to me, this was the worst, I thought as I stared at the television.
My penis lay limp and motionless between my thighs, and for this I was
grateful.
I couldn’t bare the deafening silence between us, but I
didn’t want to break it either. I didn’t want to look at him, but I did. He
looked back at me. What was he thinking? Screw that. I knew what he was
thinking. How could I have done something like this to him? Say something
Dad. Say anything. Make this go away. Make it end. He just stared until I
looked away.
I rubbed my thumb across the pack of Benson & Hedges.
My hand was damp with sweat. Dressing in my mother’s clothes had been
perverted. Smoking, especially at my age, was just plain bad. At least I
hoped that was how my dad saw it. Or had he seen the feminine appeal it held
for me? If he had, then my smoking would be as perverted as my wearing Mom’s
clothes. Talk to me Dad. Say something. Let me know how bad this is. What
was I thinking? How bad is it? It’s as bad as it gets!
The unmistakable sound of the
overhead garage door opening cut through the silence like a chainsaw through
the forest. Dad heard it too. We both looked toward the kitchen where we
could see the door leading to the garage. In a moment or two, the door would
open. My mom and my brother would walk through it. They would see my father,
and then they would see me. I didn’t want to see them. My heart pounded
against my bra. The pack of cigarettes caved underneath the pressure of my
sweaty grip.
“Hurry up and go to your room,” said my father.
I guess I was too scared to make sense of what he’d said,
so I looked at him for confirmation.
“Get out of here,” he said. “I don’t want your brother
seeing you like this.”
That was all I needed to hear. I pushed myself out of the
love seat and made a beeline for the steps. A miracle had happened. I was
getting out of this alive. My mother and my brother wouldn’t know. I’d still
have to deal with my dad, and that was bad enough, but it had almost been
worse.
I tried to unbutton my blouse as my feet hit the steps,
but the pack of cigarettes and the lighter prevented me from getting a grip on
the buttons.
“Leave the clothes on!” yelled my father. “Your mother
and I will be up in a minute. Just wait for us.”
My hope of salvation flung itself from the top of the
stairs as I closed the door to my bedroom behind me.
I’d never been so scared in my life. Getting caught by my
father had been awful. But it had happened like that. I turned around and he
was there. I didn’t have to time to get scared. But time was all I had now,
even though there was very little of it. I put my ear to the door. I heard my
mother’s voice. I heard my name being spoken. She wanted to know how I was.
Dad mumbled something I couldn’t make out. He spoke Jeff’s name louder. He
said something about practice. He wanted to know how it had gone. I listened
as Jeff told him. My brother’s voice was all I heard until my dad said
something about the yard. Jeff groaned. Now, said my father- just do it. He
must have told Jeff to cut the lawn. I didn’t think it needed mowing, but of
course that wasn’t the point. Mom and Dad wanted me to themselves. That was
bad, but Jeff knowing would have been worse. There was a moment of silence
until the kitchen opened and slammed shut. Jeff was in the garage and my
parents were in the living room. I could hear my dad talking her, but I
couldn’t make out what he was saying. But I knew what he was telling her. I
sat down on my bed and waited. I wanted so badly to tear off my mother’s
clothes, but my father had told me not to. As frightened and ashamed as I was
about being seen like this by my mother, I knew I’d only make things worse if I
disobeyed my dad.
I heard the sounds of footsteps trudging up the stairs. I
could make out the difference between my father’s heavier steps and my mother’s
lighter ones. The footsteps grew louder until they stopped in front of my
door. I took a deep breath and looked down at my skirt, hoping that by staring
at it, I could make it go away. The door opened and I looked up to see my
parents standing in front of me, looking down on the mess that they had once
called their son.
The expression on my mother’s face said it all. She threw
her hands to her mouth and uttered the phrase, “Oh my God!” She turned to look
at my father who just shrugged his shoulders. She looked back at me. I looked
at her. Judging from the shocked expression on her face, nothing my father
said or could have said would have prepared her for the moment at hand.
I said the only thing I could think of. I told her I was
sorry.
I shrank as she approached me. I wondered if she would
slap me. I hoped she would. “I’m so sorry,” I said, as she got closer. I
caught the movement of her hand as she lifted it from her hip. I closed my
eyes and clinched my teeth, bracing for the impact. Instead I felt her fingers
on my chin as she lifted my head. I opened my eyes to see her studying my
face. The door closed and my father came into view behind my mother. Their
faces were mercifully bleared by my tears.
My mother asked, “Why?” She turned to look at my dad who
answered her with another shrug. She turned her attention back to me and my
made-up face. Less than thirteen inches separated us. I could smell her
scent. She smelled of stale tobacco and White Diamonds perfume.
“Why did you do this Douglas?”
I told her I didn’t know as I averted my eyes from hers.
“Yes you do.” She stated.
That was how mom and dad were different. If the dog
crapped in the living room, Dad saw it as a mess that needed to be cleaned up.
If you are unwilling to accept that the dog will make a mess once in a while,
then you shouldn’t have a dog. Mom had to understand why the dog shit in the
living room and not the basement. She needed to understand why all the other
days that the dog was left alone, he didn’t shit in the house, but he did that
day. Dad accepted; mom needed to understand.
She wanted me to say something. She wanted an answer.
She wanted me to explain this and make sense of it. I told her I wanted to
know what it was like.
She let go of my chin and took a step back. “Lift up the
dress.”
I asked her why?
“Just do it,” she said as she motioned with her hands for
me to stand up.
I stood in front of my parents and lifted the hem of my
skirt up so that they could see the panties and the slip.
“Okay,” she said. “You can put your dress down now.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.”
The anger on my mother’s face lashed out at me. “Damn
right you’ll never do it again! And these,” she said as she picked up the
crumpled pack of Benson & Hedges and the lighter from my bed. “Your father
said you were smoking!”
My father interrupted her. “I think Jeff is done with the
yard. I think I’ll take him out to get some dinner. That should give the two
of you time to talk about this. I can bring you something back. How does
Chinese sound?”
Being alone with my dad in the living room had sucked, but
being left alone with Mom was going to be worse. I didn’t want Dad to leave me
with her. But I didn’t want to go with him and Jeff either, not looking like
this. All I could think about was how I wished this whole thing had never
happened. I wished I had gone to school.
“That sounds good,” said my mother. “Take Jeff and go.
I’ll deal with this.”
They were just words, but the way she said them, the tone
of disgust in her voice, made me feel like a piece of crap on the floor. It
wasn’t the first time she’d made me feel small. But it was the smallest I’d
ever felt.
My dad asked me what I wanted him to bring back. From the
way my mom was looking at me, I wasn’t sure if I should answer but my dad had
asked me question.
“I’ll have the spicy chicken with fried rice,” I said with
a trembling voice.
He asked if I wanted an egg roll.
“Sure,” I said, “but not the shrimp kind, the other kind.”
“How about you?” my dad asked my mother.
“The usual,” snapped Mom.
“Shrimp fried rice with an egg roll,” asked my father?
She confirmed the order with a nod of her head.
I watched Dad leave my room and heard him arguing with
Jeff about riding along. Jeff put up a fight until Dad raised his voice. Not
long afterwards, I heard the front door open and close.
Mom heard it too. She took me by the hand and led me to
her room, where she made me strip off her dress. When I was down to the bra and
panties, she asked if I had shaved my legs. I didn’t answer her because she
could tell by looking. She shook her head in disbelief as she raised my arm to
inspect my armpit. While I was still wearing the bra and panty, she took me
over to the sink and instructed me on how to clean the make-up off. After I
washed my face, she had me change back into my boy clothes, which I had left in
a pile on the floor. She lit a cigarette and picked up the panties to examine
them. I could see the dried semen from where I was standing.
“You ruined these,” she said in disgust as she exhaled her
smoke and threw the panties in the trash.
I told her I was sorry and bit down on my lip. I was
feeling smaller and smaller with each passing second. I wished my father and
Jeff would come home with my dinner, but they had just left.
She told me to give her my hand, which I did. She pulled
me to her vanity and sat me down in her chair. She picked up a packet off the
table and tore it open. It felt cold as she rubbed it against my polished
nail. She then took out a red pad and started scrubbing the nail. I watched
as the polish came off.
“You can do the rest,” she said as she handed me the pad.
I took the pad and went to work on removing my nail polish
as she picked up her ashtray from the vanity and sat on the bed.
“You know I am very disappointed. I never would have
imagined anything like this. Not in a million years,” she said.
For the hundredth time or more that day, I told her I was
sorry. It wasn’t enough for her.
“I can’t believe you were smoking,” she said as she took
an angry drag from her cigarette. “I thought you were smarter than that.” She
covered her face with her hands. “For God’s sake Douglas, you’re only thirteen
years old!” She took another angry puff and laid her hands to rest on her
lap. “Do you have any idea how addictive these are?” she asked as she held the
smoldering cigarette up with the ends of her fingers for me to see. “Well do
you,” she asked?
I shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Then why did you do it? Your father said he saw you
inhaling the smoke! He thinks you might already be addicted. Are you? Do you
think you can quit?”
I told her I didn’t know.
“Well you better know,” said my mother, “and the answer
better be yes. No thirteen-year-old son of mine is going to walk around
smoking like a hoodlum. You know how stupid those kids look, walking around in
their black tee shirts with their greasy hair hanging down, carrying skateboards and smoking cigarettes and acting like
they’re so goddamn cool. They’re not cool! They’re scums and your father and
I didn’t bring you up to be a scum. You’re better than that. Aren’t you?”
She cried into her hands.
Aw geeze, why did she have to go and start crying? Didn’t
I feel bad enough already? I’d seen her cry before but I’d never been the
cause of it, but now I was. If only I could take it all back. I got up from
the chair and tried to hug her so she’d stop.
She pushed me away and glared. “Don’t you dare hug me.”
I sat back down in the chair and sank even lower. She had
pushed me away. My mother had rejected me. She hated me. “I’m sorry,” I
said.
“I’ve never been so ashamed of you in all my life,” she
said as she stabbed the remains of her cigarette out in that ashtray. “I just
can’t believe this is happening. Why did you do it Douglas? Why? Are you
gay? Is that it?”
“Please Mom, stop!”
“Well are you?”
“Noooo!”
“Then why did you do it Douglas? I have to know. What
has gotten into you? You were wearing my clothes. For Christ’s sake, you
shaved all the hair off your body. You were wearing make-up. And you were
smoking! Just tell me why you did it.”
“I CAN’T!”
For the next two minutes, neither of us spoke.
“I don’t want you taking my stuff again. Do you
understand?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll never do it again, I promise.” I
looked at her so she’d know I was telling the truth.
“Good,” she said, as she nodded her head and removed
another cigarette from her pack and lit it.
We sat there for a while just looking at each other while
she smoked.
“If you ever find yourself curious, well I don’t want...”
I interrupted her, “Mom I’ll never do this again, I swear
to you, I won’t.”
“Let me finish,” she said. “I don’t want you sneaking
into my room and stealing my things. Come to me and tell me what you want, and
I’ll buy it for you.”
I was shocked by what she said. What was she thinking? I
don’t want girl’s clothes. “You don’t have to worry; I’ll never do this again”.
“What about the cigarettes,” she asked? “How long have
you been smoking?”
I was torn between telling her the truth and lying. The
truth would make her angry. Catching me in a lie could make it worse. I
decided on something vague. “I don’t know. A while, I guess, off and on.”
My answer wasn’t good enough. She pried harder. “This is
important,” she said. “Do you inhale when you smoke? Tell me the truth. I
need to know.”
I took a deep breath and swallowed. “I do, but I’m not
addicted,” I said. “I can quit anytime.”
My mother’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s the same
thing I said to my mother when she caught me.”
“I told you Mom, I’m not going to do it again. I won’t do
anything. I’m done with it. I promise.”
She nodded without smiling and took a long drag from her
cigarette. “I wish I could believe you,” she said. “I’m not happy about the
things you did and I want you to stop, but this isn’t just about not doing
these things. What you did was bad, but you made it worse when you went behind
my back.”
I took a deep breath and hung my head.
“What I’m trying to say is, if you can’t stop, or you’re
still curious, just tell me and I’ll buy you what you need. If you need
something, I want you to ask me for it. I won’t stand for you stealing from
me. Stealing from me and sneaking around are worse than the other things you
did.” She paused to take a puff from cigarette. “Am I making sense? Do you
understand what I’m telling you?”
I didn’t give her an answer. I was too confused.
“I’ll buy you what you want,” said my mother. “But I need
to hear you say it. If you want a dress, then I want to hear you say, ‘Mom I
want my own dress.’ And I’ll take you shopping for a dress. We’ll go to the
mall and you can pick out any dress you want.” She looked at me and waited for
my response.
I didn’t answer right away, even though she’d made herself
clear. I understood her words, but I questioned her intentions. Did she mean
what she said, or was she baiting me?
“The same goes for smoking,” she said. “I know you think
it looks cool and grown-up, because that’s what I thought when I was your age,
but it’s a terrible habit honey. I wish I never started.”
“I don’t want a dress. And I won’t smoke anymore.”
“I want to believe you. It would make things so much
simpler and better for everyone. But at the same time, I’m not going fight
with you about it. If you feel like you have to do these things then I want
you to do them in front of me. Do you understand?”
I wasn’t sure I did understand, but I said I did.
She patted me on the leg and we sat on the edge of the bed
while she finished her cigarette. Afterwards, we went down stairs and waited
for Jeff and my father to get back from the restaurant.
********
Nothing more was said about the dressing. The next day,
after school, I came home and did my homework at the table while mom made
dinner.
Mom and I spent the next three hours together before Dad
came home with Jeff. Jeff was sweaty and disgusting. Today had been the last
day of spring practice and they had scrimmaged. Judging by the excited look on
his face, he’d done well. Dad thought he played well enough to earn a starting
spot on next year’s team. I wasn’t surprised because my brother is really
good. I was happy for him but I was also envious at the way my father looked
when he was talking about how great he’d played.
My dad had two sons, but he was only proud of one of
them. I’m not trying to say that my dad loved me any less than he loved Jeff.
He loves us just the same, but pride is different than love.
It took Dad more than a week before he could speak to me
father to son, the way he’d done before my “sick day”. My life was falling
back into place. My relationship with Mom had improved. And I resumed my old
relationship with my father. That relationship wasn’t equal to the
relationship he enjoyed with my brother. Jeff was a chip off the old block. I
was something else- something less. But I knew he loved me.
Chapter Two
I’ve heard it said that time heals all wounds, but what
about the scars? A month passed without my parents mentioning the things that
had come to pass.
My life felt as if it was getting back on track. I was on
the road to winning back my parent’s trust and pride. Baseball season had started
and as my parents and brother watched from the stands, I took my old familiar
place at shortstop. I liked baseball. I could hit, throw and catch with the
best of them.
I’d slide into second base and dust off my pants as Dad
cheered from the stands. My teammates would slap me on the back when I
returned to the dugout after scoring a run. I was one of the boys and they
accepted me as such. But what would they say if they knew the truth?
The truth? What’s that? This is now and that was then.
The old truth was behind me, so why did it continue to haunt me? All my
friends are smiling. Dad looks so happy in his seat. My mom; she looks so
pretty in that sundress. I love the color. It goes with my complexion. I
slip a piece bubble gum into my mouth, wishing it were cigarette. I’m crazy.
Smoking will kill me. Fuck the cancer. I was worried about my mom killing
me. Look at her. She’s lighting up. I chewed harder on my gum.
“Hey Doug, let me have a piece.”
I looked at my friend, Steve Watson, who was holding out
his hand.
“Sorry man. I just had one piece.”
“Douglas! You’re up,” yelled the coach.
I walked out of the dugout and chose a bat while my
teammates cheered me on. It was the bottom of the ninth inning. The bases
were loaded. We were one run behind as I stepped up to the plate and faced a
pitcher with two outs to his credit for the inning. He looked at me as if I’d
be his third. Of course it wasn’t that way. The team we were playing sucked
and we were way ahead of them. But baseball is like real life, fantasy is
always more exciting than reality. I wound up getting a walk to first base. I
don’t remember what the score was, but we won.
After the game, Dad invited Steve to celebrate with us at
Pizza Hut. I like Pizza and so does Steve. He’s my best friend, but I’d never
tell him in a million years about the things I’d done. Can you blame me?
I turned fourteen a week later. Steve and the rest of the
guys came to my party. I even invited some girls from my school and they came
too. We played spin the bottle. The first time I spun it, the bottle pointed
at boy called Deacon Jones. His real name is Dexter, but he liked to be called
Deacon. Everybody laughed. Someone sang, “Deacon and Douglas sitting in a
tree…”
I spun the bottle again and this time it pointed to a girl
named Angela. We both blushed. Everyone cheered as I led her to the closet in
my basement. We walked past my mother’s bag of cotton batting that was sitting
on a shelf. I couldn’t help but look at Angela’s chest and wonder if maybe she
was getting a little extra help in filling out her bra cups.
Her face faded from view as someone shut the closet door.
It was dark, but I could hear her breathing. Neither of us said a word as I
found her hips with my hands. I’d never kissed a girl before. I was excited,
but I was thinking more about what she was wearing than actually kissing her.
She was cute but her clothes were even cuter. She looked like such a
schoolgirl in her monogram oxford and plaid wool skirt. I guess that made
sense, because she was a schoolgirl.
I felt her warm breath against my cheeks in the musky
dark. It smelled sweet, like Juicy Fruit gum. She wasn’t a smoker, or if she
was, she was covering for it with the gum. I just stood there with my hands on
her hips, feeling her wool skirt. What would it feel like on me, I wondered as
I rubbed the fabric against her silky slip. Oh my God! Angela was wearing a
slip. I felt my penis stiffen, and then I felt her lips touch mine.
Her breath was so hot and so sweet. I tasted Juicy
Fruit. My head swam with delight. I like kissing her, I thought. This is
nice. And then the door opened. Angela broke the kiss and pulled away. The
light was blinding. Pete Boyd’s face came into focus. His face was contorted
with laughter.
Angela and I stepped out of the closet, our faces redder
than when we had gone in. I felt bigger and manlier than I had ever felt in my
life. My friends looked at me with envy. I knew I hadn’t kissed Angela, but
she had kissed me. It was the same thing, wasn’t it?
I didn’t get a second turn to spin, and the bottle always
seemed to just miss me. I sat on the floor with my guests and watched as the
boys were paired one by one to the girls with the assistance of the spinning
glass bottle.
Steve spun the bottle and it just missed me, landing
instead on the girl sitting next to me. Her name was Patricia. She had long
black hair, shapely eyebrows, and a deep olive complexion. Steve looked
overjoyed. He couldn’t believe his luck. Patricia frowned. She couldn’t
believe her luck either, but she was a sport and went willingly to the closet
with my not so good looking friend. As she stood up, her feet kicked her
purse, knocking it over. I up-righted it instinctually, and when I did, I saw
a pack of Marlboro Light 100s peeking at me from inside. She thanked me with a
smile. Did she know I’d seen her cigarettes? Did she even care? My penis
sprouted wings.
Patricia was even prettier than Angela and had better
taste in clothes as far as I was concerned. I liked Angela’s plaid skirt, but
I loved Patricia’s lime-green dress. God, that girl has some curves. I didn’t
think she used cotton batting either. I would have given anything to wear that
dress, I thought as I watched Steve close the closet door.
Patricia smokes and Steve is going to kiss her. Lucky
fucking bastard. Who’s lucky? Steve or Patricia? I’d never kissed a girl
that smokes before and my best friend had beaten me to the punch. But I’d done
him one better. Hadn’t I? I’d been a girl that smokes. Not that I’d ever
tell him about it, but I had.
I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I tried to blame it
on all the chocolate cake I’d eaten. I always get sick when I eat too much
chocolate, but it wasn’t the cake that had made me sick. It was thinking about
being Patricia that made me sick.
I tried to push the thoughts from my mind. That’s too
sick, I thought. She’s beautiful and she smokes and she wears such pretty
clothes, but for crying out loud, she’s stuck in a closet playing kissy face
with my best friend. The thought of kissing Steve made me queasy, but my penis
was still stiff. No, I didn’t want to kiss Steve, but I did want to be
Patricia, and I was thinking about Patricia at that moment, and she was kissing
Steve, so in a way, I was too. Gross!
I was so ready for the party to end. I just wanted
everyone to go home so I could take a shower and rid myself of all those
perverted thoughts. The first guest mercifully left. Others soon followed
him. Eventually it was just the three of us- Deacon, Steve and me. Deacon
left, leaving me alone with Steve.
Steve offered to help me clean up. I told him it was okay
and that I’d do it myself. He insisted on helping. I knew why. He wanted to
talk about Patricia. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted to brag about
kissing her. What the hell? Let him brag. I kissed Angela.
We talked about the girls as we emptied the plastic cups
and threw them in the trash.
“I can’t believe I really kissed Patricia Di’Orio,” he said
as he spread the plastic bag with his hands.
“She’s pretty hot,” I said.
“Did you know she smokes?” he asked?
“Really?”
“Yeah, I didn’t know until I kissed her but she does,”
said Steve excitedly.
I admitted that I’d never kissed a girl that smokes and
asked him how it was.
He told me he wasn’t sure. After all, it was the first
time he’d ever kissed a girl. It was my first time too.
“It kind of burned,” he said. “But I think I kind of
liked it.”
I should have left well enough alone. We’d finished cleaning
up. He’d go home if I didn’t say anything else. He’d go home and I could take
a shower and forget about everything I had thought about. But curiosity had a
grip on me. I wasn’t sure how to ask the question that was on my mind without
sounding like a pervert or a psychopath, so I just opened up my mouth and hoped
for the best.
I cleared my throat and straightened my face. “Do you
think it’s sexy when girls smoke?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I guess so. How about you?”
I could have told him no. I’d asked him an innocent
question and he’d given me an innocent answer. What was the big deal? It
wasn’t like he had asked if I had the hots for my mom. And I’m the one that
started it. This is a good thing, I thought. I’m not the only one.
“Yes,” I said with cautious conviction. “I wish I had
kissed Patricia instead of Angela.”
Steve grinned at my envy. “She kisses good,” he said.
I wondered if she would say the same about him. Probably,
not I thought as I looked at his big goofy face. I was feeling better about
myself. I wasn’t the only guy that got off on girls smoking. Of course Steve
didn’t say he got off on it. He just said that he guessed he liked it. I
should have stopped there. I was safe, but like always, I found myself needing
to push a little further than necessary.
What would he say if I asked him if he’d ever tried
smoking? It made sense to think he might have tried it. After all, his mom
smoked. Maybe he’d stolen a few like I had. Of course I’d done more than
steal a few. I’d stolen countless packs from my mom.
“Have you ever tried it,” I asked?
“What? Cigarettes?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Have you,” he asked?
I prickled at the question. This wasn’t how I’d expected
the game to go. I’d asked him the question first. He was supposed to give me
his answer and I’d base my answer on his, depending on what he’d said. But
then again, he’d answered the first question, so I could see his reasoning.
I dug into my pocket for a piece of gum. What’s the big
deal, I thought. He’s my friend- my best friend. And its not like I’m still
doing it.
“I did, but I quit,” I said as I popped the gum into my
mouth.
Steve’s eyes grew large and I knew I’d made a mistake by
telling him.
“Damn dude. That’s so gay. Guys don’t smoke.” He shook
his head and disgust and said he had to go home.
I called out to him, pleading for him not to tell the
other guys. He just waved me off as he walked up the stairs. What did that
mean?
My birthday had gone from unbelievably cool to downright
sucking. I followed Steve upstairs. My parents were in the kitchen. Steve
stopped to talk to them. What was I worried about? Was he going to tell my
parents I used to smoke? They already knew that, so why was I cringing?
My parents thanked him for coming to my party. Steve told
them he had a nice time, which was true. After all, he had just sucked face
with Patricia Di’Orio.
He told me he’d see me at school as he walked out the
door.
“Yeah, you too,” I said as I was left to face my parents.
“Did you have a nice time,” asked Dad.
“Did you play Twister,” asked my mom?
“We had fun,” I said, hoping that would be enough
information to satisfy them.
They looked at me knowingly. I hated it when they did
that. Did I look that guilty? Okay, I thought. Maybe I’ll just tell them.
Mom won’t appreciate it but Dad might.
“We played spin the bottle,” I said.