Alex's Story free porn video

Alex's Story by Lisa Paige That I as a Junior should be going to Seniors Night at the biggest amusement park in the state was something of a miracle - or even a collection of miracles. I had volunteered for the "Social Committee" as a way of meeting new kids at the high school. It seemed like a pretty lame idea at first: I did all the grunt work for Heather, the senior girl who was planning the all the graduation activities. She and the others on the committee treated me pretty much like dirt and loaded all the work on me. They sat around and chatted while I made all the calls, struck all the bargains and pretty much did everything. The first real miracle came when Heather came down with Mono just two weeks before the big bash. I was the only one who knew the contacts and the arrangements, so I had to go along as the representative for my school. Enter the second miracle - a couple of "angels," you might say. Word got around that I could get people into the bash as "helpers" - and I definitely needed help. The other girls on the social committee had served notice that this was their night to party, and they had no intention of helping a lowly underclass boy. Pat and Jennifer were Juniors who went to the ritzy private school on the West Side, and they weren't a part of the Bash. To make it more interesting, their boyfriends were already gone - to some football training camp run by the Ivy League school they had signed with. When Pat and Jennifer volunteered to be my personal helpers for the night, I didn't think twice, even though I had most of the work delegated out already. Did I mention that Pat and Jennifer were the foxiest girls I had ever seen? The only real hitch was the car. I had to have the car to get me and the girls to the park and back, and Mom already had plans for the night. We had a custom, Mom and me, of making deals for things like this. "Tit for Tat" sort of. I had to come up with something big for this one, and after a little pondering, I hit on a deal I knew she wouldn't refuse. I'm not sure which of us came up with the final wording, but it went something like this: I would get unlimited use of the car (with gas supplied) for the evening, and Mom would get my unquestioned obedience for one month thereafter. Yes, it was a pretty open-ended bargain on her part, but I really needed that car. Being the savvy dealer I was, I did put in one exception clause. Mom had been trying to get me to cut my hair for the last year, and I had resisted. I made her agree that my "obedience" would not include cutting my hair. The final miracle happened - Mom agreed to the deal. Senior's night itself turned out to be a mix between miracle and curse. The first couple of hours I had to stand at the gate with the other school reps and resolve multiple cases of "lost my ticket" and the usual assortment of dodges used by gatecrashers from other places. Then there were the assorted cases of "drunk and disorderly" and other eviction crimes that I had to log when a student from our school was involved. We were only able to steal away a few minutes at a time to enjoy the amusements, but what we had, Jennifer and Pat made the most of. Not only did they really help when there was work to do, they treated me in a VERY friendly manner whenever we had a few minutes for the amusements. It was all for laughs, of course - how could they really go for a shortstop like me? But I took what I could get, and we all three had some good laughs. We enjoyed ourselves so much, in fact, that someone, somewhere in the night, took the time to warn me that their boyfriends would not approve of the "friendliness" they were showing. Of course, their boyfriends were a thousand miles away, and their school wasn't participating - how would they ever know? Reality has a way of paying you back for pretty much every miracle in your life, I guess. My payback started the first day of vacation - just two days after the Bash. Mom phoned from work and told me to clean up and meet her at the curb when she got home - we had some things to do downtown. That's all she would tell me over the phone, so I reluctantly got myself cleaned up (I hadn't quite started my summer job search by then) and was waiting as she instructed. She drove up to the curb and waited for me to get in, then she drove out toward the boulevard that led to the other side of town. I asked her where we were going, and she gave me a glance, then started to talk. "Alex, I've been thinking a lot about the arguments we've had over the past few months. I know it's been hard on you - the divorce, moving to a new place, trying to make new friends in a new school. I think I haven't been very fair to you." Wow, this seemed to be the old mellow Mom talking - not the one that had been riding me on pretty much every topic under the sun since the divorce proceedings began. I began to get suspicious. "In thinking about it the last few weeks, I've realized how much of the conflict is my fault." Immediately my senses went on active alert: when Mom started out by admitting a fault, you could be sure that she had something up her sleeve. "It's not so much your having long hair that's been bothering me, it's that you seem not to keep it as neat as I feel you should." Aha! She was going to try some technicality to get me to cut my hair. But I had an ironclad agreement with her, so I let her continue without interrupting. "I guess I've just been expecting you to know what to do to keep your hair neat, then to get it done, and that's probably not reasonable on my part. When I was your age I spent a lot of time with my mom learning how to do that. She taught me how often to wash it and how to manage it afterward: how to set it and style it and keep it looking nice. We used to spend hours some times brushing out each other's hair and thinking up new ways to wear it and manage it. It was fun -- a lot better than the arguments and hassles we've had -- and I see no reason why we shouldn't have fun with this as well." Hmm, this was sounding a little too reasonable. But I couldn't see anything to object to so far. "Anyway, I'd like to change the way I've been approaching this -- to take more responsibility to teach you what you need to know -- and to make it an enjoyable thing for both of us. Do you think that would be okay with you?" I had to agree that our conflicts on this had been no fun, and I liked the fact that she had acknowledged that part of it was her fault. It was also true that I really didn't know how to manage my hair very well. As it got longer it seemed to be greasy all the time. Every time I washed it though, it got real wispy and I couldn't do anything with it. Tangles were beginning to be a major problem too. I had actually wanted to ask Mom for her help, but I was afraid she'd just use that as a reason to hassle me even more. Now here she was offering the help I'd been wanting -- how could I say no? "Actually, Mom, I've had some real problems with tangles lately, and I was going to ask if you knew how I could avoid them -- I just didn't want you to hassle me or try and make me cut my hair, that's all." "Sweetheart, I appreciate you sharing those feelings with me. I've decided that, with the changing styles and all, if you really want to wear your hair long there's really no good reason for me to object -- provided that you keep it looking nice. Would you let me help you do that?" "Sure. I'd like that a lot." "Then the only real problem is that, with my job demanding more and more of my time, I may not be able to spend all the time it takes at first. I mean, after a while you'll be able to do most things on your own, but at first I think you'll need more help than I might be able to give you." "What can be that hard? Your hair is long, but you seem to spend just a few minutes a day on it." "Well, this is a particularly easy style to manage, but I'm not sure you'd like to wear your hair the same way." We both chuckled at this little joke. "But even the 'simple' styles take a lot more time than you might think. You may not realize the amount of time I spend at the salon, or the time at night before I go to bed. Make no mistake, you really will have to spend some time on this -- especially since your hair is getting longer than mine. Are you willing to spend the time and effort that it takes?" "I guess I am, but if you're already spending time on yours, will you have the time to help me on mine?" I had no idea that I was digging myself deeper and deeper into Mom's trap. "Well, as I said before, at first you're probably going to need more help than I can give you. That's why I've made arrangements with Betty to help you get started -- that's where we're going now." Betty was one of the first people -- one of the few -- who had befriended us when we moved in. Someone at her new job had referred Mom to Betty's beauty salon when we first moved. Betty had not only done a great job on Mom's hair, she had become a good friend and kind of helped both of us find our way around. Unlike many adults, Betty had gone out of her way to pay some attention to me, and seemed actually interested in my friendship as well as Mom's. "Gee, that's really nice of her to be willing to help -- I don't think I've ever been to her house before." "Betty really is a good friend, but I wouldn't feel right taking advantage of her professional knowledge, or imposing on her hospitality, so I made this sort of a business deal. I made an appointment for you at Betty's salon every Monday night this month. Tonight is your first appointment." "Mom, there's no way I'm going into a salon with all those women around. I know you used to take me with you some times, but I'm not a little kid any more. Besides, someone I know might see me." "Calm down, sweetheart. I'm not totally insensitive to your feelings, and neither is Betty. Her salon closes early on Monday night, but Betty has agreed to stay late for these appointments just so you wouldn't have to worry about other people being there. Not only that, she's giving us a half-price discount on everything she does and everything we buy." "Wow, that really is nice of her. I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to get upset." She had me on the defensive now, and I still had no clue of the trap she laid. "You're forgiven, my dear. I do think that I've done everything I could to consider your feelings as well as my own. I want us to have fun with this, so I've tried to keep the rules to an absolute minimum -- just two in fact." My suspicions were suddenly aroused again. "What do you mean, 'rules'?" "Well, this is, after all, your part of the agreement -- that you'd follow all my wishes for the month after you got the use of the car -- right? Well, my wishes are these: that for the next month you keep your hair clean and well-groomed at all times, and up off your collar when I'm around. That's not too much to ask, is it?" "Mom, YOUR part of the agreement was that you wouldn't make me cut my hair. Wasn't this whole conversation about how I was going to learn to manage my hair LONG?" "Absolutely, dear, I said nothing about cutting your hair." "Mom, how can I keep my hair 'off my collar' if I don't cut it. You took that phrase right out of the old high school dress code." "This has nothing to do with the old dress codes, and long hair is going to be acceptable in the high school this Fall again, anyway. I want you to keep it off your collar as a way of learning how to truly manage your hair at that length. Betty can help you learn any number of ways to arrange it so that it's off your collar." "Arrange it? You mean 'put it up' -- like a girl's? Mom, you can't be serious." "You're yelling again, sweetheart. I mean 'put it up' like you-have-all-the-skills-you-need-to-keep-long-hair-neat-and-attractive. Once you've done that for a month I'll be sure that you can handle it on your own, no matter what length or style you decide to wear it. And, as I said, I'll help you as much as I can, in addition to what you learn from Betty." Now I saw the clever trap she had laid. Technically, I had agreed to follow any demand she made, though I never dreamed she'd come up with anything like this. "There's no way you're going to get me to wear my hair like a girl's for the next month. I couldn't leave the house. I just won't do it." "That's your choice, my dear. If that's the way you feel, just have Betty give you a regular boy's cut, and the whole thing will be over. If you really believe those arguments you've been feeding me, though, wearing your hair 'up' shouldn't be considered any more 'girlish' than wearing it long. And another thing: you can wear your hair any way you like when I'm not around -- I can't control that. It's just when we're at home together that I want to see it up. If you really show that you've learned how to manage it before the month is over, I might ease off on the requirements. Now here's Betty's shop, and we're already a few minutes late, so hurry inside. I'll be back about the time you're finished -- I have some errands to run." I looked around furtively and saw no one near who might recognize me, so I jumped out of the car, slammed the door and raced inside. I was fuming, but Betty pretended not to mind as she greeted me warmly and had me sit down in the chair farthest from the windows. "From your mood I'd guess that your mom has filled you in on her rules? She told me about her plan over the phone yesterday. I guess you're pretty upset, huh?" "She's laid her clever little trap for me, Betty, and she thinks she's going to win this one and get me to cut my hair, but I'll figure some way out of this." "Well, Alex, I really don't want to take sides -- you and your mother are both such good friends -- but there is a little bit of a middle ground here, if you have the patience for it, and are really determined to keep your long hair." "I'm even more determined now than I was before." Betty chuckled. "I think you're every bit as stubborn as your mother. That's one of the things I like about you both: you know what you want and are willing to hang in there 'til you get it. Well then, down to business I don't think you've had much practice with arranging your hair or using curlers, have you?" I looked at her sideways. "You've got to be kidding." "I didn't think so, but I just wanted to make sure." Her tone made it sound as if she would have preferred it if I had said yes. "If you'd had practice before, we could settle for a simple French Roll or something that you could let down and put up whenever you wanted. You'll get good enough to do that over the next couple of weeks, but for now I think you'll need a style that will stay pretty much in place for the next few days. Friday morning is my only slack time this week: I won't be able to help you with the next step until then. What we can do is put your hair up in a style that we can pretty well "cement" in place - something that you'll be able to maintain with just some hairspray and pins every morning. Friday morning after your mom leaves for work you can take it down and wash it. Then if you have trouble putting it up again you can call me and I'll help you. How does that sound?" I didn't mean to, but I probably sounded pretty whiny as I replied. "You mean I'd have my hair up like a girl's until Friday morning? I wouldn't be able to leave the house. I'd go stir crazy." Betty kept her voice down, but there was a firmness in it that told me I was near the end of her tolerance. "I know that may seem hard for you, but it's the only way I see to help you. If you'd rather, we can just call it quits and give you a regular boy's cut." Besides being embarrassed at having angered Betty, I realized I was cornered now, and I was determined to fight back. "No. I'm not going to give in - just tell me what you want me to do." Betty smiled and gave me a friendly hug. "Now, now, it really won't be that bad. I'll bet you a milkshake that when this month is over you're going to look back on this and wonder what the big deal was." I grinned in spite of myself. "You have a bet, lady. Plan on a double chocolate malted." "Okay, wise guy, you're on." Betty selected two picture albums from a nearby shelf. "Now look through these books and pick a style that you like. I think pretty much any one of these will fit our needs. Meanwhile, I'll get my stuff arranged. As I began to page through the albums my spirits sank further and further. Every model had hair piled way on top of their heads, most of them fixed up with ribbons or curls or decorated combs. Some even had flowers woven into the style. There was obviously no way I was going to get through the next few days with my dignity intact: I was going to be getting a girl's hairdo. For a moment, I seriously thought of just giving in and asking for a boy's cut. As I thought it over, I pictured all my hair lying on Betty's floor, and a shiver went through me. I had fought for the right to wear my hair long: not only with Mom and the principal at my old school, but with several guys who found out that long hair doesn't mean you're a sissy. I really felt I had a lot of myself invested in it. The last straw was when I pictured the triumphant smile that would be on Mom's face if she returned to find me with my hair cut short. I swallowed hard, then took the album over to Betty. With grim determination I pointed to one of the styles Betty suggested as being the easiest. I had seen it on several of my female classmates the day of the Prom: all the hair swept up to the crown, then arranged in two tiers of ringlets, one on top of the other. I thought I could see just a bit of sympathy in Betty's eyes, but she smiled cheerfully and patted the salon chair where I was to sit. Strangely enough, now that I had made the decision I began to relax. Betty's easy chatter soon had me actually smiling and enjoying myself. As she began to wash my hair, my memory drifted back to the times when I had gone with Mom to her beauty appointments. I would usually sit in the front with a toy or comic book while the strange smells and the chatter of female voices filled my senses. Sometimes I would look over the divider and watch as Mom and the other women subjected themselves to the indignity of curlers and other strange gadgets. The women had always been nice to me, and had sometimes teased me about coming back and getting my hair done. I got butterflies in my stomach as I realized that those memories were now taking on a strange and current reality. That funny feeling in my stomach grew stronger and was joined by a tightness in my chest as Betty combed out my wet hair, separated the first strand, and wound a curler into it. "But I don't want curls in my hair, Betty. Can't I just keep it straight?" "You curl your hair every time you wash it, Alex, whether you wear it curly or straight. Large curlers like the ones we're using give you just a little body and control. If you decide you really want curls we'll use the smaller ones." She didn't wait for my retort. "I'll just give you a set of these larger ones to take with you tonight, so you'll have them on hand Friday morning. I'll be around to help if you forget what I'm about to show you As she put each curler in she had me hand her the hairpins that secured them in place. After the first few, she handed me the comb. "Since you're eventually going to have to do this for yourself, you might as well start learning now, I guess." It took almost an hour, and my arms were aching, but I finally began to get the hang of things: sectioning out a strand of hair, winding the curler down and pinning it in place. Betty taught me a little about which way to wind the curlers and where to position them to get the effect we were trying for. When we were finally finished, Betty wrapped my head with a net and led me to one of her dryers. I looked ridiculous, but no more so than any female I had seen under the same circumstance. Betty sat me under the dryer, then before she turned on the air she asked if I would like for her to give me a manicure while my hair dried. "No way are you going to paint my nails, Lady." Betty giggled. "Getting a manicure doesn't mean you have to get your nails painted, silly. I have some very good male clients who get regular manicures to keep their hands looking nice -- Mayor Frost among them." The thought of Mayor Frost sitting in one of Betty's chairs made me giggle, but Betty finally convinced me that it was okay - and it seemed preferable to browsing through the countless women's magazines lying around. When my hair was finally dry I followed Betty back to the styling chair. My chest began to get strangely tight again as I watched her remove the curlers from my hair. In spite of her assurances that large curlers would produce straight hair, each strand came out with a bouncy curl at the end. I wanted to complain, but somehow I was too fascinated to say anything: ...all those curls in my hair...in some strange way it was exciting to me - almost like the feelings I had when I had swiped some of Mom's things to try on... Here I stopped myself abruptly. It had been several weeks since I had decided to end that nonsense. I was a guy, after all, and too grown up now to do such things. Still, I could not fully repress the feelings that continued as Betty began to comb out each section, tease it and spritz it with hair spray, then pile it on top of my head. She used several large hairpins to keep the strands in place until she had piled it up all around, then she used an elastic fastener to pull the whole mass together. Next she took a curling iron and began to form little flat curls that she pinned in a circle around the crown of my head. When she had completed a full circle she was pretty much out of hair. She told me she'd be back in just a second, then she disappeared into the back of the shop. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time. There was no mistaking the femininity of this hairstyle, nor the effect that it had on my overall appearance. My resistance to the excitement within was quickly evaporating. On an impulse I brought my newly manicured fingers up under my chin, smiled at myself and struck a girlish pose. For an instant I even regretted not having accepted Betty's offer of clear polish for my nails. It was at that moment that Betty came back into the room. I quickly dropped my pose and sat back in my seat. Betty said nothing, but she seemed to have a slight knowing smile as she went back to work. She had found a small hairpiece that matched my shade, and proceeded to fashion it into a second tier of curls, which she pinned atop the first. "Betty, that's not really necessary, is it?" I asked half-heartedly. "Not really, but would you deny an artist the pleasure of finishing her creation?" She gave me a broad smile and a wink, and I smiled in spite of myself. Betty really was a good friend, and I surely didn't want to get on her bad side - not now when I really needed her. When Betty was finished with the hairpiece she had me cover my face, then she coated the whole construction with what seemed to be half a can of hair spray. I was just uncovering my face when Mom walked into the shop. "Oh, Betty, he's beaut...I mean, his hair is perfect!" Immediately my anger returned. On the one hand, I was fascinated to see myself with an honest-to-gosh hairstyle, but on he other hand, I was furious with Mom for having forced me into this predicament. I didn't even respond when Mom greeted me, and I pretended not to pay attention as Betty put several things into a bag and explained what I'd have to do for the next few days. The next few days were really hell. I refused to speak to Mom, number one. She would leave long lists of chores for me to do, including having dinner fixed every night when she came home. I was so determined not to speak to her that I didn't even argue. Of course, it was all part of my agreed month of "obedience" any way, so arguing would have been useless. With my hair up I wasn't about to go outside - not even in my own yard - for fear the neighbors might see me. My hairdo was the cause of all sorts of problems - not just the confinement. It took extra time every evening to spray my hair all over and wrap it in a net so it would survive the night There was no comfortable way to put my head as I tried to sleep, either, so I tossed and turned all night long. I had to get up early every morning, unwrap my hair, pin all the strands that had come loose, spray it, then present myself to Mom at breakfast. She was very cheerful every morning, and very complimentary, but I was having none of it. There were times during the day when I would take time out from my chores and relax. It was usually at these times that old urges would hit me, and I'd spend long moments sitting at Mom's dressing table, staring at myself in the mirror. I was trying to see myself "from the outside": wondering what others would think if they saw me like this. For the most part, though, those first days were just chores and silence. Thursday morning after Mom left I decided that I couldn't stand another day of that sticky, sagging mass on top of my head. I was almost to the point of shaving myself bald just to get a decent night's sleep and to get away from the house for a while. Maybe I could do the curling and brushing out by myself - how hard could it be? I practically tore the pins out of my hair, then took a long hot shower, washing and conditioning my hair as Betty had instructed. After I had relaxing for a while I got out all the stuff Betty had sold us that first night, laid it out at Mom's dresser, then began to put curlers in my hair. It was a disaster from the start. No sooner had I put a few curlers in, but one would fall out. As I leaned over to pick the curler off the floor, the others would loosen and flop around. After about fifteen minutes of this I was in tears. I phoned Betty at her shop, and fortunately she was there. The day was slower than she had expected, and she offered to come right over. I readily accepted. Betty greeted me cheerily at the door, and immediately I felt my spirits lift. Within a few minutes she had me sectioning off my hair and putting curlers in place like I had done it all my life. Not only that, but she had me laughing and chatting with her to boot. It seemed like no time 'till my hair was dry and Betty was helping me brush it out. She showed me how to put it up in a simple bun at the back of my head. She had me practice a few times to be sure I could do it myself, then produced a couple of items from her handbag. She called them "chignon covers" and showed me how to pin them over the bun, explaining that they would hold in all the loose end that might otherwise stick out. I didn't think they were really necessary, but Betty reminded me that Mom was going to awfully picky about such things, and would demand that my hair look perfect whenever she was around. When she felt comfortable enough with my ability to manage the bun and the covers, she asked if she could drop me anywhere on her way back to work. I was completely stir crazy by this time, and eagerly accepted. She suggested that I could walk around the mall across from her shop, then she would drive me back home when I was finished. This seemed great, and I was soon waving good-bye to her as I strolled toward the mall entrance. I caught my reflection in the doorway to the mall, and saw with satisfaction that my hair was hanging almost straight by now. It was certainly cleaner than I was used to wearing it, and maybe a little fuller than before, but it pretty much looked like it did a week ago. I strolled around a little while, then stopped at a music store and began browsing through the racks of tapes. "May I help you, Miss?" The voice was near me, but I paid it no attention at first. Then I saw the clerk out of the corner of my eye, and he was looking straight at me. "Excuse me, Miss, but are you looking for something in particular?" He was actually speaking to me! I thought of something sarcastic to say, but then I caught my breath as the realization hit me that he was sincere. I shook my head and walked quickly out of the store As I approached the entrance to one of the department stores, a girl held up an atomizer and pointed it toward me. "Try a little of Linvin's new perfume, Miss?" I quickened my pace a little more and ignored the girl as I passed her. My head felt a little light and my heart was beating faster now, and as I came to the first department I stepped out of the aisle to catch my breath and think for a moment. "These are brand new today, aren't they just darling?" I looked up to see that I was in the Junior's Department, standing among the dress racks. Yes, the sales clerk was talking to me. "You look to be about a 5 or a 7 Do you prefer a particular color?" I opened my mouth to tell her I was definitely NOT interested in a dress, but nothing came out except a hoarse croak. My throat felt like cotton. "Oh, those summer colds are the WORST, aren't they? I could get you a glass of water while you try something on?" I turned and almost ran out of the store, leaving the saleslady staring after me. I didn't stop till I found a secluded bench in one of the back corners of the mall. It took a long time to get my breathing and heart rate back to normal. What was going on? It was true that I had often been mistaken for a girl as I grew up, especially when I wore a hood or cap, but that was mostly in the past. Relatives still called me "babyface" sometimes, but only the grownups who ignored my reactions to the name. It was true that I had been teased several times since I started letting my hair grow long, but that quickly stopped after the first couple of fights. I was small and thin for my age, but I was very wiry, and I had developed a reputation for having a quick temper and an ability to back it up. This was different, though. These people weren't teasing, they were being polite. For some reason, three people had just mistaken a teenage boy for a girl! I carefully examined my reflection in a nearby store window. I was wearing loose jeans, a baggy shirt and white tennis shoes, so that wasn't much of a factor one way or the other. It had to be my hair. Maybe it did turn up a little at the ends, and it did feel a little fuller, but was that enough to make a difference? Somehow, with the subtle effect of the washing and conditioning and the curling, something had changed. It was like I had crossed over some invisible line that changed the way people saw me. I had to talk to someone about this, and Betty was just across the street. I saw Betty chatting with one her clients, so I walked quickly past the desk without speaking to the receptionist. "Excuse me, Miss, but you can't go in there without---" "Betty, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I HAVE to talk to you right now!" I whispered. Betty excused herself and led me into her office, closing the door behind us. "Alex, you look like you've seen a ghost. What on Earth is wrong?" I quickly explained my experiences of the past few minutes. "Well, I guess I can understand your feelings, but I must say I'm not really surprised. I know how sensitive you are about this, Alex, but you have very fine features, and a really pretty face. With your hair as long as it is, and now looking so nice and well-kept, it's only natural that people see you that way." I took a moment to digest this. In so many tactful words, Betty had just told me "You look like a girl." These were the same words that had caused more than one bloody nose among my peers, but Betty was a grownup, and what's more, I knew that she was sincere. "But, Betty, what can I do about it?" "What do you want to do about it?" I was totally confused by now, and frustrated. Betty seemed to understand, but she wasn't being very helpful. I just sat there with a blank look on my face. What could I do? I could cut my hair, but that would be surrender - out of the question. More than that, I really did like wearing it long. I liked the way it swung back and forth as I walked, and I liked the way it felt when I ran my hands through it, as I was doing now. When all this was over, I could go back to keeping it unwashed and stringy, but that didn't seem like much of an option either. Betty waited and watched me for a few moments, then she smiled. "There is one simple solution that I can see." Here I perked up a little and looked at her hopefully. "You could just play along with the situation, and let people think what they want. We could make it sort of a game --- or an experiment --- see how much you can get away with." It took me a couple of seconds to realize what Betty was talking about. "You mean, pretend I really am a girl? Get serious, Betty." "Why not, Alex? It might be fun, seeing how many fools you could fool." "Yeah, until the first fool figured it out and told everyone else. Then where would I be?" "Well, there is that risk, I suppose, but I think it's rather slim. Especially since you know so few people around here anyway." I just looked at her skeptically. "I tell you what, let's try a little experiment. I'll bet you that I can take you out shopping right now, as my niece or something, and that not one person will guess our secret." "Oh, come on, Betty. All I have to do is open my mouth or just stand the wrong way, and anyone will be able to tell." "You may not believe me, but there are thousands of girls your age that have a deeper voice than you. Anyway, you can let me do all the talking, if you like. What do you say? Shall we lay another double chocolate malted on the line?" At first I couldn't believe that Betty was really serious, but the more I thought about it, the more curious I became. I had always wondered what I would look like as a girl, and now it seemed like I was going to find out. Why not let Betty help? Besides, she had challenged me - I always liked a friendly wager. "Okay, Betty, you're on! But I don't have to wear a dress or anything, do I?" "Not if you don't want to, dear." She paused, as if I needed to respond to her implication. "I will need to do just a little fixing up, though. Sit over here at my desk and I'll be right back." Betty stepped out of her office for an instant, then came back with a brush and some other things. "Now, I'm just going to put your hair up like we had it this morning .." she began to brush my hair back, talking as she worked. " ... but we'll brush it back over your ears, to soften the look a little more." When she finished she opened her purse and then took my chin in her hand. "Now look down for a moment, that's it, now look at the ceiling - try not to blink. Very good, now look down again." I felt little strokes at my lashes and over my eyelids, and figured out that she was putting some of her makeup on me! I started to pull back, but she tightened her grip on my chin. "Not yet, Alex. Let me finish, then you can see what you think. Now part your lips a little, that's it ..." A heavy sweet taste filled my mouth as she ran a brush around my lips, then filled in. "Now rub your lips together, mmm, that's it. Now blot. Now part your lips again." The taste was almost like raspberries, and for some reason it set off a powerful surge within me. My chest got so tight I could hardly breathe, and there were other feelings I didn't even want to think about. Memories of those salon trips and visions of Mom's lingerie drawer began to pass quickly through my mind. It was all I could do to bring myself back to reality. Betty flicked the brush across my cheeks, then smudged at them with her fingertips. "There, now you can take a look in the mirror. What do you think?" She wheeled the chair around so it was facing the full length mirror behind her door. When I stood up I was so dizzy I had to hold onto Betty's arm to keep from falling over. The body in the mirror was definitely mine, but there were subtle differences in the face. The darker eyes, the pink cheeks and lips, It was still my face, I guess, only --- pretty. "Wow." It was all I could say while I tried to make myself breathe normally again. "Well, young lady, are you ready to loose that bet?" I made a wry face at her, but I couldn't get my legs to move. Betty took my hand, interlacing my fingers with hers, and led me out the door. "Come on, this is going to be FUN." "Grace, I'll be out for an hour or two, but I'll be back before Mrs. Valles comes in for her appointment." The receptionist nodded at Betty, then made a face at me when Betty looked away. I couldn't resist making a face back, and for some reason that gave me a little more courage for what I was about to do. I lost the bet. During those two hours we visited almost every Lady's shop and department in the mall, and no one even hinted that I might be a boy. At the first couple of places we just walked through, and Betty talked about the latest fashions and styles, color combinations and good accessories. I realized later that she was giving me time to adjust to the situation. No one we passed had anything more than a smile for me, though a few people recognized Betty and said hello. I began to believe that I was actually passing as a girl! Betty quietly pointed this out to me several times, reassuring me that this was going to be a breeze - and a lot of fun. At the next shop we stopped to browse among the racks of women's clothes. Betty held out several things that she liked and asked my opinion on them. Subtly, she drew me into the swing of things, and soon I was laughing and chatting along with her. Several times Betty complimented me on my taste and my eye for fashion, and I began sharing my opinion on everything from fabrics to jewelry. We went into some shops where Betty was well-known, and she introduced me as her niece from out of town. The ladies were all very nice to me, and I began to really enjoy myself. It was intoxicating, looking through the racks of vibrant colors and soft fabrics, admiring the beautiful jewelry, smelling the scent of perfumes and makeup. Betty was careful not to go too far, I think, and never suggested that I try anything on, but she did get me to sample some eye shadow and a couple of lipsticks at one of the makeup counters. When it was time to leave I realized how tired I was, but I was almost reluctant to have it all end. Betty took me back to her shop and helped me remove the makeup, then she drove me home. I thanked her for a wonderful afternoon, and she gave me a big hug before I got out of the car. "Maybe we can do this again next week, and you can buy me that double malted you owe me." I laughingly acknowledged that I had lost the bet, and readily agreed to another shopping date. I had a hard time throwing dinner together before Mom got home, but the good mood I was in survived even that. Strangely, Mom didn't comment on the chores I hadn't done, and she even complimented me on the meal. In a conversational tone she asked me what I had done that day, and I told her that I had gone browsing with Betty in the mall. I held my breath, trying to think of what Mom might ask, and how I would respond. Thankfully, she just commented on how nice Betty was to be so helpful, then she began talking about how busy she was going to be in the next few days. It was the first normal conversation we'd had in days. That, and a good night's sleep, became a turning point for me. I actually found myself humming a little tune the next morning as I brushed my hair back above my ears and fastened it into a Chignon. Over breakfast I apologized to Mom for being so surly, and she apologized to me for being so hard-nosed about our deal. She didn't offer to change any of her rules, of course, but she did ease up on the list of chores. We shared a real hug and a kiss, our first in ages, before she had to rush off. After she left I went into her room and sat at her dresser to take my hair down. As I was brushing it out I glanced down and saw a tube of her lipstick. A powerful urge seemed to sweep over me, and I opened the tube and looked into the mirror. I parted my lips as I had the day before, and spread the pomade over my upper lip. As I rubbed my lips together that strong, sweet taste, a little different than before, flooded my senses. I dashed a little on my cheeks, then smudged them just as Betty had done. Looking down again, I found one of Mom's eye shadows and wiped the pad across each eyelid in turn. Next I decided to be really brave, and I opened Mom's mascara. I poked my eye twice and had to clean up several smears, but I kept at it until both lashes were coated black. Betty had used brown on me the day before, but I couldn't be picky. Satisfied with my makeup job, I swept my hair back and held it up to the crown, making a kissing face at the mirror. Then I smiled at myself as I realized that I could really do this. I brushed my hair back over my ears, wrapped it in an elastic , then twisted it and replaced the chignon cover I had removed only minutes before. Betty's niece was back - almost. A thought flashed through my mind: what if Betty had suggested I try something on yesterday? Would I have done it? Would she suggest it next week when we went shopping again? Would I be brave enough to say yes? How could I wait until then? Now I was almost like a robot. I didn't let myself think about past promises as I began opening Mom's drawers and searching through her lingerie. I found one of her half-slips and rubbed it against my face as I had done so many times before. Still not allowing myself to think about what I was doing, I took off all my clothes and dropped them in a pile. I took out a pair of Mom's panties and pulled then on, then stepped into the half slip. Trying to put on a bra was very frustrating, but I told myself I had all day if necessary. Finally I got it snapped behind my back and adjusted pretty well. Not allowing myself to look in the mirror yet, I went to Mom's closet. I had the run of the house and it was several hours till Mom came home! I felt so free and light! I selected a gray pleated skirt and a white blouse with ruffled sleeves. Even though the buttons were in the front, I realized they were on the wrong side, and they took a couple of extra minutes to fasten. Now I examined myself in the mirror, wondering if I looked as good as I felt. I hugged myself and felt the wonderful silky fabric against my skin. When I put my arms down I noticed that the blouse didn't look that good with the empty brassiere underneath. I went to Mom's lingerie drawer again and found several pair of stockings to stuff into the bra cups. I rebuttoned my blouse, then held up one of the pairs of pantyhose. As I stood there wonder if I dared risk it, the doorbell rang. I froze in my tracks. What could I do? Someone would see me! The bell rang again before I realized that this was my house and all I had to do was to wait until they left. I tiptoed out to the front door and peeked th rough a side window. There was a delivery boy standing there balancing a package and a clipboard. I waited for him to leave, but he rang the bell again and just stood there, then knocked loudly. I waited impatiently, almost angrily for a few more seconds. Why didn't the dummy just leave? Then a devilish thought entered my mind. I had fooled a bunch of women yesterday: could I pass myself off on this young guy? I stepped back to the doorway, and as he knocked the second time I swung open the door. A breeze hit my bare legs and found itself up my skirt, giving me goose bumps all over. I put my hand over my chest, feigning a hoarse voice, and whispered "Yes?" I think the door handle was the only thing preventing me from falling down in a faint at this point. "Mrs. Anderson?" the boy asked. Now maybe I looked like a girl, but there was no way I looked like a "Mrs." This guy must be really dumb. I looked at the package that he held up and saw the street number on the label. "Three doors down." I whispered. "Huh?" How could I get so irritated by a person in such a short amount of time? I cleared my throat and used my real voice. "The Andersons live three doors down." I said loudly, then shut the door in his face as he dropped his clipboard. Had he realized I was a guy, or had he just been clumsy? I peeked out the window again to see him picking up his clipboard. As he turned and started down the steps he muttered what sounded like "Nice Pillows." It took me a couple of seconds, then I looked down at my chest and burst into a fit of giggles. I had been a little too generous with the stockings in my bra cups: I must have looked like a double "D" to that delivery boy. I went back into Mom's room and adjusted my bustline, then decided against actually wearing Mom's pantyhose - too risky to chance a run or a snag. I spent the rest of the day in Mom's clothes, doing my chores and freshening my makeup and hairdo from time to time. About an hour before she was due back I carefully replaced all her clothes, then scrubbed my face for several minutes to remove all the makeup. Giving in to my impulses one more time, I returned to Mom's room and retrieved an old babydoll nightie from the back of her lingerie drawer. I hid it under my pillow then went in and made dinner. Mom again complimented me on dinner, then commented on how well I was doing with my hair. We talked about some of the tricks Betty had shown me, and it turned into a really pleasant conversation on hairstyles and fashion. That night after Mom went to bed I took off my pajamas and replaced them with the Babydolls. I had no idea what I was doing or why, but it felt really good - maybe like I was closer to my Mom in some way. I thought about the conversation we'd had, and how good it was to be on speaking terms again. I fell asleep with a smile on my face. Saturday and Sunday were both full of chores, it seemed. Somewhere our conversation turned again to hairstyles, and Mom asked me if I had chosen another style for Monday's appointment. Before I realized how odd it was, I found us sitting on the sofa together looking through one of Mom's magazines. First we talked about hairstyles, then the conversation turned to fashion, then women's issues. Mom told me some of the things she had gone through at her past job. We even talked a little about the divorce. Sunday night I fell asleep thinking that Mom's new rules were turning out better than I could have ever imagined. Alex's Second "Do" Monday afternoon I had my hair up in the now-familiar chignon, and I was waiting for Mom on our porch when she drove up. This time Mom came into Betty's shop with me. "Hi, Alex, hi, Liz. It's good to see you both. Does this mean you're back on speaking terms?" Betty's good-natured smile showed she was teasing both of us. She took one of the albums off her shelf. "Here, Alex, why don't you look through this and see if you can find a style you like." "Oh, we've already taken care of that, haven't we, Alex?" Mom interjected. I blushed a little as I nodded in response and pointed to the picture in the magazine I had brought. "Oh, the Gibson Girl! That will be perfect! Very sophisticated, but also very easy to put up and take down." "Do you think you'll need to give him a body perm, Betty?" Mom had said nothing about that when we had selected the style. I crinkled my nose at Betty. "Hmm, it could be, but we'll try it first with a little extra setting gel and see how that works, okay?" "Okay, then, I'll leave him in your hands, and I'll see you in a while." As Mom walked out the door I settled into the shampoo chair and Betty began her routine. Again she had me do most of the curlers, and by this time I was pretty good at it. She just had to explain the setting pattern to me, and I was able to do most of the rest. She was very impressed. Betty gave me another manicure while I was under the dryer, and this time I accepted her offer of a clear coat of polish on my nails. When my hair was dry Betty combed it out and began the process of back-combing each section, then pinning it up until it was all pinned together at the top of my head. We had a few minutes to chat here and there, but Betty took most of the time teaching. She demonstrated how to get just the right fullness around the sides and form a smooth bun of the remaining hair. As I was admiring our handiwork in the mirror, Betty took a little hook and began pulling out strands of hair at my temples and the nape of my neck. "Betty, we really don't have to go that far, do we?" I asked half-heartedly. "I'm not planning to show this off anywhere, you know." I realized that she was doing those wispy little curled tendrils that were a part of the hairdo in the magazine photo. "Oh, I'm just trying to give you and your Mom your money's worth, Alex. It's these little finishing touches that set off a professional hairdo from a homemade job." She smiled and winked at me in the mirror. "Besides, I thought maybe you'd want to do a little showing off when we go shopping together this week." Her reference to our upcoming shopping trip caused my stomach to do a flip-flop. Last week had been so much fun just browsing through the Woman's departments, but how far would she expect me to go this time? The thoughts of what we might be doing caused me to fall silent for the few moments it took Betty to finish curling the tendrils. The result was very professional-looking indeed, and we took several minutes to admire the finished product in the mirror. A little voice in the back of my mind told me I shouldn't be getting this much enjoyment out of making my hair look so feminine, but I couldn't help myself. Next Betty had me practice twice taking the whole thing down, brushing it out, then back-combing the sections and reconstructing the style from the beginning. She was very complimentary of my abilities, and the second time she was satisfied enough to call it quits. Mom walked in just as I was putting the final gust of spray on my hair. Betty insisted that I do the tendrils again. While Mom and she watched, I used the small hook to pull out two strands at each temple then curled them with my little finger and spritzed them with hair spray. I repeated the process at the nape of my neck as well. I was embarrassed for Mom to see me adding such a feminine touch to my hairdo, and to make it worse, she noticed the clear polish on my fingers. "I see you did his nails too. Betty, you do such a professional job, and it really does make his hands look nice. I'll have to come in and let you do mine some time soon." As she talked, she was looking around at all the changes in Betty's salon. "My, you really have expanded, haven't you? What is that table next to your manicure station?" "Oh, that's my cosmetology setup. I was telling Alex that I've just finished my last class in cosmetology. All I have to do for certification is ten hours of practical work. I'm going to offer ten of my customers a free makeover with any cosmetics purchase. That should do the trick, and it will start to bring in a lot of extra revenue." "I could really use some help on updating my look. Maybe I'll come back when you have some time and try to be one of the lucky ten." "Actually, I have some time right now, if you'd like. And for my two favorite people, I'll not only do your makeovers free, I'll give you two for the price of one on all your makeup." "Betty, that's so sweet of you! What do you think, Alex? We don't have anything else planned for tonight, do we?" She asked it casually as she patted an imaginary hair into place above my ear. I had been so absorbed looking at my new hairdo in the mirror that I hadn't actually been listening. Was she actually suggesting that I get my makeup done along with hers? I glanced at Betty and she was looking right at me with a knowing smile. After our adventure the previous week I couldn't very well pretend that I wasn't interested in wearing makeup. On top of that, it was actually Mom who was suggesting it --but did she really mean that she wanted me to get a real makeover? I swallowed real hard and tried to be non-committal: "Uh, I can't think of anything we had planned." Both women broke into big smiles. Mom grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze as Betty led us to her makeup table. Over my half-hearted protest, they decided that I should go first. Betty put one of her pink smocks around my neck and pinned the tendrils of hair away from my face. "We start with the eyebrows first - they help frame the face and define everything else we do. Liz, to move a little faster we'll each do a side. You take these tweezers and follow what I do over here on the left." I was certainly not expecting to get my eyebrows plucked, but I figured they'd only be doing a few stray hairs. Betty started out that way, by doing a little, then Mom would follow. I began to get concerned, though, because they kept at it. When it seemed as if they were finally through, Betty would tweeze just a little more "to get it even." Then Mom would have to do a little on the other side. When they finally finished and sat back to take a look, I gasped. Where my rather full eyebrows used to be, there were now two very thin arched lines high above my eyes. It seemed to have changed my face completely, and I was hit with the exciting and terrible realization that I had very clearly crossed a line. Without even a touch of makeup I now had a girl's face. I was suddenly sure that, until my eyebrows grew back, I didn't have to worry about passing as a girl: I probably couldn't pass as a BOY. I probably should have gotten angry, or at least protested a little, but I was too stunned. Besides, it was already done, and a part of me was really excited by what I was seeing in the mirror. Mom and Betty seemed not to notice my surprise and didn't even ask me what I thought. Betty stroked a pencil across what was left of my eyebrows. "Now we'd be very conservative on the makeup for daytime, especially for Alex, but let's do a full "nighttime" makeover for each of you - then you'll see the full effect of the colors we chose." Without waiting for a response from either of us, Betty selected a dark shade of brown to line both my upper and lower lids, extending the line out past the corners in kind of a delta. They began selecting the colors for my eye shadow and they drew me into the conversation as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I tried to go along with the mood and I expressed some preferences, but every time the mirror caught my eye my chest would draw a little tighter. With every stroke of those makeup brushes I was becoming a different person - a different and very pretty person. They did my eyelids in three colors of shadow, then applied a cream blush to my cheeks and a red pencil and brush to my lips. By the time they had finished with my lipstick I could hardly breathe. They leaned back to give me a full view of the mirror and asked me what I thought. In truth, what I saw in the mirror was beautiful - but how could that delightfully pretty feminine face belong to me? I hesitated for a moment and put my hand to my face, just to be sure it really was me. I finally picked what I thought was a comment that covered my real thoughts: "Uh, maybe just a shade lighter lipstick, don't you think?" Betty agreed with this observation, so I wiped off my lips with a tissue, and Betty lined and brushed my lips a second time. Betty pulled the hairpins from the tendrils and adjusted them over my forehead, then the two ladies spent several minutes turning me back and forth, admiring their handiwork and paying me all sorts of compliments on my appearance. I was too fascinated with my own image to know how to respond, so to draw the focus away from me I guided Mom to the makeup stool. "Your turn now, Mom, and I get to help Betty this time." That seemed to be all it took, and we were soon gaily conspiring over color selections for Mom's eyes and lips. It surprised me that they took some of my suggestions on colors and shades, and it seemed to make a difference. When we were finished, Mom looked ten years younger! It had been a long time since I had paid her a compliment, and when I told her how pretty she looked she got tears in her eyes and gave me a big hug. "So do you, sweetheart." She whispered sincerely. I suppose I should have been appalled, or at least offended, but somehow I was pleased instead: my appearance seemed to be affecting all my reactions. Betty put all our samples in two little zippered cosmetics bags, then rang up the extra lipsticks and shadows Mom had purchased. I couldn't help noticing that at least some of those colors were my shades and not hers. What did that mean, exactly? Or did she like them so much that she was just planning to try them out on herself? We both thanked Betty and went out to the car. In the darkness of the late evening it never occurred to me to be concerned about my appearance until Mom suggested that we stop at a drive-in for dinner. "Mom, I can't go anywhere looking like this. What would people say? What if I saw someone I knew?" As I said this, I remembered my outing with Betty just a few days before. That feeling of excitement was back, but I had done that with Betty, not with my own Mom. "My dear, at a drive-in people will only see your face and the top of your shirt. The way you look right now, the only notice you will attract will be as a very pretty young lady. And as for meeting any of the snobs at that school, I'd be surprised if they would notice anyone but themselves. Really, though, sweetheart, if you get to feeling the least bit uncomfortable, we'll leave right away, I promise." That assurance made me feel more comfortable and let the excitement take over. What did I have to lose? "What can I get you ladies tonight?" The cheery greeting sent a feeling of relief and a little thrill through me. The carhop, at least, had not the slightest confusion over my appearance. We ordered our burgers and malts and the guy left. "How are you feeling so far?" Mom asked. "Pretty good, I guess. We sure fooled him." "I think you'll find that a common experience. Not to change the subject, but I think you were right about your lipstick. That shade gives you just the right look, even in these neon lights." I blushed and was trying to think of an offhand response, but she went on. "You were right about my eye shadow too. I think you have a real eye for this sort of thing." Now I knew she was teasing. "Oh, cut it out, Mom." "I'm not teasing, sweetheart, I'm serious, and Betty said the same thing. Some people just have an eye for colors and textures, and you're one of them. It's simply a talent that you have. And while we're on the subject, you seem to be doing pretty well on your hairstyling also. That's almost a professional job you have there." She seemed to be sincere, and I was somehow both pleased and embarrassed at the compliment. "Uh, thanks, Mom, I guess Betty's a pretty good teacher - she makes everything so easy and fun." "Well, she tells me that you've been a very good student. By the way, I found another magazine tonight that has some good hairstyles, would you like to look at it while we're waiting for our food?" We spent the next few minutes looking through the magazine and comparing our views on hairstyles and makeup. Somewhere along the way I realized that I was really kind of interested in this stuff, and that I did seem to have a knack for it. Our conversation was fun, and it continued as we ate our food. I got a little thrill when I looked down and saw my straw and my napkin marked with traces of lipstick, just like Mom's. When we had finished, Mom wiped her lips and then took out a new tube of lipstick. I watched fascinated as she opened a compact mirror and began to apply the color. She noticed that I was staring at her, and she nodded toward my makeup bag. "Go ahead, sweetheart, yours needs a little touch up too." As she spoke, she twisted the rear view mirror so that I could see my face in it. It was an electrifying moment for me. I selected a tube from my makeup bag and took the top off. As I twisted the base I looked into the mirror, then lifted the tube to my lips. As that full, fragrant taste entered my senses for now the fourth time, I knew that I wanted to do this all the time. I loved the smell and the taste and the velvety smooth feel of the pomade, and I loved seeing the bright color on my lips. Mom seemed to sense the feelings I was having, and she smiled and gave me a quick hug. "It is kind of fun, isn't it!" All my inhibitions were defeated for the moment. I smiled at her and nodded my agreement. As I took a second look in the mirror, I suddenly froze. There was a car pulling in next to ours, and who should be driving but Pat, with Jennifer in the front seat! I sank down as low as I could in my seat and pleaded with Mom to get us out of there. Fortunately, the carhop had just come up to take the tray, so Mom started the engine immediately and hurried out of the parking lot. The way I was sitting, I couldn't tell whether Pat and Jennifer had seen me or not, and I didn't dare sit up to take a look. How foolish could I have been? Probably the only two girls in the whole town who had even given me the time of day, and now that might all be ruined. Those girls didn't exactly have a reputation for discretion, either. This could get all over town in a hurry. Whatever small hope I might have had for a normal existence in this town was now ruined. I was disgusted with myself and angry at Mom for forcing me into all this. Mom made a couple of tries at conversation while she was driving, but I made no reply. Suddenly she pulled to the side of the road and turned off the engine. "Look, Alex," She said, turning in the seat to face me, "I know you're very upset, but I think it's time to get a few things out in the open. First, you need to know that I've been aware of your, uh, interest in my lingerie for quite some time." My jaw must have dropped a couple of feet. How could she have known? Had I left some things out, or had she seen me? It had been months - well, at least weeks since I had - well, except for this week, of course. What was she going to do to me? "Now don't be frightened. I'm not angry with you or anything. As I said, I've known about it for quite some time, but I figured if I had asked you about it you'd just deny it. Am I right?" I looked at the floor and nodded my head. "Anyway, I talked to my counselor about it.." I almost fainted. She had told other people about this? Especially that goofball of a shrink she called her 'counselor.' "... and she said it was not that rare for a boy to be interested in feminine things. Granted, it's not the most common thing in the world, but you aren't the only one with these feelings by a long shot. Anyway, Betty and I talked about it for a while, then..." Suddenly I felt physically ill. Betty knew about my ...interest? But then, she seemed to ... the light suddenly dawned. "Wait a minute, Mother. You mean you set me up? You and Betty and that goofball shrink of yours set me up!?" "Calm down, sweetheart. As for Doctor Harris, I haven't really talked to her since we moved, but yes, Betty and I did sort of plan this as a ... well, we wanted to see how far you'd be willing to go. I was pretty sure you wouldn't have agreed or even admitted anything if we had just ... if we hadn't devised this little 'incentive.' But admit it, now, it