Kelly schoolgirl pocket money chapter 3
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Kelly Girl Chapter 1 - Miss Identified free porn video
Copyright 1999, 2002 by Wanda Cunningham. Lainie, Rebel and Bashful,
thanks for the encouragement. There is no actual sex or transformation
in this chapter, but I guess it should be rated R for context. So,
nobody under 18 should read this or whatever is the appropriate age in
their community. This story deals with transgenderism in children and
may be uncomfortable for some readers.
Kelly Girl Chapter 1 - Miss Identified
By Wanda Cunningham
Kelly looked at the house with the circular driveway through the dirty
driver's side window of his mother's six-year-old Nissan. "My gosh, it's
got two garages." They were parked across the street from the cast iron
gates of the entry to the manse in Corona del Mar. A small, slightly-
built twelve-year-old, Kelly's excitement made him look even younger.
His animated blond mop danced forward then back as he tried to see
around his mother, "But the house doesn't look that big." He pushed his
glasses firmly back on his snub nose.
"Huh, uh," his mother disagreed. She pointed, "Three cars on the north
side and two on the south. He's got a Porsche; a big four-wheel drive
something, a Mercedes that's practically a limo and his oldest kid has a
Mazda or something. The house is huge, it only looks small because of so
much garage." Her own pleasure and excitement mirrored his, at twenty-
six, tiny Barbie Dolores Drew could pass for sixteen. Either way, she
didn't look old enough to have a kid starting junior high in eight more
weeks even if he looked more like fifth grade than seventh.
They shared the same improbably large, blue-green eyes behind wire-rim
glasses, with oval faces and snub noses. Most people assumed Kelly to be
Barbie's kid brother and the mistake was often let pass. "But that's
not all the house, it's three stories tall going down the side of the
cliff. You can't see it all from here. You should see, the master
bedroom is twice the size of our apartment. The west wall is all windows
looking out on the ocean."
"Wow," Kelly sighed. "You spent the night there? I'm impressed. Still,"
he looked at her reproachfully, "you could have called me to let me
know."
"I guess," Barbie hazarded. "But somehow it never happened. Anyway, you
knew I was going out, you saw how I was dressed." She tossed her long,
platinumed curls, impatient with her son's guilt-tripping her, again.
Sometimes, she wondered which of them was supposed to be the grown-up.
"Yeah," admitted Kelly, "that's why I was worried." His sly look took
the sting off what might have been considered a low blow.
Barbie laughed, a giggle that often earned her an extra tip when she
worked as a cocktail waitress. She had another laugh for when she danced
on tables. Kelly laughed, too. Sometimes he thought his mother a tramp
but he loved her and he did worry.
She started the car, "We'd better get out of here before someone calls
the Newport cops. Can't have tourists in ratty old cars ogling the real
estate." A few quick turns and they were back on Pacific Coast Highway,
headed west. "Wanna take the ferry, kid?"
Kelly shrugged. He did not share Barbie's enthusiasm for the tiny Balboa
Ferry and while it could save them as much as fifteen minutes getting
home to their third floor studio on the Peninsula, they were in no
particular hurry. He smiled to show her that it was all right with him
to spend the $1.75 for the five minute boat ride. Barbie took the left
turn at Jamboree on yellow and a little too fast. Over the bridge and
onto Balboa Island, she exceeded the speed limit all the way to the
ferry landing, right through the middle of the tiny Balboa Island
shopping district. Somehow, Barbie never got tickets but her driving
often inspired Kelly to wish for his sixteenth birthday.
On the ferry, they climbed out of the little car to enjoy the breeze off
the water. "Hot day," commented Barbie. She tugged at the little yellow
jumper she wore to pull the cotton fabric away from her skin. "Sticky."
She glanced around to see if any good-looking men were watching but the
only other people on the ferry were an older couple who had also gotten
out of their Oldsmobile and the man in the little pilot house who seemed
concentrated on the job of steering the boat. She sighed.
"It's August," said Kelly, finishing all discussion of what passed for
weather in Southern California. He wore yellow shorts and a white T-
shirt and immediately went to the railing to watch the water rush by.
They both had on beach thongs and squinted in the mid-afternoon sun, the
only people on the Gilded Coast without designer sunglasses.
The old couple nodded at her pleasantly, they seemed to enjoy watching
Kelly peering into the blue-and-white bow wash. The old woman spoke to
her, "Your sister is a bit of a tomboy, isn't she?"
Good thing Kelly didn't hear that, thought Barbie wryly, no use
correcting the old woman. It was better than other comments she'd heard
from people who had questioned his gender. She had to get the kid a
haircut soon or do it herself, his curly blond hair had begun to spill
across his shoulders. Maybe she could get Andie to do it for free.
Walking toward the rail she wished vaguely that they could stop by the
Fun Zone for a soft-serve cone but did not suggest it after blowing
almost two dollars on her boat ride. Now I have to think about a haircut
for the kid. He'd probably been putting it off for the same reason she'd
put off her own hair appointment until just yesterday. "I hate being
poor," she said out loud and frowned when she realized her son had heard
her.
"This isn't going to be about lottery tickets, again is it?" asked
Kelly.
"No. It's about men." It occurred to her that it had been lucky to go to
Andie's just when she did; right on time to be the customer Andie set up
with a date for her rich brother. She motioned Kelly back into the car,
the ferry was docking and she suddenly wanted to get home to check the
answering machine. She began humming Randy Newman's "Short People."
"Do you have to sing that," Kelly protested. Starting junior high at
four-foot-five made short jokes sometimes just too painful.
"It's our anthem," said Barbie, steering off the boat and down the short
light to Balboa Avenue. Four-foot nine since before Kelly was born,
Barbie took a perverse pride in being short. A half dozen blocks back
toward the mainland and they pulled into the alley behind their building
both singing, "Short people got no-body to lo-ove."
Up the stairs to the little one-room apartment they shared, they giggled
and laughed at the jokes life played on them. Inside, no message light
blinked, he probably wouldn't call anyway, thought Barbie. She began to
get ready for work which started at four today waiting tables at Trophy's
Sports Bar in Fountain Valley. She made more money when she could dance
but short, flat-chested dancers were not the rage with club owners.
The room measured sixteen by twenty with one corner partitioned off for
the bathroom. Another corner served as kitchen with small refrigerator,
stove, microwave and plastic dinette set. A double bed under the window,
a faded couch and a 13-inch TV on a big dresser completed the
furnishings. Everything, except the bed, was neat and clean. Kelly took
Budget Gourmet Pasta Dinners out of the freezer to put in the microwave
and began pulling salad fixings out of the crisper drawer.
Barbie undressed right in the middle of the room, tossing the jumper and
panties onto the bed. Modestly built, Barbie usually went braless. Kelly
glanced at her, looking for bruises which she sometimes got from her
boyfriends. Barbie would never complain but Kelly had insisted on an end
to more than one relationship over unnecessary roughness. Knowing what
he was doing, Barbie pointed to one mark on the underside of her left
breast, "Hickey's don't count," she said.
"What kind of doctor did you say he was," asked Kelly, "a brain
surgeon?"
"No," Barbie headed for the bathroom and the shower. "I didn't say, but
he's a plastic surgeon. That's why Andie set me up with him." Andie was
Barbie's friend and hairdresser and the sister of the doctor.
"We can't afford a boob job," warned Kelly.
"We can if we can get it free," said Barbie.
"You don't need a boob job," said Kelly.
"But I could dance more often and for more money if I had bigger tits,"
Barbie went on from behind the partition.
"That's not dancing." Barbie couldn't hear him, she had started the
shower.
Minutes later, they sat down to pasta and salad, Barbie still toweling
herself dry. Kelly had emptied the microwave dinners onto real china
plates and poured drinking water he bought at the machine outside of
Ralph's into crystal glasses. The china and crystal had been gifts from
a boyfriend now forgotten. "He's nice," said Barbie. "He said I had nice
skin."
"Who? The doctor? They're all nice at first and that's what *Andie* says
about your *skin* because she wants to tattoo your ass." Andie also did
tattooing and permanent makeup at her salon.
Barbie giggled. "Don't be vulgar at the dinner table."
"Well she does, she's kinky about your butt. Look whose being vulgar,
I'm not the naked one." Kelly grinned. "I can't believe Andie has a rich
brother."
"I can't believe we have a friend with a rich brother," said Barbie.
"We live in Newport Beach, why shouldn't we have rich friends?"
"Because we're poor. Poor people don't have rich people for friends.
It's a good thing we're short," she finished. It was part of an old
auto-benediction with them; it's a good thing we're short because we
couldn't afford to feed tall people.
They ate silently for a moment. "Beegee makes good pasta, don't it?"
said Barbie.
"Doesn't it," he corrected her, "and yes, for nukable dinners they're
the best. These were 89 cents each with a coupon, I got twelve boxes. I
had to make three trips through the line 'cause it was four to a
customer." Kelly had done most of the shopping for three years now,
since Barbie's mother had thrown them out of the trailer in Riverside.
Barbie explained herself, "I meant to say, 'don't they' but you can't
say 'Beegee makes' and then say 'don't they,' you're mixing things up.
But I overthought it and screwed it up even worse." She smiled at her
son, proud of his good grades and smarts. She always tried to use good
grammar in front of him, though she had never graduated high school
herself.
"Don't say, 'screwed up', it makes my back hurt," said Kelly. They
giggled together at the remnant of the punchline of *another* old joke.
"You'd better get dressed," warned Kelly. "It's three-fifteen, you've
got to pick up Hoa at her place and don't forget to take your good dress
to the dry cleaner." He began cleaning up the table.
Barbie stood, tossing the towel she had kept in her lap at the bed.
"When did you become the adult and me the kid? Yes, mommie." She scooted
over to the closet and began getting dressed, panties, hose, a Wonder
Bra and low-cut blouse for the sake of tips, short black skirt and low-
heeled shoes. She tied a ribbon in her hair, grabbed the bag with her
good "little black dress" and her purse and kissed Kelly good-bye at the
door.
She hadn't been gone three minutes when the phone rang.
Kelly answered. Thinking it might be one of the clubs with an offer of
dancing, he pitched his voice, down, to Barbie's range and answered as
she would. "Hello," musically, but without too much of a flirt in it.
"Barbie doll," said the voice, big, deep and rich. "It's Harold. I'd
like to see you again, tonight."
Kelly blushed. It was the rich boyfriend. "Well, Harold, I'm working
tonight. I can't afford to take off on Friday night, the tips are too
good."
"Working? Yeah, I had to work this morning, too, a blepharoplasty, then
a couple of three boob jobs this afternoon. Look, Doll, when do you get
off?"
"Two thirty," said Kelly. "A.M." Twelve thirty actually, Kelly wasn't
quite sure why he tacked on the extra two hours.
"Shit."
This is the nice guy she met, thought Kelly. He sounded like any of her
other boyfriends who thought she would drop an evening's wages to keep
them company. Or, Kelly braced himself for what might be coming. This
guy was rich.
"How much you make on a Friday night, Doll? Tips and all."
"Two-fifty, three hundred," Kelly exaggerated wildly. It had happened
but it certainly wasn't routine. "Honey, I have to go get ready pretty
soon. I have to take my *shower* still." He lingered on the word shower.
Sometimes he enjoyed these phone games but this one might turn very
serious quickly
"Damn. Barbie Doll, I made nine thousand today." It didn't sound like a
brag, just accounting. "After paying my staff, I get five thousand,
more or less.. It was a short day. If you can be over here in an hour
ready to go to Vegas, you can have it."
The offer fell on Kelly's composure like a piano on a silent movie
comedian. He hadn't seen it coming. "Five, thousand," said Kelly.
"And I'll throw in that free boob job you were hinting at. How about it,
Doll?"
"I -- I," Kelly's mind seemed frozen. He tried to stammer out an excuse.
"Harold, I've got a kid. I can't just leave for Vegas in an hour. What
about a baby-sitter -- "
"Bring the little tike over here, Andie's going to be watching my two
brats. Kid ain't still in diapers?"
"No. Kelly's -- older than that." Five. Thousand.
"Good. See you in sixty at the Corona del Mar house. I've got to shower
too, got blood on me still, or I'd say come on over and we'll shower
together," he laughed.
I haven't agreed to this, thought Kelly, but Harold had hung up.
Hands shaking a little, Kelly dialed the bar. Have I just pimped my
mother for five thousand dollars and a boob job? he wondered. Barbie
wasn't there yet so he left a message for her to call.
"*Five* *thou*--" Barbie squeaked when she called back from the bar.
"Sh. Don't tell the whole bar. Do you want to do it?"
"Do I? Are you *crazy*? Of course, I'll do it!"
Barbie's excitement made Kelly feel bad about the next thing he was
going to say. "Barbie, Mom, you know what this is? What he's asking you
to do?"
"Sugar, I don't care." Barbie sighed. "I've done it before, you know."
"When we were desperate for money and Mom wouldn't help with the car
payment. Yeah, I know. You swore you wouldn't do it again," he pointed
out.
"To Momma." Barbie's mother Amanda. "But she didn't believe me, I knew
I was lying and so did she. That's why she threw me out."
"Threw us out," said Kelly. Amanda had tried to get child services to
take him away from Barbie but nothing happened. Perhaps they were
unimpressed with a thirty-seven-year-old alcoholic claiming to be a
better mother to a nine-year-old boy than was a twenty-three-year-old
sometime nude dancer. But they had moved to Orange County to be away
from Riverside County Child Welfare.
"I'd do anything to keep us together, you know. Anything. And five
thousand dollars is new clothes, new furniture, money in the bank for
emergencies. I'd sleep with Jerry Falwell for that kind of money."
Kelly said nothing.
"It's not like I slept with him last night for free. He bought me dinner
and drinks, at the Bay Club, I *told* you. I even brought home leftovers
for you. Sweetie, *whoring* is just a word." She wouldn't do it if he
said don't, they both knew that. It wasn't that she had abdicated her
parental authority or accepted his having authority over her. The only
thing that mattered between them was the other's happiness and respect.
She wouldn't do anything that made him unhappy unnecessarily or caused
him to think less of her. And vice versa; he felt the same.
"Mom," he seldom called her Mom. Twice in a few minutes was a lot. "I
just don't want you to get hurt." He was the worrier, that's why he kept
the checkbook and paid the bills. Not that she couldn't but he slept
better if *he* did it.
"I won't get hurt."
"Okay, make your excuses, tell them I'm sick or something. I'll find a
sub to go in for you so you won't have burned this job when the five
thousand runs out. Get your butt back here, I'll have a bag packed for
you."
"Oh," she squeaked. "Kelly, you're the *best*." She hung up.
"No. You are, Mom," he said to the empty line.
An hour later they pulled into the circular driveway in the little green
Nissan. Kelly had almost insisted on staying home for the weekend until
Barbie had pointed out that leaving him "home alone" was exactly the
sort of thing that Mom, Amanda, would use to take him away.
"I'm glad you came so you can enjoy staying in a place like this."
Barbie, took the overnight bags out of the trunk just as Dr. Harold Mann
came out of the front door.
"Let me get those," he offered. Kelly had expected him to be tall, Andie
was five-ten or so, but Dr. Mann seemed enormous. Six foot three or
more, perhaps two hundred and forty pounds, thinning black hair, a wide
cheerful, tanned face, deep-set blue eyes, it wasn't hard to see why
Barbie found it easy to like the man. He wore white tennis shorts
revealing tanned, hairy legs bigger around than Kelly's whole body. A
white polo shirt and white deck shoes completed what the well-dressed
Newport Beach doctor wore to take his mistress to Vegas.
Dr. Mann smiled vaguely at Kelly as he took the bags from Barbie. He
seems nice, thought Kelly. The hands taking the bags were long, the
fingers nimble, he tucked a bag under an arm and used the freed hand to
scoop up Barbie also. "How's my living doll?" he asked.
She squealed, laughing, wriggling up close for a kiss. She wore a green
silk jumper with the hose and shoes she had worn to work. A yellow scarf
around her platinum hair made her look like the girl who got in trouble
thirteen years ago. "This is Kelly," she said by way of introduction.
"Hi, Kelly," said the doctor. "Your sis and I are going to Vegas, that
okay with you?"
"Uh, huh," said Kelly. "When will you be back?"
"Late tomorrow night. Real late." He put Barbie down and gave her a
squeeze. She should have worn heels, thought Kelly, they're going to
arrest him for child molestation., she looks so tiny. "We're going to
have to *fly*, Barbie Doll, if we're going to fly. Southwest leaves for
Vegas in less than an hour. Which one of these bags is yours?" They both
belonged to Barbie, Kelly had never needed his own overnighter before
but he had packed his toothpaste, underwear and a change of clothes into
the magenta case.
"The pink one," said Barbie.
"I got an idea," said Harold, looking at the Drew family limo, the green
Nissan. "Let's take your car to the airport, save me from getting one of
mine out, we'll have them wash it while we're gone, too."
Barbie laughed, "You just don't want my nasty old piece of junk in the
same barn with your thoroughbreds. Harry, you're a car snob."
"That's what I like about you, Babs, you know what I really mean when I
say something." He laughed easily. Kelly began to like Dr. Mann at that
moment, a man who could let his ego be exposed for what it was couldn't
be an ogre.
Turning toward the door of the mansion they all saw a young man standing
on the steps holding a brown overnighter. The boy looked to be sixteen
to eighteen, a red-headed sketch of his father. "Richard," bellowed
Harry, "bring me that case. We're going in Barbie's car."
Richard ambled toward them. He wore a tan version of his father's outfit
and moved with the mix of grace and awkwardness of a young athlete. He
smiled appreciatively at Barbie. "Peter's in the garage, he thought he'd
hack you over in the Benz," he said to his father. One of the garage
doors rolled up even as he spoke.
"No time, " said Harold. He thrust a case into Richard's hand and seized
his own, tossed the two cases he now had into the trunk, pushed Barbie
toward the driver's side. "You drive, Doll." She nodded and slipped back
behind the wheel.
"We'll give the kids at valet parking a treat," Dr. Mann went on as he
circled the car to the right-hand side. "Oh, Richie, this is Kelly,
Barbie's niece. She's going to be staying with you till Monday morning,
Andie will be over later to look in on her."
Niece? She? Kelly's mouth flew open but Harold closed the door on any
correction and the car sped quickly away.
Richard smiled. "Dad's as excited as a kid with a new toy. He really
likes your aunt."
"She's not my..." Kelly began.
"Pete!" Richard called as a big Mercedes Benz sedan backed out of the
garage. "That's my brother, Pete," he went on. The Big Benz had a cobalt
blue finish with a luster deeper than the Baltic. Kelly stared at his
reflection as Pete pulled alongside.
"Hey, Pete," Richard leaned into the passenger's side window as it
presciently rolled itself down. "They took Barbie Doll's car to the
airport. We're on our own except for Skipper here."
"Kelly," said Kelly wondering where the "Skipper" had come from. The
confusion seemed to be getting worse.
Pete grinned across the long leather seat at them. Red-haired like his
brother, he otherwise looked exactly like a younger version of his Dad.
He sounded like his Dad, too, but without the remnant of whatever accent
it was that Harold had. "Hop in, we'll take the chicklet for a spin and
grab some dinner."
Richard opened the front door and motioned Kelly inside. Pete whistled
as Kelly slid across the seat. "Hey, Skipper, you look just like your
aunt. Wanna be my girlfriend?"
Startled at the amount of misinformation embodied in this suggestion,
Kelly just stared at him.
"Sit in the middle," Pete ordered, pulling Kelly toward him. "And
better buckle up, I'm a dangerous driver." Kelly tried to pull away.
"You're shy, aren't you?" noted Pete.
Kelly decided it was safe to nod to that while he fumbled with the belt.
"I like shy girls," Pete went on. "They don't talk too much and they
always agree with whatever you say." He looked at Kelly, nodding
emphatically until he got a confused nod in return. "So, you didn't
answer me earlier. You gonna be my girlfriend?" He nodded encouragingly.
"Can't," said Kelly. "I'm a boy."
Pete roared. He was still laughing when Richard came back from leaving
the overnight bag in the house and returning with a smaller canvas tote.
Pete explained to his brother, "You know what she said? I asked her if
she wanted to be my girlfriend and she said she was a boy!"
How had these two idiots got the idea he was a girl, wondered Kelly,
then remembered that Dr. Mann had made the same mistake.
Richard laughed, too. "That's the most original turndown I bet *you*
ever got, Pete." He tossed the tote on the seat beside Kelly.
"But, I *am* a boy," Kelly tried to explain. "And Barbie's not my aunt,
she's my..." Kelly faltered, not sure what Barbie had told them about
their relationship, sometimes they *did* pose as brother and sister if
it made things easier with fewer explanations and Dr. Mann had seemed to
imply that that had been Barbie's story.
"She's your uncle!" finished Pete. "Barb's your uncle!" appreciating the
joke all over again with another roar of hilarity. This time Richard joined
the laughter as he slid in beside Kelly.
Suddenly, even before Richard had the door completely closed, the car
accelerated. The deep, softly-contoured seat cushioned Kelly against the
g-force as they sped down the driveway, out of the cul-de-sac and onto
the street leading to the highway. Richard's door had swung securely
closed and now he struggled with his belt. "Dammit, Pete, don't drive
like a maniac! We've got a little girl in the car. She's not going to be
impressed, she's going to be terrified."
Except for the genders, he's got that right, thought Kelly.
(continued)
Copyright 1999, 2002 by Wanda Cunningham.
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