This is part 4 of "Mike versus Michelle". Mike goes out in public for the first time dressed as a girl. He also meets a boy and it bothers him in many ways which he explains. As a matter of fact, as always, Mike is doing a lot of explaining.   Mike versus Michelle: Part 4 The Public Sissy By Sharon Parsons

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I had been going to school for four months without any major or minor repercussions, because I erred on the wide side of caution. I wasn't one to take chances. I never wore panties to school, even though I would have loved to. I adhered to a very strict rule that called for no dressing up outside of my room. And when I did dress up, I always locked my door.

I won't tell you I liked eighth grade because I didn't. Academics weren't my thing, but I had always enjoyed the social aspect of school until...my hair got longer. And then it wasn't bad, but it was definitely different than I had been used to.

Hair and clothes are both superficial things, but I discovered they play a big role in other people's perceptions. My long hair had made me look like a rebel of sorts. It didn't bother my good friends like Cam or Frank. I don't think they would have cared if I shaved my head or dyed my hair pink. But other kids noticed.

I didn't have a reputation as a sissy outside of my bedroom, so I didn't take it seriously when some of the boys from school would kid me about my hair and call me a fag. They laughed when they said it and I could tell they didn't really mean it.

Girls noticed my longer hair too, especially the "bad girls". They weren't really bad as in evil. We just called them bad girls because they dressed in black tee shirts, smoked cigarettes and had potty mouths. Mothers like mine didn't care for girls like that, but I did, and so did my friends. Cam and Frank were jealous of the attention I was getting from them. Frank even threatened to quit cutting his hair. We knew he wasn't serious because we knew his dad. Mr. Rodriguez would have kicked him out of the house and stomped his ass.
 

***
 
As a general rule of thumb, eighth grade boys and girls don't date. They "go" together. Its like going steady without really going out. I know that sounds kind of silly, but that's the way it was back then and probably is today.

I went with a girl named named Wendy Deitrich. There was a rumor going around the school that Wendy shaved her vagina, but I never asked her and I never saw. I just thought it was cool to hang out with her at lunch and talk to her in the halls because thats what boyfriends and girlfriends do in the eighth grade.

I started going with Wendy around halloween and she broke up with me the day before Christmas break. She said I was boring and that we never did anything. Worse than that, she asked if I was gay.

I was really bothered by that. When Wendy asked me if I was gay, it wasn't like when my friends called me a fag for having long hair. My friends were just kidding but Wendy wasn't. Of course I told her no, but that's beside the point. It really hurt my feelings that she'd even wonder.

And that got me to thinking. I started wondering if I really liked girls. I definitely thought they were pretty and I loved hanging around them. So if I liked them, then that meant I wasn't gay!

I thought about my friends and tried to imagine myself snogging with them and couldn't. The thought didn't fit right. But the thought of snogging Wendy Deitrich didn't fit either. When it came right down to it, there was only one person in the world I ever seriously considered kissing and that was Cam's mom- Mrs. Holsteader.
 

***
 
Christmas break started as a bust with Wendy dumping me. And the first couple days weren't any better because I was moping around worried about my sexuality. The only thing that made me feel better was dressing up in my mom's clothes and beating off, but I couldn't do much of that either because Tony was still in the house.

I knew that if I could make it one more day, Mom and I would have the house to ourselves. Dad was away on business and Tony was going with one of his friends on skiing trip to Ski Sundown in New Hartford. All I had to do was to hang tight until Sunday and not make any mistakes.

When Sunday morning came, I said goodbye to Tony and stood with mom in the driveway as he got into Herbert's car and drove away. It was official. Mom and I had the house to ourselves.

I didn't need Wendy Deitrich, or Cam, or Frank. I had my mom and a closet full of her old clothes. I was going to spend the next three days dressing like her and hanging out with her! We'd been talking about it all week. She was going to show me how to wear make-up!

I was ready to go back in the house and I looked at her as if to coax her along. I didn't want her to change her mind.

Mom grinned and said, "It looks to me like you're ready to get started."

I was a little bothered that I looked so eager, but I knew it wasn't like I had anything to hide from her. "What do we do first," I asked?

As we walked back inside the house, Mom explained to me that before we did anything, I needed to shave my legs and arm pits.

I asked if she was kidding. She told me she wasn't. I asked what shaving my legs had to do with putting on make-up.

"You want to feel like a real girl, don't you," she asked?

I nodded.

"Then you'll want to shave because girls are smooth and our clothes feel and look nicer when there's no hair."

I'd never thought about shaving my legs before and I'd certainly never thought about shaving under my arms. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I was impatient and was ready to get down to the serious business of learning how to put on make-up. Beside that, I was afraid of what my friends would say if they noticed.

Mom poo-pooed all my reasons for not wanting to do it as she pushed me into the bathroom and handed me a razor. "The sooner you get finished in here, the sooner we can get started," she said as she left me alone in the bathroom.

I did as mom said and made quick work of my legs and arms. After the first knick or two, I decided that I didn't really care much for shaving, but I finished what I started. I also decided that If this is what girls had to look forward to every morning, then I felt sorry for them.

I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around myself. Mom was sitting at her vanity and I told her I'd be back after I got dressed.

She told me to put on the jeans and top that we had gotten at the mall. I hadn't expected that and told her that I wanted to wear the gray pantsuit she had given me.

My mom told me that if she wanted to see another old lady, she'd look at her self in the mirror. "Put on the jeans and top," she said. "I want to see how cute my daughter looks in it!"

I grumbled without disagreeing as I walked down the hall to my room for the change.

I heard Mom shout from her room. "And make sure you put on a bra!"

I stuffed the bra with socks before meeting Mom in her room.

She gushed when she saw me. There was so much emotion that I mistook her joy for sadness.

"Oh Michelle! You look adorable," she said as she held out her arms for a hug.

"I like it when you call me that," I whispered in her ear as we hugged.

"You do?"

I nodded my head and pulled away. "Yeah. It makes me happy."

"It makes me happy too," she said as she moved my bangs away from my eyes. "We really need to do something about this," she said. "Its so limp and stringy. It's a good thing I made an appointment for you at the salon."

"For tomorrow?"

"No. For today. I don't want to rush you, but the appointment is for 11:00, so we've only got an hour and a half."

I wanted to go to the salon. I really did- but not right then. I'd been planning on dressing up with Mom since we found out Dad and Tony would be gone at the same time. It was bad enough that I was dressed like a teen when I wanted to dress like mom. "But Mom! I just got dressed. I even shaved. Can't you call them and changeit for another day?"

She shook her head and smiled. "I think we can do both."

"Huh!"

She took me by the shoulders and turned me so that I was looking into the mirror. "What are you worried about," she asked? "You're beautiful."

"But Mom. I can't."

"Don't say you can't until you give me a chance to do your make-up and do something with your hair. I think you look fine now, but if you don't agree with me after I'm done, then..."

"Then I don't have to go?"

"I didn't say that. I was going to say if you don't like it, we'll try it again until you do like it."

"I don't know Mom. I don't think its such a good idea."

"Oh yeah? Well I have something to show you that might change your mind?"

I didn't say anything while she went to her closet and pulled out a box. But my jaw dropped low when she took the lid off the box and I saw inside.

"They look like breasts," I said.

"Don't they?" said my mom as she took one out and placed it in my hands.

I don't know how to describe it. I've never felt a real breast before but I can't believe a real one would feel any different than the one in my hands. It was flesh tone and matched my own skin coloring very well. "How do I put them on," I asked?

"Take your top off and I'll show you," said my mother.

Whoa! The feeling! I couldn't believe how heavy the felt. "Do yours feel like this," I asked? "You know. Top heavy."

Mom giggled. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I guess I've never really thought about it because I'm used to having them. So do you like them?"

"It feels so much different than socks. Yes! I love them," I said as I squished my breasts against hers in a hug. "Thanks Mom. I love you so much."

"I love you too Michelle."

I sat down at my mother's vanity and watched in the mirror as she began the process of putting make-up on my face. She described everything as she was doing it, and sometimes she'd give me a brush or a pad and have me do it too.

I thought I was looking great even before she did my hair. She used a hot curling iron and a brush to give my hair a little bounce and body. I was in awe of myself as I looked in the mirror.

"I really look like a girl, don't I?"

"Yes you do," said my mother as she put her hands on my shoulder and lowered her chin so that her cheeks were brushing mine. "I think you look like my daughter and I want to show her off at the mall."

"But you already did my make-up," I said. "Are we still going to the salon?"

"That's right honey," said my mother as she grabbed her purse. "You could still use some work and God knows I'm overdue for some maintenance."
 

***
 
After retrieving my purse from my room, Mom and I were off to the salon. My excitement over how good I looked was stronger than my fear, but I was still paranoid when we got out of the car and walked across the parking lot.

The paranoia was worse once we entered the mall because I was sure I wasn't imagining the stares from others.

"They are looking but believe me honey. Its not in a bad way. You look more than fine."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't have pushed you into this if I thought you couldn't handle it. Tell me the truth. Aren't you having at least a little bit of fun?"

Without hesitating, I told her I was having fun. "I feel so pretty," I said as I followed her into the salon.

Beth, the same woman who had done my hair the last time, led my mother and I to our chairs that were position beside each other. Mom told Beth that I wanted some help in looking older.

"How much older," asked Beth?

I shrugged out of embarrassment. "I don't know. Older. Like I could be my mom's sister or something."

Beth laughed. "I don't know sweetie. What are you? Sixteen? Seventeen? I could help you look like her younger sister. You'd probably look old enough to get in a bar without being carded. Would that be good enough?"

I nodded as I tried to restrain my excitement. She thinks I'm 16 or 17. If she's talking about me getting into bars then she's talking like 20 or something. "Cool," I said.

I watched Beth's every move in the mirror so I could remember how she did it. Every so often, Mom and I would wink at each other in the mirror while a lady named Cassie did her hair.

It was funny and ironic when I think about it and I guess mom had it in mind too, but as Beth made me look older, Cassie made my mom look younger. She still looked a lot older than me, but it was like Beth said. I could probably pass for my mother's younger sister.

The process took less than two hours. Mom and I walked out of the salon with freshly painted nails and spry heads of hair. I was so excited about the way I looked and felt that I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I just giggled.

"You really like it don't you," asked my mom?
 

***
 
How could I lie or play it down? "I love it Mom. Thank you so much," I said as I laid a big hug on her as we stepped on to the escalator.

"Are you hungry," asked Mom? "I am. There's a Ruby Tuesday's upstairs."

"Okay," I said as I followed her off the escalator and walked the ten yards or so into the restaurant.

Mom asked for a table in the smoking section and the hostess led us to a booth located in the bar. After opening her menu and laying it on the table in front of her, Mom removed a pack of Virginia Slims from her purse and left the pack on the table between us.

I pretended to be look at my menu but I was actually watching my mother as she shamelessly lit a cigarette. I told myself that I could never do something like that, but I wanted to. I'd be fourteen in a couple months. I wondered how old my mother was when she started.

The signs in convenience stores say you have to be 18 to buy cigarettes. I don't want to wait that long. One time I looked up a bunch of stuff on the web about my state- about how old you have to be to do certain things. I live in Connecticut. The age for drinking is 21. I think that's the same as the other states. The really crazy thing about my state is that you can get married at 16 if you have your parents permission. It doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl, or two girls, or two boys.

I looked at the pack of cigarettes on the table and then back to my menu. They sure were close to me. Did she mean to put them that close?

"What do you think you want," asked my mother as she put down her menu and took a draw from her cigarette.

"A hamburger and fries sounds good."

"Oh Michelle," said my mother in a disappointed tone. "You'll bite into that greasy hamburger and smear the make-up off your face. Not to mention all the calories. I'm getting salad with thousand island dressing on the side. If you want to fit into those jeans after Christmas, you'll have to stop eating the way you used to."

I took my mother's comments with a grain of salt. I agreed with her that I didn't want to make a mess of my face with grease. But why was she talking about changing the way I eat? I wasn't fat and I wasn't skinny, at least not from my perspective, which was that of a boy.

I realized my mother was enjoying our girl time and it was special for her. It was special for me too. But I was starting to wonder if my hobby was more important to her than it was to me. And of course that led to an even more important question. How important is this hobby to me? Is it even a hobby? I love it! I enjoy it! I couldn't stop it if I wanted to and I didn't want to stop it, but I had tried to give it up before.

My confusion about where my so called hobby might lead argued with the pleasure I was getting from being dressed as a girl in front of my mother. This is supposed to be fun, I told myself. I'm dressed like a girl in front of my mother! I look older, like I should be in college or something. Isn't that enough? Or is it too much?

When the waitress came by to take our order, I asked for a salad with thousand island dressing on the side and a glass of unsweetened ice tea, the same as my mother.

I looked across the table at mom. She was all smiles. Nothing could be better as far as she was concerned. She was having too much fun to notice my dilemma. Was it even a dilemma?

"I'm having so much fun Michelle," said my mother as she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. "How about you? Isn't this just the best day?"

I looked down at my freshly painted nails on my left hand and ran the fingers of my right hand across the curls in my hair and then to my naked ear lobe. "I am having fun. This is the best day."

And then without thinking about the consequences or repercussions, I asked my mother if I could get my ears pierced.

"Of course you can," said my mother enthusiastically! "I should have asked if you wanted to get them pierced while we were still in the salon?"

"They do it there," I asked?

"I think Claire's is on this level. We can get it done after lunch!", said my mother.

I'm going to get my ears pierced, I thought solemnly as I moved my hands to make room for my salad. None of my friends have their ears pierced.

"I don't want loops like yours," I said as I picked up my fork.

"They don't use loops when you first get your ears pierced honey. They'll be simple gold studs. If you're worried about your friends, they'll probably think its cool. I wouldn't be surprised if they do it too after they see yours."
 

***
 
I zoned out after that. I was still having conversations with my mother but I really can't recall what we were talking about, other than it was mother/daughter girl stuff. It was like half my brain was keeping pace with mom and the other half was thinking about everything else. I think they call that being preoccupied.

The one thought that played continuously in my mind was the fact that I was sitting in a public restauraunt in a mall crowded with Christmas shoppers dressed as a girl. How had I allowed my mother to talk me into doing this? And more importantly, why hadn't I done it earlier? It was great! It was phenomenal! I loved it!

I'm such a sissy loser, I thought as I watched my mother push aside her finished salad and light a cigarette. Why wasn't I repulsed? Why wasn't I in fear for my life?

I looked around the restaurant. No one was staring at me. I did get a few looks but none of their faces suggested they had seen anything other than a daughter having lunch with her mother.

I thought it funny and odd that I wasn't afraid, but at the same time, I was also deeply ashamed. I wasn't ashamed because of my lack of fear. I was ashamed because I had a raging erection.

I haven't mentioned this until now, or maybe I have and I've just forgotten. Its just embarrassing because I don't think its normal. I get erections when I wear women's clothes. It always happens when I'm wearing something that I consider to be extremely feminine, like a dress or a silk nightgown. It doesn't happen so much with jeans and blouses. But that day in the restaurant, the breast forms made me think about feeling feminine. That and the trip to the salon. Any way, like I was saying, I'd been struggling with a major league erection from the moment my mom helped me put on the breast forms.

Now that I'm older, I've pretty much accepted the fact that I get sexually turned on when I look and act like a woman. But it bothered me a lot when I was younger. Understanding something and accepting something are two different things. I still don't understand it to this day, but I've accepted it.

You don't get to where I got without spending at least a little time on a therapist's couch. My therapist told me I had a sexual addiction to women's clothing. That means I can't get an erection without wearing feminine clothes or thinking feminine thoughts.

Do you remember what I said about Wendy Deitrich? It threw my brain into 5th gear when she questioned my sexuality. It got me to thinking and it totally frustrated me because I couldn't come up with an answer that worked. I was certain that women turned me on. So how come I wasn't turned on by Wendy Deitrich?

The obvious answer was that I was gay, but that didn't work either. I wasn't turned on by guys. I liked them, but only as friends, the same as with girls. So if I wasn't turned on by girls or guys, then what was I turned on by? Was it dogs? Of course not!

I tried to write it off as a symptom of being only 13 and a half. My hormones were in high gear and I was masturbating on a nightly basis and having wonderful orgasms. I thought that maybe I was too young to like girls and that it would change as I got older. I certainly didn't want to like boys.

My therapist later explained it to me. but I didn't have the benefit of her council while I sitting with my mom, dressed as a girl, while she finished her cigarette. All I knew was that I had a hard-on as big as Texas and I hoped like hell it would go down before we got up from the table to leave.

I told my therapist about my first public outing and about that day at Ruby Tuesdays with my mom. She asked me what I thought about when I masturbated. I told her the truth. I told her that I think about getting dressed up in my mom's clothes and smoking her cigarettes. And that's when she told me that I had a sexual addiction.

I'm not gay. I'm not straight. I'm just some kind of weird and perverted sissy. That's the feeling I had while I was waiting for my mother to finish her cigarette. That's the feeling I had when my therapist explained my reasons for doing the things I did and the feelings I got from doing them. That's the way I feel after my husband makes love to me. Its joy and bliss up until the orgasm. and then afterwards, the joy is followed by shame and disgust to the nth degree.
 

***
 
I told my mother that I needed to go to the bathroom.

She looked at me seriously and said, "You know you can't use the men's room dressed like that, don't you?"

"I know Mom."

"Its no big deal sweetie. They're all just toilets. Just make sure you sit down."

I had positioned my erection to the best of my ability while sitting at the table, but the walk between the table and the restroom felt longer than a marathon, even though it was less than twenty feet and only took seconds.

I didn't have to pee, but I needed to relieve myself all the same. I had so much excitement built up. The orgasm was phenomenal and the tidal wave of shame that followed was like tsunami.

The worst part was that I couldn't change clothes. I was stuck as a girl until we got home. I wiped the sperm off my penis and pulled up my panties and jeans.

I didn't want to get my ears pierced any more, but I knew that I would and I did it, and it hurt both physically and emotionally.

Mom looked so proud of me after the woman at Claire's lowered the gun that had shot the studs into my ear.

She asked me if it had hurt. I told her it didn't. I lied. But I couldn't tell her otherwise. I wouldn't have known what to say or how to say it. I thought that at least one of us should be happy. Beside, I knew the feelings would pass.

It wasn't the first time I'd felt this way. I'd been feeling it all my life. I'm a girl, I thought as I stood up from the chair. And pretty soon I'll like it again. And then I'll hate it, and then I'll love it and it will always be like that. If only I'd been born a girl then none of this would be happening. I wouldn't feel like this.
 

***
 
My mom is really big into Christmas and so am I for that matter. But Christmas was less than two weeks away and she wanted to do some shopping.

"I don't want you to see what I get. Will you be okay by your self for about an hour?"

I was depressed but I felt safe. I told her I'd be okay. She told me to meet her in the food court in an hour. I said goodbye and we went our separate ways.

I was a girl by herself alone in the mall. How many times had I imagined that scenario? I walked the floors of the mall for the next ten minutes or so feeling sorry for myself, looking for a way out of the situation I had created.

I should be having the time of my life, I thought as I passed a shoe store without bothering to look inside. I felt like I was in a race to get to the other side of the mall even though I didn't have a destination in mind.

My depression started to lift after about 30 minutes of being on my own. That's the funny thing about having a sexual addiction. The remorse is intense but it doesn't last long.

I looked up to find myself standing in front of Victoria's Secret. I stopped feeling bad as soon as I saw all the new and wonderful opportunities hanging on the racks. I browsed the store without any of the embarrassment I would have felt as a boy. I'm a girl, I thought, and this is what girls do. I'm not doing anything wrong, and if I am, then nobody but me knows it. I bought a nice bra to go along with my new breast forms.

With fifteen minutes or so to kill, I bought a Diet Coke and took a seat in the food court. I'd spent most of my money on the bra and I kind of wanted to just sit and think about it.

I know mom would have bought it for me if I had asked. But it was important to me that I buy it with my own money. I opened the bag and peeked inside at my purchase. "My bra," I said out loud.

"Can I see," said a very masculine voice from behind.

I let out a scared but muffle shriek and spun around to see a very red faced boy.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just walking by and I heard what you said and it just came out of my mouth like that. I'm a smart-ass. I'm so sorry."

It seemed that everyone in the food court was looking at us. Not wanting to draw any more attention to myself than I already had, I told him I was okay. I hoped that would be the end of it and he'd just walk away.

I could tell he was as embarrassed as I was. He hadn't meant for me to react the way I had. He told me again how sorry he was. I'd never given anyone a brush-off in my life and didn't know how to do it. I smiled at him without saying anything. I hoped he would take it as a hint and leave. Instead of leaving, he held out his hand.

"I'm Bob Eiger," he said with his hand grasping the air.

Not know what else to do, I took his hand and shook. "Michelle," I said.

Bob took my handshake as an invitation to have a seat. I wanted to run but held my ground. I'd already made a scene once today and I wasn't about to do it again.

"Do I know you," he asked? "I'm a sophomore at the University of Hartford. Are you in a sorority there? I'm a Pike."

"No. I'm not in school."

"You look kind of young to have graduated already."

"I didn't. I'm just not in school right now."

Sensing that he'd made another mistake, Bob apologized again.

I was starting to feel bad for him and good for myself at the same time. This guy had mistaken me for a college girl. He was obviously flirting with me so he must think I'm pretty. I smiled at him, which was something I probably shouldn't have done, because it only served to encourage him.

It quickly occurred to me that he wasn't going to stop talking on his own and I wasn't going to get away from him unless I found a way to shut him off. But I let him keep talking and sometimes I'd say something that would change the conversation and that would keep him talking. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was kind of enjoying the attention.

I grimaced as I saw my mother making her way over to our table. She had spotted me with a boy. What was she going to think? This isn't my fault, I thought as I stuttered out an excuse to leave.

"My mom's here. I got to go," I said as I stood up from the table.

Bob asked if he could have my number. Had my mother heard him ask? Of course she had! She was standing right next to me.

"My mom won't let me date," I said quickly. "I'm only 13."

The look on his face said it all. He was horrified. He turned to my mother and apologized. "I didn't know how old she was. Honest!"

"Its okay," said my mother. "Michelle was just teasing you. But she does have to go now. Goodbye."

"I have to go too," said Bob as he got up from the table and scurried off into the crowded mall.

Mom giggled as Bob disappeared into the crowd. I, on the other hand, was close to tears. How could I have let my mother catch me talking to a boy like that? Gross!

He was kind of cute," said my mother as we walked toward the exit. "What's his name?"

"Bob," I said disgustedly.

"He seemed quite taken by you."

"Mom!"

"Its nothing to be ashamed of honey. You're a very attractive girl and you're going to get a lot of attention from boys when they see you."

"I'm not a girl. I'm just dressed like one."

Sensing my pain, Mom thought it best to walk the rest of the way to the car in silence.

After getting in the car, I strapped on my seat belt and stared out the window while Mom backed us out of the parking spot.

"Can we talk?" asked my mom as she pulled out of the lot and on to the main drive.

"About what?"

"About Bob and boys in general," said my mother.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay. I'll talk and you just sit there and listen."

I closed my eyes and sighed while shaking my head.

"I know you're upset and embarrassed now," said my mother. "But I saw your face when you were talking to him- before you saw me. You looked like you were having quite a good time. As a matter of fact, I think you were taken with him."

I told her I wasn't going to talk but I couldn't let her words pass without at least offering up an argument. "I'm not gay Mom."

"Of course not Michelle. You're a girl. And Bob is a boy. Girls like boys and boys like girls. Its not gay. Its the most natural thing in the world and you shouldn't be ashamed of your feelings."

The things she was saying made me sick to my stomach. But keep in mind I hadn't talked to a therapist yet, so I was very confused and tormented by my sexuality- whatever it was.

"I don't want to like boys," I said.

"Neither did I when I was your age, but I did and I do and from where I was standing , it looks like you do too, and there's nothing wrong with it Michelle. Its perfectly normal and natural for girls to like boys."

"But I'm a boy Mom."

"Trust me Michelle. You're no more of a boy than I am. And the sooner you stop kidding yourself about it, the happier you'll be."

"What are you talking about? How can you say that. You know I'm a boy!"

"I know you were born with a penis, but so were a lot of girls I read about. Don't you get it Michelle? You're transgendered. That's why you want to dress in women's clothes. And that's why you were flirting with that boy before I walked up."

"I wasn't flirting with him."

"I'm not going to argue with you about this Michelle. I know what I saw and I know what I know and so do you. The last thing I'm going to say about this for now is that its okay if you want to date boys. As a matter of fact, I think you should. I just want you to be safe about it."

"Safe?"

"Yes honey. Safe as in safe sex. Sooner or later you're going to find a boy that you like and you're going to want him to make love to you, and when that time comes you're going to need to practice safe sex- you know, with a condom. You do know about condoms, don't you?"

I turned away and looked out the window. "Yes Mom. We learned about it in school. By the way, I bought a bra at Victoria's Secret today."

We talked about my bra and the mall and the salon for the rest of trip home, but while we were talking about those things, I was thinking about boys and what my mom said about it being okay if I wanted to start dating them. Me- dating a boy. Me- being some boy's girlfriend. Me- having a boyfriend. I was simultaneously grossed out and excited by the idea of dating boys. It was the excited part that worried me.

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To Be Continued...