Skirt

“Who’s going Aisling’s way?” Bree said.

I was sore all over. I had finished six platforms. Rachel sucked Regular Dave’s dick. We were walking out of the back parking lot, through the door under the stage. Night had fallen, and it was somewhere around not too late.

“Where does she live?” Sarah asked.

Sarah had sex in the loft. “In Aurora, on Mississippi,” I said, “Near the light rail.” Everyone was splitting for cars. I texted my mom, but hadn’t heard back yet. I had expected to be really late, taking the train. Like a loser. Or maybe loser Aisling had died.

Rachel got down on her knees and sucked his dick.

“That’s me,” Autumn said. “Come meet Bruce.” I followed her to a… car. I’ve never know cars. I guess it was an SUV. It was big. Like, really big. And a very ugly color, somewhere between brown and gray. I got in the passenger side, feeling all the while like I should wait for permission, or for Autumn to open the door or something. But that was loser Aisling thinking. This Aisling didn’t wait for some fucker to open her door. She just got in some stranger’s car, and got taken home.

Sarah just unbuckled his pants. Just like that. Like she knew what she wanted to do. And how his pants worked.

Bruce reeked of hippy air freshener that I was certain would give me a headache. Autumn closed her door, rolled down her window, and before she even started it up, she lit a cigarette. “Hope you don’t mind, because I’m not gonna stop.”

“No, that’s fine.” With all the air freshener going on in there, I wasn’t going to smell when I got home.

Rachel on her knees, then coming back to the stage like nothing had happened.

Autumn pulled out of the parking lot, and I resisted the urge to give her directions. There was an uncomfortable silence, until I asked, “Was that… was that normal?”

“Oh, no. We only build new platforms every few years. Some stages keep using them until they fall apart, but Susan has high standards.”

That’s not what I—They all did that next to each other. I could still feel my damp panties, and I didn’t know what arousal smelled like, but I was pretty sure I smelled like it.

“Are you East or West of Chambers?”

All that sex, and they just did— “West.”

“I’m on the East. Do you have a first and second period?”

I haven’t even had my first—oh. “Yeah, I don’t have anything off until fifth.”

“Okay, I’ll be at your house at six thirty.”

“Oh, no, I’ll just take—” That was loser Aisling speaking. “Are you sure?”

“Just give me some gas money.” And then she talked all about tech. She’d worked fifteen shows, four at the school. She was a junior. She wanted to keep doing it, but not professionally. There weren’t a lot of jobs.

“Right. But the… the sex thing. Normal?”

“Oh. Oh yeah.” She gave me a wink. Loser Aisling would ask more questions. Cool Aisling would be cool, like that was cool.

“That’s cool.”

“What have you worked?”

That was it. I had to confess. I told her all the parts where I had never done this before.

“You’ll love it then. It’s just like playing with Lego. And working a show? That’s stress like you’ve never felt before. But it’s a hell of a rush.”

I pointed the way to my house, we were close at that point. She dropped me off at the driveway. I went inside, trying not to think about Rachel, and what Regular Dave’s dick was like, and what it tasted like, and her on her knees, and how it would feel in my throat… Then I realized what I was thinking, and scared myself more than any thought I had had until then.

I breezed in the front door like nothing had happened to me, to find my mother sitting on the couch, reading a thick book. She looked up as I came in, “You’re home late.” It wasn’t an accusation. Instead an invitation to tell her more.

I came over to the couch, and laid my backpack down in my chair. It was a deep armchair, not a recliner, just a comfy chair. My mom had the couch, I had the chair. I didn’t sit in the chair now because I knew if I sat down I wouldn’t get up. “I think I made some friends.” Or something.

She looked at me over her glasses. I don’t know where she learned it, but when she looked at me like I should talk, I just wanted to talk to her. It was weird. But with being a girl, it seemed like we had more to talk about.

Still, what I was about to ask was both emasculating and em-adulting. I was 14, and I wanted independence, and now I was going to have to compromise that. And I was still a boy, and… “Can you take—can we go—shopping?”

She put her book down, and untucked her feet into a pair of crocs. God love her, but she was so lame. “Sure, it’s late, but I’m sure some things are open. What do you need?”

To stop thinking about sex, and other people having sex, and how badly I want sex. Then my stomach reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch, 20 million years ago. “Something to eat for a start.”

“How does Panda Express sound?”

“What kind of shoes do you want?” Mom asked. We were standing in the aisle of a… some shoe store in the mall. It was like a shoe store. Smelled like leather. Benches with foot measures, and mirrors. A stock in the thousands, and they don’t have the shoes you want in your size.

I didn’t have to give it a lot of thought, “Something with steel toes.” One day of doing stage construction, and I knew how important that was without having been told. When you’re lifting a platform up, or putting it down, easiest thing to do is set it on the toe of your boot. I toughed it out for one day in my sneakers, I wouldn’t be able to do it for two.

We went down the aisle. The store was local owned and high quality, that’s why my mom liked it. They had Birkenstocks. Mom loved Birkenstocks, but she never bought them. She didn’t have to. She still had the pair she bought before I was born.

She found a store lady, with a name tag and a vest, to ask, “What are the best work boots you carry?”

The lady wasted no time taking us to the work boots section, which was filled with work boots. Then she took us all the way down to the last five feet of the aisle, where the womens work boots were. “We have CATs and we have Dickies, and we have a bunch of other brands I hate.” She picked up a pair, “What size are you.”

I saw an immediate, and limiting, problem, “I need them in black.”

The lady sucked her lip, “Well then we have these.” She picked up a pair, and “You look like a four but lets measure.”

I didn’t move. I was at war with myself. With my psyche. With my identity. With everything I thought I knew about myself. In a very small voice, barely squeaking it out, I said, “They’re… kind of ugly.” I tried to keep myself from blushing.

My mother gave me the strangest look, half surprise half understanding.

The store woman opened her mouth, about to tell me that ‘if this is the kind of boot you’re wearing, you’re going to be attracting women who don’t care about that.’ Then she caught to look mom gave her and thought better of it. Instead she thought about how she could keep us in her store, and her commission. “Oh! We just got something in. Measure your feet real quick.”

I already knew I was a four. But I took off my shoe to see my tiny girl feet again. Something about looking at them made me feel humiliated, and I did my best to stuff that feeling deeper inside. I put it on the cold metal tray, and slid the dial down.

“I was right,” Store woman said, “I’ll be right back.”

Mom didn’t say anything while she was gone, and I couldn’t help but be grateful.

Store woman, after far longer than we expected, was back. “It took my awhile to find your size, we just got these in. They haven’t been stocked yet.”

The side of the box said, Caterpillar Black Jace Waterproof Steel Toe. I expected her to pull out something terrible, and readied myself to just go with it. Instead she pulled out… “Perfect.” Shut up, Ash.

They were black. They had suede, and buckles. The were womanly. The had—gulp—not a heel precisely. Just kind of a larger ramp from the ball to the heel. More pronounced. I hadn’t resolved to never wear heels, at least not consciously. Looking at them now I internalized that vow, and then carefully put it aside. Maybe I could wear heels like this. Maybe… maybe I could wear heels a little taller than that?

Shut up Ash. I didn’t know what I was thinking, after a day of not knowing what I was doing. I was tired. My head was tired.

Following that train of thought was Rachel, getting down to the business of sucking cock, because she had said she would on a whim. Now is not the time to think about that. But my brain kept coming back to it.

I remembered at that moment that no one could see my erection. I didn’t keep trying to stop myself from thinking it. But thinking it suddenly felt safer.

What does precum taste like?

Not much safer.

I left the shop, wearing the boots out, with mom. She didn’t look at me as we walked, but I could tell I had all of her focus.

“So. Do you want to buy some new clothes?” She asked.

The first time she asked was when I found out that boys inseam didn’t work with my body anymore. That was a week ago. I looked at my reflection in the shop windows as we walked past. Lengthening hair, girls jeans, t-shirt, freckles. “Okay,” I said, as quiet as I could and still be heard.

“Do you want to… look more like…?”

“I said okay, mom.” I saw the look on her face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Where do we go to buy… that kind of stuff?”

“Well I’m not taking you into Victoria Secret, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“MoOOOm!”

She just laughed. “Let’s just go easy and try Pac Sun.”

We walked in, and past the, mannequins. I began to understand all that stuff about body image everyone keeps talking about. These mannequins didn’t look anything like me. I know they were wooden and (generally) andro, but…

They were all so tall. And elegant. And just wrong. Weird necks, weird calves.

That wasn’t it, of course. I was dissembling to myself. It was their tits. Conical, and pointy, and way too far apart. It was like their clothes had no impact on the shape of their bodies. My boobs were constantly getting mashed into bras and strangled in t-shirts. I didn’t know a lot about breasts but I assumed mine were perky. They looked perky to me. But when I took off my bra, gravity still took over. These mannequins didn’t have to worry about gravity.

My mom caught my eye and gave me that look again.

“I just… now that I see it, I don’t think these things look anything like a real woman.”

“Of course not, honey. No one would buy the clothes if they did.” I followed her deeper into the store, “Just what are you looking for?”

“I think I need black.”

“Oh honey, you’re not going goth, are you?”

I looked around me, “This isn’t Hot Topic?”

“Clever girl.”

I blushed are the pronoun. It definitely wasn’t hot topic in here. The walls weren’t painted black, and they weren’t blaring god-awful music, but there more subtle indicators. Brown wood motif with soft low hanging lights. Those round little clothing racks. The ones that were so fun to hide inside when you were little and could fit.

Mom was going around and brushing hangers aside, humming softly to herself. I couldn’t remember the last time we had gone somewhere to hang out. Not that I wanted to hang out with my mom.

I was lying to myself. This was nice.

She looked at me over the rims of her glasses again, “Do you want me too just pick out some stuff?”

“Yea—no. I’m a big boy, I can shop for clothes.”

“Alright.”

I picked through the rack, quickly realizing that I had no idea what would look good on me. All that practice with mirrors had helped, but my face and my body were still new. I didn’t know what girls wore. They just showed up in school in clothes that would give you a boner in math class. Beyond that the process was a mystery.

My mother continued to watch me. “How ‘bout some help?”

Oh, thank god. “Sure.”

She “helped” me, by picking out pants and watching my face. Occasionally she would hit on one that I knew was hideous, but other than that I didn’t ca— “Wait, go back. No, not those, back further.” I pulled a pair of jeans off the rack. Black, yes. Stylish? Perhaps. But something about them said, ‘you should wear me. I’ll look good with you inside me.’

Big Davey was inside Sarah. He could be inside y—Holy Christ, I’m loosing it. Had to stay focused. If anything, I was a lesbian. Rachel’s underwear rode out of her pants as she knelt down, hot ass resting on her heels. That was almost better. Only a few seconds after I started that line of thought, I could feel bullet nipples again. On the plus side of the negative side, I wasn’t in a shop, with my mother, and an erection.

I managed to pull myself back to the present, where I was looking at the jeans.

“Okay, now I know what you like,” mom said, and started going through the rack again.

“Let me see them on you,” mom said, as I went for the changing rooms with four pairs of pants and five tops, in various styles and color.

The changing rooms were just off to the side of the shop. Not even in one of those little hallways, like a target. No room to psych myself up for what was to come, out of my mothers sight. With confidence I didn’t feel, I opened the door and breezed inside.

Okay, lets start this. First order of business, shoes off. I sat on the little bench, undid the buckles, and wiggled my toes. Cant wiggle your toes inside steal toe boots. I put my feet flat on the floor and stared at them for a bit. Feet like this I would expect to have painted toenails. I’m like this forever now. It’s forever until I can get the hormones and halt all this puberty. But my feet would still be the same. I brought my gaze up, past the pretty girl in the mirror, to the pants I’d hung on the hook. The big tag said that they were low-rise, boyfriend, jeans. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what they would look like on me. I didn’t know what I was doing here. I didn’t know what I was.

“You’re a techie now.” I heard Regular Dave’s voice in my head. Okay, well techies wear black jeans, when they weren’t wearing black army pants. And (former) boy or not, I couldn’t bring myself to wear army pants.

I stood and robotically took my pants off. The familiar feeling of vulnerability followed them onto the floor. I was naked in public. It was amplified by the fact that I had a girls body. And a girls pussy. There it was behind the panties in the mirror. This is a bad time to touch yourself. Right? That in itself was enough to send me scrambling into the pants.

Hm. Well okay, this is what boyfriend pants are like. For a start, the cuffs were rolled up. They came that way. I think they were supposed to stay that way.

There were shirts—no, just ‘tops’ in here. I found myself going through them, and deciding on something yellow with stripes. Problem.

“Let me see,” mom called. I don’t know how she knew I had an outfit on.

Dressed now I could feel okay about opening the door and going out into the store.

But I couldn’t stop myself from tugging on my shirt as she looked at me.

“Turn around.”

I stumped my way around, refusing to turn like a girl.

“You look nice.”

“The shirt squeezes my boobs. I don’t like it.” I was lying. It made them look huge. Way above the C cups. I don’t know why that made me feel proud, and I decided not to read anything into it.

“Well you look nice, but you can try something looser.”

“I think I’ll go with it.” Oh shit. Did I just agree too fast?

“Okay, honey.”

In the end I left the dressing room with three tops and two jeans.

And then I saw it, and my heart stopped. My mother followed my gaze, and said nothing in that way she did. I made my way, trepidatious and with care across the store. It was faux leather. It had a zipper. The hem was different lengths. I fingered the fabric for a moment. Then I gave in, and took it off the hanger and into the changing room with me.

After staring at myself for several minutes, I heard my mother ask again, “Can I see?”

I came out of the changing room, looking down. Not ashamed exactly. Just… like a stranger in my own head.

My mother raised her eyebrows as she looked at me, “Daring. Do you want it.”

I sucked on my lips, and nodded my head slowly without making eye contact.

“Okay honey. You can have the skirt too.”