This chapter describes Mike's first day as a "public woman" even though he doesn't leave the house or see anyone other than his mom. Keep in mind, Mike has very troubling issues with his feelings for his mother, his sexuality, and his ideals concerning what is or isn't a real woman.   Mike versus Michelle: Part 8 Just Like Mom? By Sharon Parsons

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This chapter describes Mike's first day as a "public woman" even though he doesn't leave the house or see anyone other than his mom. Keep in mind, Mike has very troubling issues with his feelings for his mother, his sexuality, and his ideals concerning what is or isn't a real woman.

For those readers who are allergic to electronic second hand smoke, be warned that Mike does start smoking in this chapter. If you can get through those couple paragraphs you'll get to the part where Mike's mother realizes that getting a therapist for her son is a priority.

I woke up the next morning as Mike and found myself wearing a long silky nightgown with breast forms glued to my hairless chest.

Memories of the previous day floated past me- tickling, taunting, poking, and teasing.

What had I done? What was I about to do? Was I the luckiest boy in the world or was I the unluckiest?

My dreams seemed to be on the verge of becoming true. Or were they nightmares? Regardless, I was unrepentant. I got out of bed and looked at myself in the mirror and vowed to do something soon about my eyebrows. They weren't bad, but they could be much better- more like my mom's.

My mom. Today was the day I'd take two giant steps toward becoming like her. The excitement was too much for me, so I got back in my bed and played with myself until the excitement decayed into remorse.

Afterwards, I took a shower, knowing the excitement would come back full force as soon as my mother and I broached the subject of my starting to smoke like her.

The hot water felt good on my face and shoulders as I tried in earnest to wash myself away from Mike. I closed my eyes and imagined a future for Michelle, surrounded by the unidentified faces of her future husband and children.

I saw Michelle as a loving wife and mother, teaching her children right from wrong and supporting her husband as he provided for them. I envisioned Michelle at PTA meetings. I saw her sitting in a church with her family.

As the hot water rolled off my back, I saw Michelle looking into the eyes of her husband who is both familiar unrecognizable as he lights her cigarette. He tells Michelle how sexy and beautiful she looks as she exhales toward the ceiling away from his face. I see Michelle's children bickering over something trivial while her husband tells them to quiet down, and they do. I hear Michelle's husband tell her that he loves her.

I turned off the water and stepped onto the bath mat. I have a big day ahead of me. I try to leave Mike behind as I dress to meet my mother.

****

I found Mom downstairs in the kitchen, already dressed and on her third cup of coffee. A cigarette was burning between her fingers. My father and Tony were no where insight. I had woke up late and they had already started their days.

I made chit-chat with her as I poured a cup of coffee for myself and sat down beside her. I could tell by her expression that she was just as nervous as I was.

"Where do we start?" she asked as she ran her finger across the tan and white pack of Virginia Slims that sat in front of her.

I looked down at her cigarettes and then up at her. I could hear my voice tremble as I asked her to teach me how to smoke like her. I could see the pain in her eyes as she pushed the pack and lighter in my direction.

"Are you sure you really want to do this?" she asked as I removed a long white cigarette from the pack.

"I have to," I said. And that was true.

My mother smiled weakly snd said, "I know you do honey. I just hope for both our sakes that we can stop someday, before its too late."

I didn't want to stop because the only thing I could think about was starting, but I kept that thought to myself as Mom gave me some pointers.

"Suck in while I light it. You'll get some smoke in your mouth and it will probably taste terrible. Make sure not to get too much the first couple times you breath in, or it will hurt and make you cough."

I was so nervous and excited and turned on as I followed my mother's instructions. She was right about it tasting terrible. It was so bad that I blew out the first puff without inhaling.

Mom smiled and said it wasn't too late to back out.

I tried again and it was just as terrible but I managed to succeed. Both my pride and penis swelled as I admired the lipstick stained cigarette between my fingers. "I did it Mom! Did you see me? Did I do it right?"

"Yes honey. You did," she said sadly as she took a puff from her own cigarette and exhaled. "Is it like you thought it would be?"

I took another puff, this one was bigger than the one before it. I had to fight to keep from coughing it up. It was painful, but that that didn't keep me from trying it again and again as I talked to my mother.

"It looks so pretty but it tastes so gross and burns!"

"That's just your body trying to talk some sense into your brain. Unfortunately, I can promise that you'll start to enjoy it the longer you do it...and then, there'll come a time when you won't enjoy it any more, but quitting won't be as easy an option as it is today."

I heard what my mother said but I pushed it out of my mind. I was feeling too good about my self to ruin it by thinking reasonably or rationally. "Is it okay if I go look at my self in the mirror?"

"Be my guest," said Mom.

I got up from the table and hurried off to the powder room. I raised the cigarette to my cheek and cocked my wrist in a feminine position. I liked what I saw and followed it up by taking a puff. It was bad and good at the same time, just like me.

This changes everything, I thought as continued smoking in front of the mirror. For the first time in my life I felt important and powerful. I felt alive and oh so feminine!

The cigarette between my finger was spent, so I went back to the kitchen and put it out in the ashtray. "Can I have a pack to put in my purse?"

"My carton is in the cupboard. Help your self," said my mother. "And you'll need a lighter. They're in the drawer where I keep the knives."

I felt larger than life as I put my first pack of female cigarettes into my big female purse. This is what it feels like to be a real woman, I thought as I stared at the top of the pack peeking at me from my open purse.

"Maybe for your birthday, if you're still smoking, we can get you a nice leather cigarette case like mine," said my mother.

"Oh Mom! Can we? That would be so cool!"

She smiled warmly for the first time since my adventure with smoking began. "I'm sorry you're doing this, and I wish you'd change your mind about it, but I can see how happy and excited you are."

"I am Mom. I'm real happy. This is such a dream come true for me to be here with you like this."

"Well I don't want to rain on your parade, but there's a few things we should discuss."

"You mean like rules?"

"I wouldn't exactly call them rules, but they are expectations. Your father and I expect you to be responsible with your cigarettes. No one wants a fire unless its in the fire place."

"I'll be careful."

"You also need to be thoughtful of Tony. He's impressionable. I'm not saying you can't enjoy your habit, but don't do anything that will tempt him to start when he gets older. The same goes with your friends. Do any of them smoke?"

"Cam and Frank? No way."

"Then lets keep it that way. Have you thought about how you're going to tell them about what's going on with you?"

"Not really. I mean I've thought about it, but I haven't really thought of anything."

"I've been thinking about it too and I don't think there's going to be any easy way to do it. I think you should know, there's a good chance you could lose them over this."

"I think I kind of knew that before I did this," I said as I took a cigarette from my mom's open pack and lit it with her lighter. I wondered if I looked more intellectual holding a cigarette. I also wondered what Frank and Cam would think when they saw me smoking. But who I was kidding? Smoking was small potatoes to compared to everything else.

"You know," said my mother as she followed my lead and lit another cigarette for her self, "there's also the possibility that Frank or Cam, or maybe even both of them, might develop a crush on you. Have you stopped to consider that possibility?"

"Gross! Frank and Cam!" No, I hadn't stopped to consider that possibility because I wouldn't have slowed down long enough to think about it in the first place. I told my mom I didn't like boys.

Mom seemed surprised. "But I thought when you were trying on my wedding dress you said you thought about getting married some day- to a man."

I had said that, but for life of me, I wasn't sure why I had said it. "I know I did, but I don't feel like that now."

"So are you saying you like girls? Because if you are, then thats okay too. But if you're going to start taking hormones, you won't be able to be a father."

"I know that mom, but I just don't know what I think. I just know I want to be a woman like you, and do it all the time, and never be a boy again."

"I know you want to be like me, but I'm married to your father, and he's a man. I'm not trying to give you a hard time about this Michelle. I'm just trying to understand you, and for a while I thought I did. But now I'm not so sure."

We sat in silence as we finished our cigarettes, each thinking of what to say next. Like it or not, Mom had touched on a sensitive subject for me- my sexuality. There were things I thought about that I never wanted to admit to anyone- especially my mom and certainly not my Dad.

I wanted to think of myself as a woman, but I didn't want to think of myself as being gay. The truth of the matter was, ever since I put on my mother's wedding dress, I had been thinking about guys more and more often and it just plain bothered me because it didn't seem right. Underneath my dress, I was still a boy.

Finally my mother spoke. "I'm sorry honey. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay. I know you didn't. Its just so weird and gross to think about it, you know, me being with another guy."

"If you really loved the guy, then it wouldn't be weird or gross. If you really loved him, it would be like it is with your father and I."

I was suddenly feeling sick to my stomach and naturally I blamed it on the cigarettes. "I think about it sometimes," I said as I stubbed out my cigarette. "You know, what it would be like to be with a guy and do things with him."

"And does it make you happy when you think about it," asked my mother cautiously.

"I'm not sure, because when I think about it, I pretend I'm like a real woman, because if I was, it wouldn't be like I was gay and I wouldn't be doing anything wrong."

"Would it help if I told you that I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay," asked my mother? "Besides, I know its expensive, but some day you might be able to afford corrective surgery. Would it make a difference in the way you feel if all your body parts were right?"

"It wouldn't matter. The guy would still know that I used to be a guy, so that would make one of us gay. And I don't want to be with a gay guy. I know that sounds like I'm a hypocrite and everything, but that's the way I feel."

"Okay then," said my mother calmly. "Maybe you're a straight girl and you're attracted to straight men. That's actually very normal."

"But I'm not a real girl Mom. Don't you get it? I'll never be a real woman like you no matter what I do. Its always going to be pretend, but it feels good. And that's why I got to keep doing it."

Mom laid her hand on mine and softly said, "Don't take this the wrong way Michelle, but we need to make an appointment for with a therapist that specializes in situations like this."

"But that's not going to change anything," I argued. "I don't want to be a boy. This is what I want," I said as I picked her pack of cigarettes up and held it in the air. "I want to be like you Mom. That's all I've ever wanted. I want to take the hormones so I can have real breasts like yours. I don't want to see a boy when I look in the mirror."

"I know that honey. And I know you need the hormones and we'll go to the drug store now and get them. But you still need to see a therapist."

"But what if I do and she says I shouldn't be a woman."

"I promise you that she won't say that Michelle. Your father and I both know that you need to be a woman. There's just no doubt in our mind about that. And you know it too. You need to see a therapist so she can help you feel good about being a woman. Does that make more sense when I say it like that?"

"It does," I said as I wiped a tear from my eye.