Pigtails Are For Girls — Part 12
Chapters 25-26 
 
By Katherine Day
 
As his mother’s ambivalence continues, Jarod remains a boy even as Jane’s modeling career takes on mythic proportions,
forcing this lovely teenager to live a double life with all its complications.

Copyright 2009
Chapter 25: A Double Life

Claudine’s Apparels’ “Pigtails Are for Girls” campaign captured the attention of teen girls throughout southeast Wisconsin by mid-March after their advertisements, featuring an unnamed lovely teen model began appearing in newspaper supplements and on several internet sites.

“We’re seeking to draw out the sweet young girl in all teens,” said Stephanie Johansson, who had become the store’s spokesperson for the style campaign.

She was quoted extensively in a feature story in the Milwaukee newspaper’s Style section, which showed photographs of Jarod posing in various dresses, shorts and tops, all accentuating styles more associated with 12-year-old girls, rather than 15 and 16-year-olds.

“We’re not sure why this ‘pigtail’ idea has resonated so well with the girls,” Stephanie was quoted as saying. “Usually teenage girls want to look older, but for some reason it has taken on a life of its own.”

Claudine’s had contracted with a local dress manufacturer to produce the new style of youthful girls’ clothing; the order actually saved the manufacturer (one of the last remaining in Milwaukee which had once been a leader in women’s clothing manufacturing) from bankruptcy.

Claudine’s found that most of their models, who were 17 and 18 years old, weren’t suited for the campaign, and had recruited an slender, tiny mixed race dark skinned girl to join in the campaign. Her name was Ania, also 14 years old, who truly looked to be 2 or 3 years younger.

Ania was shy and always accompanied by her mother, a small, wizened woman who was Hmong in origin. Apparently, Ania’s father was mixed Hispanic and African-American, giving Ania perfectly lovely skin, dancing black eyes and a fragile build.

Jarod was known only as Jane by everyone at the photo shoots. Only Sylvia the photographer and Stephanie knew that he was actually Jarod, a boy.

He shared the dressing rooms with the other models, using the women’s bathrooms and thankful that the restrooms all had partitioned commodes, affording him protection from peering eyes who might notice his penis. He was constantly in fear the penis (though small by comparison with most boys his age) would grow erect and pop through his panties at the wrong moment.

Ania and he formed a common bond, though they rarely spoke. Jarod had become a support agent for Ania, who seemed to move about in a fog of mystery as to what was going on. Jarod soon found himself helping Ania with putting her hair in pigtails, while the other girl helped manicure his nails. He learned that Ania was already working in her mother’s nail salon in Milwaukee. They were called the “pigtail girls” by Sylvia and Stephanie, but some of the other models, jealous of the sudden popularity of the pigtail campaign, called them “piggie whores.”

Jarod was nearly brought to tears one day when two of the older models began harassing him and Ania, claiming they were lesbians and began speculating loudly whether they were sleeping with Sylvia, the rather manly photographer, or Stephanie, the youngish, lank-haired art director.

“Don’t bother with them,” suggested Heather, a tall blonde model who had befriended Jarod from the beginning. “They’re just jealous.”

Jarod soon learned that modeling clothes was hard work. Not only were the photo shoots demanding, often requiring standing in awkward poses for minutes on end, but the preparation for each shoot meant hours of applying makeup, reapplying it for a different pose, making sure you ate the proper food, since zits were so common among 14-year-old girls. The shoots were done for several nights in a row about once a month; sometimes they were done more often.

It also meant some creative scheduling by Jarod’s mother to assure that he’d get to Milwaukee for the shoots; since most of the work was done over winter, some of the drives were done on snow and ice, so typical of that part of the country.

“Oh mommy,” Jarod said one night as they headed on a icy highway in the late afternoon winter darkness, “You’re so nice to do this. I love you.”

“It’s OK, darling,” she said.

Nancy told Jarod they were being paid well for the modeling and that she was setting up a college fund with the money.

“Why don’t you use some of this money for yourself, mommy?” he had asked.

“Oh Jane, this is for your college, dear.”

On these trips to modeling sessions, Jarod also assumed his feminine role, speaking in a soft, fairly high voice and calling his mother a girlish “mommy.” His mother in turn recognized her child beside her as “Jane,” a fact that made these sometimes-difficult trips to Milwaukee most enjoyable.

Jarod was asked to participate in a television report about the “pigtail craze” that had been drawing so much attention. He and Ania reported to the Milwaukee studio with Stephanie and Jacques Marcineau, the store manager, for a brief showing and walks down a small runway in the studio.

Stephanie and Jacques were interviewed by the television reporter while the camera focused on the several dresses modeled by Jarod and Ania.

“Do you think the success of this campaign came partly due to the attractiveness of your models, particularly the taller model?” the reporter asked.

“I must confess her little girl charm may have been a factor. She really captured the feeling, I think. And the other girl has a sweetness that is so compelling, too.”

The comments came from Jacques and it was for Stephanie to add another point:

“The tall girl also has designed some of these outfits. She’s an excellent seamstress and designer.”

“And she’s only 14 and still in school?” the reporter asked.

“Yes, she’s been designing clothes since about age 10.”

When the reporter asked where the two “girls” went to school, Jacques replied that the identities of the two models would be kept secret, since they were minors and still in school.

By April, the campaign truly took off, with reports on the nightly news about the “pigtail craze” sweeping the country.

*****
“Is every girl in school going to be in pigtails soon?” lamented Demetrius one day at lunch.

“What’s wrong with pigtails?” asked Latoya, who had squeezed herself about as close to the boy as possible without being seated in his lap.

“You better not wear them,” he said, a half-smile in his face.

“I did when I was 12,” she said, winking at Jarod, seated across the table, next to Marquise with whom he had become a fairly constant companion.

Jarod sat quietly, trying to hold back blushes that he felt were certainly coming. The speed with which the pigtail fetish had grown was astonishing, and it seemed virtually every girl at Roosevelt High was wearing hair that way, even many African-American girls.

“They make the girls look like they’re 12,” Demetrius said, scornfully.

“I think they’re kinda cute,” countered Marquise.

Though she rarely spoke, Aniesha entered the discussion. Fingering her own dreadlocks, she said: “I like them, too, but are they right for us black girls?”

“Why not?” Marquise asked.

“Well, really dreadlocks are more African-American,” Aneisha said. Aneisha was Marquise’s cousin.

“What do you think about these pigtails, Jarod?” Latoya asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “It’s up to the girl.”

“Do you think boys should wear them, too?” Latoya persisted. “How about you Jarod? Your hair is long enough. You wear a ponytail lots. Why not pigtails?”

Jarod said nothing, not willing to rise to her bait. She was teasing, he knew, and would never blow his “cover” and reveal he was the “girl” in the ponytail ads.

Marquise looked at Jarod. “Boy, if he wore pigtails, he’d really look like a girl.”

The whole table laughed, even Jarod, realizing the irony of the remark. Just then the warning bell rang and they got up to get to after lunch classes. Marquise nodded to Jarod, saying he’d see him at the literary magazine committee meeting after school.

As they were about to part, Marquise grabbed Jarod’s arm, saying: “I’m sorry about that remark, but it just seemed funny to me.”

“It’s OK,” Jarod said.

“Hope we’re still friends,” the older boy said.

Jarod nodded, secretly thinking how sweet it would be if he indeed were a girl and Marquise was courting him. He knew he’d wear pigtails to please Marquise. That is, if he were a girl.

*****
Jarod rarely met up with Terrence, his onetime partner in crossdressing, during the 9th Grade. Their paths didn’t seem to meet during the school day and they had different lunch hour periods. Nonetheless, Jarod thought about the other boy often, remembering the joy they had in dressing as girls. In their prepubescent years, both had the sweet high voices of boy sopranos; their bodies were soft and white and fit so easily into the girl’s clothes they both wore. They both loved to prance about girlishly, waving their arms and flicking their hair. Jarod most often reflected on Terrence in bed at night, his penis growing hard and excited as he reflected their kisses, the full lips of the other boy and his somewhat sour body smell that was so intoxicating. Jarod believed he would always remember those times. Mostly he could not forget how sweet it was to cuddle with Terrence, how he enjoyed cupping the other boys fleshy breasts, bringing them together so that there was a cleavage.

He remembered that one time they cuddled like that, naked except for panties on Terrence’s bed while his mother was gone. Jarod wondered if they could ever be together again.

When they dressed as girls, they both agreed that they looked totally like girls. Terrrence was able to create a cleavage with the help of a bra he stole from his sister. His body was pear-shaped with narrow shoulders and soft fleshy arms, and Jarod remembers Terrence dressed in a peach colored summer print dress with puffy sleeves and a flared bottom that exposed pudgy thighs.

“What do you think, Jarod?” the other boy asked that day, making a turn.

“”You’re a girl. That’s what I see.”

“A fat girl, right?” The boy giggled.

“I guess, but a very pretty girl, too.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

Jarod by then had put on a skirt and blouse, also provided by Terrence’s sister. They were a bit too big, but with a few tucks they fitted him fine.

“You’re the only friend I have, Jarod,” the chubby boy said.

“Oh, you’ll have friends some day, once people get to know you.”

“Nobody loves a fat boy like me, who’s so weak,” the other boy said that day, beginning to cry.

“You’ll have people to love you,” Jarod assured him, but the words didn’t help, and the other boy began crying as the two lay together, sobbing into Jarod’s chest. They laid there for a long time, before realizing that his mother would soon be home, and they had better return to their boy clothes.

Terrence’s sister, Melissa, had encouraged their brief time as crossdressing partners but it ended when Terrence’s stepfather insisted the chubby, unathletic boy become “a real boy” and join the football team.

Terri (that was Terrence’s girl’s name and the way Jarod like to picture him) had gone out for freshman football and made the team. He worked out and became stronger, but never was a particularly good player. He lost only a little weight, and in spite of lifting weights and football workouts, still looked cherubic and soft.

“I hate that football stuff,” he complained to Jarod one day in school. “I’m glad we have only one game left.”

“You’re looking good, Terri,” Jarod said.

“Thanks, and I still think I’d look good in a dress, too,” he said with a smile. They were speaking in low tones and standing near the school entrance in the morning, just before school was to start.

“Both of us do,” Jarod giggled.

“Maybe someday, we can be girls again,” the boy said.

*****
Jarod’s friendship with Marquise blossomed as the two had worked together, editing and getting out the first semester’s issue of Odyssey, the literary magazine, assisted by the two girl staffers.

They spent much of the Thanksgiving weekend together working over Jarod’s mother’s computer, assembling the articles and designing the pages of the 16-page magazine.

“Wow, you’re good at that computer, Jarod,” Marquise said on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving.

“It’s kinda fun designing the layout,” Jarod said. He had learned a graphics program by himself, having used it to design dresses and skirts; now he put those skills together in adding graphics to the magazine.

It was Marquise’s imagination, however, that gave life and exuberance to the project. He had a dry humor that found its way into headline writing and little comments that made for filler as blank spots developed in the layout. Together, the two boys did some cartoons, with Marquise thinking up the theme and blurb and Jarod doing the graphics.

Jarod’s mother cleared a space in the dining room for the editorial staff of the magazine; her computer was in a corner of the room. The two girls sat at one end of the dining room table, reading proof and rewriting some of the stories.

There were giggles, coupled with some brief arguments over layout or wording. Mostly the four worked for several hours, broken only when Jarod’s mother served them lunch, mainly homemade sub sandwiches and soup.

The two girls left first, leaving Jarod and Marquise alone. The two boys played a computer game for a while before retiring to the kitchen for cocoa.

“You have your own room, Jarod?” Marquise asked.

“Yes, but it’s all dirty now.”

“Oh, I just thought we could hang out a bit.”

“Oh my mom would kill me if she let you see it.”

Jarod’s mother who was standing at the kitchen sink, nodded in agreement, adding: “I’ll see he cleans it tonight so if you’re over tomorrow you two boys can hang out there if you’d like.”

“Ok, Mrs. Pinkerton,” Marquise said, calling her “missus” even though Jarod’s mother had never been married in order to use the title. “We have some work left to do, and I’ll be over tomorrow for a while, if that’s OK.”

Jarod felt relief that his mother went along with his lie. In truth, his room was immaculate, but it was also pink and frilly, with several dolls lining the book shelves.

That night, he and his mother “boyified” the room, replacing the frilly duvet with the Green Bay Packer spread, tacking up some Milwaukee Brewer pennants and hiding the dolls and other dainty accoutrements in the closet. Even though the curtains were pink and frilly, they remained, since the other “boy” stuff seemed to provide a masculine enough theme.

“You’re like a spy, darling, leading a double life,” his mother said when they finished.

“I know, and I hate lying to people.”

*****
As the “pigtail campaign” gained steam that spring, the photo shoots took on more urgency, requiring full days of work. A few additional sessions were scheduled on Saturdays to accommodate the girls who modeled so as to not interrupt their schooling. Jacques Marcineau explained to Nancy at the last photo shoot in early March that the campaign had become so popular that it would require more hours of modeling for Jane.

“Jacques, I’m not sure I want Jane to be doing so much of this,” she said. She and Jacques had left the studio to have a quick lunch at the food court, leaving Jarod in the hands of Sylvia and Steph.

Jacques invited her to join him for lunch, and Nancy had agreed, realizing that both Sylvia and Steph had been most professional in dealing with Jarod. There was no reason for Nancy to be ‘babysitting” the shoots as she had at the beginning.

“Why is that, Nancy?” he said. “You know we’ll be paying more for Jane’s services, not only for more hours, but at a higher rate.”

“Yes, I know, but I’m just so afraid of pushing her into girlhood so soon, Jacques,” she said.

“I understand, but she’s so talented, Nancy, and so truly feminine, it’s a shame to hold her back now,” he said.

Nancy pondered the sub sandwich she had in her hand. “Oh Jacques. I don’t know what I’m going to do. She’s so happy to be Jane, but I’m so worried for her.”

Jacques reached over and touched Nancy’s hand. “Jane’s an intelligent girl, and I think she’ll do OK.”

“Oh Jacques, I know, but please don’t push this too fast. Jane’s gotta have a chance to grow into this.”

“I won’t dear,” he said.

“I knew you’d understand,” she said, suddenly taken aback by his use of “dear” in addressing her.

Nancy realized now that she was blushing, and that Jacques still had his hand on top of hers. The hand felt warm and comforting, and she at once felt both a sense of peace and excitement. The man sitting opposite her in the chaos of a major shopping mall food court seemed to offer protection and adventure at the same time.

“You need to think about yourself more, Nancy,” the man’s voice said, gently. “Your whole existence seems to be centered around your beautiful child.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, but you’re beautiful yourself, my dear,” he said, not answering her question.

“Jacques, don’t be silly,” she said, pulling her hand out from under his. “Hardly pretty and too fat.”

Jacques laughed out loud. “You won’t take the word of an expert? Are you questioning my judgment as a beauty expert? A man who has judged many, many beauty contests?”

“Maybe you need your eyes examined,” she said, getting into the spirit of the banter.

“No, seriously, Nancy, my dear, you have lovely facial features, warm eyes, a pert nose. And, yes, you don’t have a model’s figure like your daughter, but you have perfect dimensions and balance. And, you too could model clothes.”

Nancy considered his comments; Jarod had told her the same thing, and that had been echoed by both her neighbors, Amy and Helen. They had both raised questions about why she never went out on dates, but she always passed it off as being too busy caring for Jarod or with her own teaching schedule.

“Well, Jarod’s old enough to stay home alone now, Nancy. Go out and have fun,” Helen told her just a few days earlier, when she had said she thought Jacques had taken a fancy to her.

Jacques informed her that he was divorced, shared joint custody of a son, who was a senior in an expensive academy in Milwaukee and was aiming for a scholarship at the University of Chicago.

“Nancy,” he said, his voice now more serious and tentative, “I have tickets to a play at the Reportory Theater Saturday night, and I am hoping you’d accompany me.”

“Me? With you? To a play?”

“Yes, Nancy,” he smiled. “Would you be my date?”

She was shocked. Why would this handsome successful man want to ask her out on a date? He was maybe ten years older and so smart.

“Oh my.”

“Don’t you like plays? They’re doing ‘Death of a Salesman.’ It’s kinda depressing, I guess, but it’s a good play.”

“Oh, Jacques, you’re so kind. I love plays. I teach English, you know, and I know about ‘Death of a Salesman.’”

He smiled: “Then you’ll go, right?”

Nancy was both excited and scared. She had not been on a date with a man since high school, her life being consumed with raising Jarod, earning a living and keeping a house.

“I guess it’s a ‘yes,’” she said. “But, what’ll I wear?

“Why not ask your daughter? She’s an expert in women’s wear,” he said.

“Yes, she is! Jane’s been telling me how to dress for about three years now.”

“Then it’s settled for Saturday night,” he said. “Only, don’t let Jane talk you into wearing pigtails.”

“Don’t worry, Jacques,” she said and they both laughed.

*****
“Mom, you’re going out with Monsieur Marcineau? How marvelous!”

“Yes, honey, but don’t make too much of a fuss about it,” she said. “It’s just to go to a play.”

“But a date, mom! That’s so cool. I can’t wait until a boy asks me out.”

“Jarod,” she said firmly. “Let’s have no talk like that. You’re still a boy and you’re still only 14.”

“Aw, mom, I know, but what are you going to wear?”

“Jacques said you’re to help me find the right dress,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be fancy, but I would so like to look pretty for him.”

“And we’ll have to fix your hair, too,” he said, going over to her, and running his hands through her short brown hair.

“And I need to lose 10 pounds in two days, too,” she said.

“No, mom, you don’t.”

They decided that on Thursday night they’d drive to the Douglas Mall, where they felt Penney’s might have something for her.

“Mom, some of the girls were saying that they thought Marcineau was gay,” he said as they drove to the mall that night.

“Why would they say that? He’s a perfectly nice looking man. And quite masculine, too.”

“Well, mom,” he said with some hesitation. “They said he’s never hit on any of the models, never. And most of them get hit on all the time.”

“Darling, they’re still teenagers and he’s in his 40s,” she said. “And besides he doesn’t want to mix business with his love life, I guess.”

“I suppose, but isn’t he mixing business with his dating life in asking you out, because you’re my mother?”

“No honey, I don’t think that’s the same.”

For the shopping trip, Jarod dressed as a boy, being unsuccessful in pleading with his mother to go dressed as Jane. “We’re shopping in our own town, Jarod, you know that, and you can’t go out as Jane in Douglas. Chances are we’ll meet somebody we know.”

Jarod therefore dressed in dark slacks, light-colored running shoes, and turquoise blouse, covered by a light blue hoodie. He left his hair untied, flowing freely, requiring him to flick his hair regularly.

“Your daughter has good taste,” a young, stylishly dressed clerk said, as Jarod had pointed out a purplish pleated dress with a v-neckline.

“You mean my son,” his mother responded tersely.

The clerk who may have been in early 20s studied Jarod a bit closely, and said quickly, “Oh yes, your son. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok, he should get a haircut,” she said in explanation.

The clerk reddened. Jarod nodded to her, saying to her after a moment’s awkwardness: “You have a lovely dress on, miss.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I got it here, and it wasn’t expensive.”

“Your store has nice clothes for good prices,” Jarod said.

“You know about such things, young man?” The clerk had a rather plain face and wore little makeup, but she had a healthy figure, well-proportioned. It fit neatly into the black dress she wore, which had a square bodice that hinted at a generous bosom.

“A little, I guess,” he replied.

His mother’s patience finally grew thin. “Let’s see how that dress fits on me.”

They ended up buying the dress, which had been on sale, and as they left, Jarod walked off with a little sashay. He noticed the clerk began whispering to a co-worker, nodding in the direction of he and his mother. He knew exactly what they were saying, and he realized he didn’t mind the attention at all. He gave a little girlish flick of his wrist as if to acknowledge their obvious talk about such a “girly boy.”

*****
Jarod wondered how long he’d be able to keep his secret from people in the school; so far, the knowledge that he was dressing and living as “Jane” part of the time was known only by Wanda and her mother, Helen Highsmith; Amy who occupied the other unit in their duplex; and Latoya. So far, they had kept the secret.

Now, with his modeling at Claudine’s, the circle of people who knew Jane is still Jarod in gender had expanded to Jacques Marcineau, Stephanie Johansson, the store’s art director, Sylvia, the photographer, and the clerk who first discovered Jarod’s modeling potential. Then, there was the fact that Jane’s photos were appearing almost daily in the newspaper advertisements of Claudine’s, some television spots and on Internet ads.

The modeling photos had attracted unusual attention of the public. Jarod was sitting at the local fast food place with Wanda one afternoon, when a pair of older ladies, looking at the newspaper, began “oohing” and “ahing” over the Claudine’s advertising section.

“That girl in the pigtail ads, isn’t she just the cutest thing?” one said.

“She’s such a little darling,” the other agreed.

“No wonder the pigtail craze has taken off,” said the first woman. “Look around, there’s several girls here with pigtails.”

“Yes, we never used to see them.”

One of the women looked directly at Jarod, who was sitting in the next booth with Wanda. The look turned into a brief stare, and ended as the woman shook her head, as if to indicate: “No, that can’t be here. That’s a boy.”

Jarod didn’t know what the woman thought, of course, but inferred that she may have made the connection. Of course she didn’t, he knew. Yet, the popularity of the ad campaign put Jarod into constant fear that some people, most seriously his classmates, would soon realize that the “pigtail girl” was this effeminate boy in their class.

Wanda laughed, “See, how hot you are.”

“Oh Wanda, please don’t.”

“Don’t you like modeling?”

“It’s hard work, Wanda, but the money’s so good.”

“As the woman said, you are the most darling of girls, Jane. You really look like a cute 12 year old girl.”

“Oh, sometimes I feel that way, too.”

“It’s getting hard to keep your secret, Jane. I so want to tell everyone you’re the cute ‘pigtail girl.’”

“Oh, don’t. Don’t”

“I won’t, you know that.”

Jarod sipped on his chocolate shake, finally melting enough so it will come through the straw. He nodded in agreement with Wanda’s statement, knowing he could trust her loyalty.

“You’re really so much a girl, Jane, that I don’t know why your mom won’t realize it and let you go fulltime.”

Jarod felt tears welling in his eyes. “I know, I want it so bad, but it’s for my own good, she says.”

Wanda looked quizzically, not saying anything.

“Yes, she’s afraid what’ll happen at school if I try to be girl fulltime,” he said.

“She’s probably right, but Jane, you’re all girl to me, you know.”

He reached across the table, taking his friend’s large hands in his, smiling and nodding in agreement. He knew Wanda was right: He was a girl, but was it time to let everyone else know that, too. He feared he was in agreement with his mother: It was best to wait a bit longer. Yet, would his secret other life soon become common knowledge. If so, how would he handle it?

*****
“Jarod,” Marquise said to him at lunch one day in early April. “We’re close to deadline on the literary mag. Can you work today?”

Jarod hesitated to answer. He was scheduled that evening to do an important modeling session, to complete work on a quick ad campaign. “Oh no, Marquise. I have to go to Milwaukee this afternoon with my mom.”

“Oh,” he said, his face getting a questioning look. “You seem to be going up there a lot these days. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, then why are you going? We really need to get to work on the mag. I need you there Jarod. Those girls don’t know anything.”

“Well, it’s something, and it’s with my mom.”

Latoya, who was overhearing this conversation, interrupted. “Marquise, forget it, he just has to go with his mom. It’s a personal thing.”

Marquise looked at Jarod. “Are you all right?”

There was real concern in the boy’s face, but Jarod merely shook his head in a negative direction.

“That’s OK, if you’re seeing a doctor or something,” the African-American boy continued.

“No, I just have to go with mom. I’m sorry Marquise, but I can work tomorrow.”

“I guess that’ll have to do,” the boy said. He was clearly disappointed, and Jarod sensed his disappointment went far beyond the fact that they’d get further behind in their editing work. He sensed Marquise had developed an intense interest in him.

Chapter 26: A Modeling Career

The work on Odyssey grew more intense as the April deadline loomed, and Marquise and Jarod began spending more time together, particularly at the Pinkerton duplex, requiring Jarod to keep his room in its boyish style, complete with athletic pennants. Jarod’s despair at hiding his female identity from his friend heightened. He hated being deceptive and dishonest, but mostly he wished with all his heart that he could be the girl who would be wooed by the handsome young man.

The final touches on the magazine were done during the Easter vacation week, with the two boys spending several hours a day at the Pinkerton house, sometimes joined by Wanda after the editing work was done each day.

Nancy Pinkerton was surprised to see how innocently the three friends acted with each other; they laughed a lot, watched a little television and even involved her in their games of Scrabble. She, of course, reciprocated by being a welcoming hostess, complete with hot chocolate, cookies and even popcorn.

“It’s like these three are 10 years old again,” Nancy confessed to her friend, Helen, Wanda’s mother. “I don’t understand it. Marquise is 16, Wanda 15 and Jarod 14 and there doesn’t seem to be any indication of pot or beer or sex.”

“Well, you oughta be thankful for that, Nancy,” he friend said, with an accompanying smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, Helen. I think they’re all great kids, but in this day and age, it does seem odd.”

“For one thing, Nancy, all three of them are good students, and they’re all achievers. I think they may enjoy being together so that they can be ‘kids’ again, without the pressure of school mates. And you’re so open to them. But as I said, they’re all achievers. My Wanda in athletics, Marquise seems to be good at writing and Jarod . . . ah . . . well, he’s good at being Jane.”

Nancy laughed, but was quick to add: “Well, Jarod’s really good at other things, too, you know, like computer design and in writing, too.”

“And in sewing and dressmaking,” Helen added.

“That, too. He’s really so skillful.”

“That ad campaign was really something,” Helen said, changing the subject. “Jarod looked just so lovely in the pictures. Even though I knew it was him, I couldn’t really tell from the ads. He looked just like the girl he wants to be.”

“I know, and I’m still conflicted on what to do.”

Helen looked surprised: “I thought you had decided that you would begin to transition Jarod eventually. And that the doctor thought that was best.”

Nancy shook her head. “All I said was that Jarod’s desire to be a girl was a real feeling on his part. I’m open to it, too. But, he’s still only 14.”

“Oh darling, I know you want to do what is best, but every time I see Jarod, I think of Jane. That’s who he really is, Nancy. He’s really Jane.”

Jarod’s mother merely nodded her head.

“And you know he’s happiest when he’s Jane, Nancy. You know that.”

Helen persistence finally wore her friend down. Nancy Pinkerton nodded yes, adding: “He’s really only happy when he’s all feminine. In fact, I think he acts and thinks like a girl even when he’s in boy’s stuff.”

“See,” Helen said. “What’s stopping you?”

“Well we’ve decided to hold off at least until his junior year, just because of the reaction of other kids.”

“Yes. I guess you’re right,” Helen said. “A mother usually knows best.”

*****
During March and into April there had been a steady schedule of photo shoots for summer clothes, even sapping Jarod’s enthusiasm for the work. The Saturday trips to Milwaukee, sometimes on the icy roads typical of late springs, had begun to drain on both Jarod and his mother. Furthermore, it had begun to affect Jarod’s school work, and he got an incomplete in oue course in the mid-semester grading period and a “B” in another where he usually got a “A”.

“When this course of shoots is done, Jacques,” Jarod’s mother told executive at Claudine’s, “I think Jarod ought to take a breather.”

“What do you mean, Nancy?” Jacques said, stopping before taking a bite out of the chicken breast sandwich he had raised to his mouth during one of their regular lunch breaks. “We’ve got the whole campaign outlined for fall.”

“No more, Jacques,” she said. “I mean it. I told you a few weeks ago that we need to cut back on this. I think we need to stop it now, and not for just a few weeks, maybe for a full year, until we see whether Jarod fully transitions.”

“Oh darling,” he said addressing Nancy in the affectionate way that had become regular among the two. “Jane is such an integral part of this. Is the money the problem?”

“No, Jacques, the money is fine. It’s just that it’s time to slow this feminization down. My son is acting so girlish now, I’m not sure he’ll survive in school next year.”

“And you think she’ll become more of a boy?”

Nancy shook her head in a slow “no.” She added: “It’s just that she can hardly help herself now. Because of this modeling, she has to literally be a girl, in manner and style.”

“And she’s done that beautifully,” he said.

Nancy Pinkerton was firm. Jarod was not to model for the next year, and he was to concentrate on school.

Jacques was disappointed, saying that the store had been thinking up ambitious plans for Jarod, possibly giving him national exposure as Jane. He said Jane exuded an intoxicating charm through the camera, a charm that was both inviting and mysterious. “She absolutely has the tools to be one of the most successful models ever, Nancy.”

“But, Jacques, she’s still a boy. And, she’s changing physically, and soon will be shaving. My God, Jacques, this is all so strange. And, I ‘m all alone, not having a man around.”

Jacques put down his sandwich, and reached over to caress her upper arm. The two had already had one “date” together, attending the Milwaukee Theater production of “Death of a Salesman.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Jacques said, in an abrupt change of conversation. “It’s Sunday and I thought you and I can do something together.”

“Oh that’s kind of you, Jacques, but I should prepare for classes and I like to keep Jane company.”

Jacques was always solicitous of Nancy’s desires and needs, and said kindly: “You need to get out and enjoy yourself, Nancy. Jane is 14 and can take care of herself.”

Nancy finally agreed that she might enjoy his invitation for a visit to the mansion of a long-deceased beer baron, which had been turned into a popular museum with many artifacts of the 1890s. As she prepared for this “date” she again puzzled over her clothing, this time trying to satisfy her desires without counsel from Jarod, whose eye for style and fashions was far superior to her own. She tried on a pair of navy blue slacks, quickly rejecting them because they seemed to make her hips look even broader than they were.

She examined her closet, which she realized was fairly barren, populated mainly with business-like skirts and blouses, suitable only for the grubby surroundings of the urban community college where she taught.

“Jane, Jane, come here and help your mother,” she yelled to Jarod who was in the kitchen preparing a quiche. “I don’t know what to wear, honey.”

“Oh mommy, Jacques will like you in whatever you wear,” he said. Jarod bounced into the room, wearing, of all things, a pair of ancient light green pedal pushers he found among the discarded clothes that Amy, their next door neighbor, had provided. He had on a pair of sandals, exposing his orange-red painted toe nails and a short-sleeve girl’s violet tee shirt; his hair was tied in the back, covered with a flowered silken scarf.

“Aren’t you the cutest thing this morning?” Nancy said.

“Oh mommy, I wouldn’t let anyone see me like this. These are clothes for work around the house.”

Nancy smiled, looking at her son closely, and seeing only a young girl standing before her, his slender, arms and legs, coupled with the innocent face with dainty features, completing a picture of gentle femininity.

“Sweetie,” his mother said, drawing the boy close to her. “You’re beautiful in whatever you wear. I never was as pretty as you are and that’s why I need help in finding something to wear today for Jacques.”

Jarod cherished these moments when his mother hugged him. He loved the clean odor of the lightly scented body wash she used as she held him tightly to her soft bosom. He look forward also to times like this when his mother treated him like her daughter.

“You like Jacques, don’t you mommy?” he asked, looking into her eyes directly.

“Yes, honey, I do,” she said, patting Jarod’s head.

Jarod said nothing, and his mother sensed sadness had descended upon her lovely child. “What’s wrong, honey? Aren’t you happy for your mother?”

“Oh yes, mommy,” he said, releasing himself from her grasp, and speaking with a false enthusiasm. “I like Jacques.”

“But?”

“Oh nothing, just that I love you, mommy.”

Nancy knew what her child was thinking now. Up until now, her entire life had been devoted to raising her child; now that child was realizing she might have another man in her life.

“I know you do, honey, and I love you. Nothing will ever come between us, dear.”

“It’s just that what will you say if Jacques wants to marry you?”

“Marry me?” she laughed out loud. “This is really only the second date, honey, and we’re only going to the Beer Baron’s Museum.”

“Aren’t you going to supper with him, too?”

“Yes, and Amy will have you over for supper tonight. You know how you enjoy Amy and her girls.”

“Yes, mommy,” he said, smiling since he always enjoyed his time with Amy her daughters, Emily, now 8, and Angela, 6. When they were younger, he had played with them dressed as a girl, but now he always appeared in boy’s clothes when they were around. Nonetheless, he enjoyed playing board games, doing some imaginary role playing and even dressing their dolls. The girls loved having Jarod around, and at their age thought nothing strange in this boy who enjoyed doing “girl” stuff.

“Now, help me pick out a dress, honey,” his mother urged.

Jarod nodded his head, still not totally comfortable with the growing closeness his mother was developing with Jacques. Not that he didn’t like Jacques: he liked him immensely and the man had always been friendly and kind to him. Yet, Jacques was taking his mother away from him, he felt.

“Mommy, I want you to be happy,” Jarod said. “I made something for you.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“Just wait,” he said, skipping out of the room, suddenly feeling joy, even though he was conflicted with his mother’s affection for Jacques.

“Here it is,” he said, entering the room, holding up what appeared to be a full, pleated skirt, with a lovely floral design, featuring dark reds, contrasted with pinks and light greens.

“What’s this?” his mother asked, amazed.

“It’s a skirt I made for you,” he said, rushing over to hold it against his mother’s body. “I hope it fits.”

“Oh honey, for me? It’s lovely.”

“Just for you, mommy. I think it would go good with one of your white blouses, and I also made you a vest, in navy blue with some red and pink trim. Let me get it.”

The words gushed out of him, almost taking his breath away and he bolted from the room, returning with the vest.

“Try it all on, mommy. Please. I wanna see how you look.”

*****
Jacques arrived precisely at his promised hour, 1:30 p.m., and Jarod let him in.

“Aren’t you looking cute, today, Jane?” Jacques said.

“Oh, Mr. Marcineau, these are just my stay-at-home clothes, but thank you,” he said, giving the visitor a slight curtsey.

“Is you mom ready?”

“Yes, I am,” Nancy said as she entered the room wearing the outfit Jarod had made for her.

“Wow,” Jacques said.

“You like?” she said, doing a quick turn.

Jacques stood silent for a moment, taking in the sight before him, and Nancy continued, spewing out the words nervously: “Jane here made the skirt and the vest for me. I think she did well, and it fits, though the skirt is tight. That’s not Jane’s fault. I gotta lose weight.”

“Oh you’re beautiful as a picture,” Jacques said.

“I think she is too,” Jarod said.

“And you did this, Jane? You’ve made her look so young. And, dear Jane, I never thought anyone could be prettier than you, but right now your mom is.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Jacques,” Nancy said.

“Seriously, I think people will think I’m robbing the cradle,” he teased. “That outfit makes you look so young and fresh.”

Nancy did another turn and went over and kissed her son, who was standing in awe of his pretty mother.

“I think the credit for this has to go to the young lady who created this, Miss Jane, here,” his mother said.

“Brava,” Jacques said, using the feminine form of “bravo” to salute the dressmaking skills of Jarod, alias Jane.

*****
After their visit to the mansion, the couple ended up at a popular and expensive lakefront eating establishment, finding a quiet table with a window. It was a late Sunday afternoon, and the restaurant was quiet, perfect for their conversations, which had been growing more intimate. Nancy enjoyed her moments with Jacques, the two of them becoming more open with each other. Part of their closeness may have come, Nancy realized, because of the attention both were giving to Jarod and his modeling career as Jane.

Nonetheless, Nancy found herself revealing so much to Jacques, about her insecurity as a teen who always considered herself too “fat” and not equal to the “in girls.” She admitted to him as well that she was a real amateur at “dating,” telling him he was the first man who ever had such a relationship with her. Her time with Jarod’s musician father amounted to haphazard meetings and hotel room liaisons at a time she was a groupie-blinded teenager.

Jacques, too, opened his own life to her, telling that he was a graduate of the Philadelphia design school and that he had visions of being a dress designer himself, but soon found his real talents rested in administrative work and production. His ten-year marriage ended eight years ago, he admitted, with his own indiscretions with an attractive buyer from a major department store. He shared partial custody for the couple’s now 16-year-old son, Peter, seeing him every-other weekend and for longer periods during school vacations.

“I moved out here to Wisconsin to be closer to him,” he told Nancy. The boy’s mother had returned to her Wisconsin home and was living on her family’s farm about 15 miles outside of Douglas.

“This must be disappointing for you out here in Hicksville,” she kidded him.

“No, actually, I’ve grown to love it, even the cold weather.”

“That’s hard to believe after the excitement of the East Coast.”

“Nancy, believe me, this has been a good opportunity for me. Claudine’s owners have given me full reign and I’m hoping to put this store on the national map.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and with the inspiration of your daughter and the pigtail campaign it looks like we’re onto something. That’s why I’d like you to persuade her to continue modeling.”

She didn’t know how to respond and wondered, for a brief moment, whether Jacques (who was more than ten years older than she was) was dating her to persuade her to change her mind about halting Jane’s modeling career. Nancy looked at her partner with an obvious sadness, and it was apparent Jacques saw the distress in her.

“No, honey,” he said quickly. “I know your feelings about wanting to give Jarod time, so I won’t press you.”

“Thank you, Jacques. I love her so much,” she said, suddenly surprised she used the feminine pronoun.

“I know you do and I respect that Nancy and I won’t do anything to harm her or to upset you.”

He smiled and gave her forearm a gentle, loving pat, adding: “I have so enjoyed being with you Nancy. I find you so special.”

She wanted to bound across the table and put herself in his arms to find his caresses and kisses, but she merely said: “I find you special, too, Jacques.”

When he dropped her off at her home that evening, she invited him in, but he demurred saying he had work to do that night to prepared some cost estimates for an early morning meeting with the owners of Claudine’s. They sat and talked for a while, before Jacques reached his arm about her, drawing her close and the two found the sweet feeling of each other’s lips. Nancy had never before experienced such a loving, passionate kiss and she wished then to give herself to him, but he ended the kiss with a friendly “good night,” leaving Nancy to dream about what might be in the future for her and Jacques.

It was only 8 p.m. when she entered the apartment unit, finding Jarod already in his nightie, gauzy pink robe and fluffy slippers. He had piled his long hair up under a scarf that was tied at the front about his head and his face was caked with white cream. His legs were tucked under him and he was deep into “Little Women,” a book he was now reading for the third time.

“Oh you must have had a good time?” he said looking up from the book.

Realizing her face must still be flushed from the long good night kiss, she nodded and said: “He’s a very nice man.”

“I hope he doesn’t hurt you mommy,” Jarod said.

“Oh, don’t be foolish, Jarod. I know what I’m doing. And, what’s that on your face?”

“That’s cold cream, mommy. I’m afraid of getting zits.”

“Oh my Jarod,” she said with a sigh, and realizing that perhaps she should have used “Jane.”

*****
The junior prom was only four weeks away, and Marquise still had not found a date. He lamented that fact at lunch one day to Jarod, noting that his friend Demetrius was going with Latoya.

“And Wanda’s going with Troy,” Jarod added.

“I guess I could take Aniesha,” Marquise said, “but who wants to go with a cousin?”

“She’s pretty, Marquise,” he volunteered.

“But she’s so young.”

“Marquise, you’re so good looking,” Jarod said. “I think any girl would be glad to go with you.”

The boy was handsome, to be sure. He had a slender, wiry body and was just under six feet tall; he kept his hair cropped short and had a clean complexion. From across the table, Latoya was listening to the conversation and offered, “Should I get you a blind date, Marquise?”

“Not.” Marquise said simply.

“Maybe you should put on a gown, Jarod,” Latoya said with a wink toward Jarod. “I think you’d make a pretty date for Marquise.”

Jarod frowned at her, giving her a nasty look, but to Jarod’s dismay, Marquise picked up on the idea.

“You really would be hot in a gown, Jarod,” the boy said, adding a laugh.

Deciding to play along with the game, Jarod flicked his hair in a girlish manner and raised his voice into a falsetto, saying: “I’d love to go with you Marquise.”

“See, she’s perfect,” Demetrius said, entering the conversation.

Latoya, realizing she may have gone to far in embarrassing Jarod, changed the subject quickly, adding: “I’m sure Marquise will find a perfectly nice girl for the prom.”

*****
A few days later, Marquise and Jarod met to work on Odyssey, getting to the literary magazine’s room several minutes before the other members of the committee.

“Jarod, I’ve asked Janita Johnson to the prom,” Marquise said. “She’s in my advanced algebra class. Do you know her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“She knows you, at least by sight. And she was surprised I asked her to the prom.”

“Why? Isn’t she pretty?”

Marquise smiled: “Oh yes, very pretty and I was surprised she didn’t have a boy friend.”

“So happy for you,” Jarod said.

“You know why she was surprised?”

“No.”

“She thought I had a girl friend already. You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, she’s seen us together all the time and she just assumed you were my girl friend. You know, must be your long hair and all.”

Jarod was speechless.

“And she said you were so pretty, too.”

“No, you’re wrong, Marquise. How could she?”

Marquise hesitated: “Look at yourself, Jarod. You’re so slender and your movements are kinda like a girl and that hair you’re flicking all the time.”

“Oh really, Marquise? You should have told me; sometimes I get carried away.”

“Don’t worry, Jarod. I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t care how you look.”

“And you’re my friend, too, Marquise.”

Marquise smiled, then said: “You know Latoya and Janita are right. You would look pretty as a girl.”

Jarod blushed fully now, wishing he could indeed be the girl who caught the attention of this handsome African-American boy. But all he said was “too bad I’m a boy.”

*****
The school year ended with little excitement. Jarod’s trips to Milwaukee to model ended, after his mother stopped his modeling career.

“You miss modeling?” Latoya asked him one day near the end of school.

“Not really, it’s hard work, Toya, and I didn’t like the other girls much. They were always so much into themselves.”

“All of them?”

“Well, not all. I liked Ania, the other pigtail girl, but she didn’t say much, and Heather, but she never stopped talking.”

He laughed, recalling the constant chatter of the blond model, whom really meant no harm, but sometimes got on his nerves.

“I’m kinda bored now,” he said. “Now that the magazine is out, I miss the time I spent with Marquise.”

Latoya smiled: “He’s a cutie, isn’t he?”

Jarod smiled, his face growing red.

“He’s spending so much time now with Janita,” Jarod said. “She’s so pretty.”

“I know, and she’s nice, too. Makes you a little jealous, Jane?” she asked, using her sometimes teasing tone.

“Oh, shut up!” he said, laughing. It was absurd, he thought, but he truly was jealous of the other boy’s affection for Janita. In his dream world, Jarod always felt he was Jane in the arms of her own Tarzan, Marquise.

*****
Jarod’s venture into girlhood had been stalled as the school year ended. While he was still able to dress and be a girl at home, his mother was now more severe in restrictions. No more could he venture out of the occasional shopping trips, dressed as Jane, with Latoya and Wanda.

The visits to Dr. Martin, the psychiatrist, had been reduced to once every other month, due to restrictions of his mother’s health insurance program.

Jarod’s examination by a medical doctor turned up nothing other than the fact that he was a normal 14 year old boy who was just a bit late in developing his male physical accoutrements. No, the doctor said, there was nothing about him physically that made him more female, except for his lack of muscle mass in his upper body.

The doctor, who was aware as a result of the referral from Dr. Martin that Jarod thought of himself as a girl, told he and his mother after a full examination: “You’re a normal boy, Jarod.”

Jarod almost cried at the pronouncement, hoping the doctor would find some genetic disposition to femininity. It wasn’t to be so, he was told. Soon he would need t o start shaving and his penis would grow to average size, the doctor said.

“I would recommend Jarod start exercising,” he said. “His upper body is so undeveloped, that he might feel better if he built those muscles up.”

“I don’t want to do that, doctor,” he said. “Most girls don’t have muscular arms.”

“He ran cross country last fall,” his mother informed the doctor.

“Well, keep doing that,” the doctor said, “but if you’re bound and determined to eventually transition, I still suggest you at least do some regular aerobics. It’s important for your long term health, dear.”

*****
His mother found an aerobics class in the local municipal recreation program that met three mornings a week during the summer at a local high school gymnasium. While the class announcement indicated the class was co-educational, he was the only boy in the class of about 15 teenagers, most of them being chubby to obese girls seeking mild exercise.

There was initial surprise by the others that a boy was joining the class, but that soon ended as they others began treating him as one of their group. Since he was as physically challenged as most of them, he fit right in.

That kept him busy three times a week that summer, but otherwise it was a lonely summer. Wanda was either playing softball or working; Latoya, being a few months older than Jarod was able to find a fast food job and was spending her free moments with Demetrius; Marquise also was working almost 40 hours a week for a cleaning service run by his uncle and he had, much to Jarod’s chagrin, taken Janita as his steady girl.

His morning began late, as he usually slept in, enjoying laying in his perfume scented sheets in a nightie. His dreams of being a girl flourished in those lazy morning hours, often prompting him to masturbate, an activity he still associated with being “naughty.” Once he ejaculated, his guilt rose, and he’d quickly get out of bed, shower and dress in boy clothes; that lasted usually through his breakfast when he would change to girl outfits, usually shorts and halters over panties and bras.

Most of his days were taken with dress-making activities, either designing them in charcoal or colored pencil drawings, or sewing together some of his designs. He also tried to write each day in his little girl’s diary.

“I wish you’d get outside more,” his mother said several weeks into the summer. “You’re so pale, honey.”

“And do what, mom?”

“You used to bike a lot. Why don’t you take a ride?”

“All alone?”

“Sure, why not? Just be careful.”

“Ok, ok, mom.”

He did take a few bike rides, but they only got him all hot and sweaty. His mother was gone most days, since she had taken a full teaching load in summer school; many evenings and weekends, she was busy with Jacques, who had begun dating her with steadily.

Jarod cried some nights, too, thinking of all the fun he was missing since he was not a girl. He pictured himself looking lovely and cute with tight shorts and tank tops and sandals and his hair in pigtails, wandering the malls with her girl friends, giggling and looking at boys.

Even though his mother had all but promised she’d let him transition in two years, perhaps in his junior year in high school, he felt that was just not soon enough. I’m a girl now, today, he told himself.

“In your junior year, dear, we’ll look seriously at letting you begin to live fulltime,” she told him. “Dr. Martin agrees this would be best to wait.”

“Oh mom, I know now. I can’t ever be a boy.”

His pleadings always ended with him in tears, but agreeing on two things: first, he loved his mother, and second it was best to wait until he was 16 at least.

The only real joy that summer came when he and Amy, the woman next door, would be together doing sewing, or chatting or playing with her girls. As Jane, contrary to his mother’s wishes, he had several nice evening visits with Wanda, even going one warm Sunday to their favorite spot along the river.

Meanwhile, Jacques and his mother were together constantly when they were off work. Jarod met the man’s son, who was two years older than Jarod and attended a Catholic high school in Milwaukee. Peter was a chunky teenager with surprisingly slovenly habits, considering the fastidiousness of his father.

Yet, Jarod and Peter, perhaps out of mutual loneliness, formed an uneasy friendship, even getting to some movies together. Usually, the two boys got together when Peter rode with his father to Douglas for a visit with Jarod’s mom.

“I think they’ll get married,” Peter said one day.

“It looks that way. Do you like the idea?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I like your mom. She’s cool. Don’t you like the idea?”

“Oh,” Jarod hesitated. “I guess. If she’s happy.”

Jarod, however , wasn’t pleased with the idea, but realized, too, that he was being selfish in wanting to keep his mother to himself.

*****
In August, Jacques took Jarod and his mother to a fancy restaurant where he announced: “Jarod, I have asked your mother to marry me.”

He should have seen the announcement coming, but Jarod was shocked, not saying anything in response, looking blankly at Jacques and then at his mother, tears forming in his eyes.

“You’re not going to cry now, are you?”

“No,” he said, snifling, with tears beginning to run down his cheeks as he tried to hold back any audible crying.

“I hope those are tears of joy, dear,” his mother said.

“They are Nancy,” Jacques assured her. “Girls always cry at engagements and weddings.”

Jarod, realizing the irony of the situation, found his tears turning into laughter, mixing his joy at seeing his mother happy with his tears that much would change in his life now, that he would no longer be his mother’s only interest.

“Honey, look at the engagement ring Jacques got me,” his mother said, bringing the bject out of her purse and putting it on her finger.

Jarod held his mother’s hand, looking through his wet eyes to the sparkling gem set in silver on he finger.

“It’s so lovely,” he said. “Mom, I love you.”

The two hugged. Jarod knew his mother’s love for him was true and forever, but he also wondered about the future of his other self, the self that was Jane. Yet, he began to project, what would his mother’s marriage to Jacques do about her concerns about him becoming a girl? Hadn’t Jacques encouraged him to become a lovely teen model, a girl? Might he not help him eventually fulfill his desires?

*****
Earlier that summer, Jarod had his hair cut, still leaving it long enough so that he continued to be mistaken for a girl occasionally, but too short to tie into pigtails. Now that summer was ending, maybe he could let the hair grow so that he could again create pigtails. He smiled.

(To be continued)