Struggles

Sherry Ann

Chapter 8

Resistance

“I need some help today.” Lia Bromely said to her fourteen year old son for the third time.

“Okay already. I heard you.” Rich responded. Rich wasn’t really being evasive or insolent with his mother but he was reading a book and just wasn’t paying attention. It was spring and Rich was either playing basketball with Buzz and Skeeter or he was reading. What he wasn’t doing was wearing his sister’s clothes or even thinking about it. Rich Bromely had decided that what he did as a boy in his grandmother’s attic, or even the time he wore one of Mary’s dresses most of the day, was trouble and he just knew he needed to stay away from trouble.

Rich also worried that somehow there was some connection between the desire to indulge himself with girls’ things and what happened with Phil Drexel. That possible connection terrified him; a deep subconscious terror that the strong girl thing he felt just might lead to things with boys he did not want to think about. So Richie made it a priority to stay away from boys as best he could, especially Gary, and especially at night, and to stay away from Mary’s room. Rich was just glad that he was able to resist and it seemed to be working. He was not what anyone would describe as happy. But his life was wonderfully uneventful; school was good and he had been talking to a girl. Rich had a friend; not dating of course but they talked in school and they even held hands once. He liked that and he felt something warm and exciting when it happened one day after school. And it had the added benefit of bringing him closer to all things girl without being compromised.

“Rich, are you listening?” Lia continued. Without waiting for an answer Lia added, “I need you to put the book down and listen. I’m going to the store and by the time I get back I want all of the boxes I packed for the church bazaar brought up to the porch from the basement.”

“I heard you.” Rich told his mother still holding the book.

“Put the book down. If those boxes aren’t up when I get home I’m not going to be happy.” Rich marked his place and closed the book. Satisfied, Lia picked up her keys and purse and headed out the back door to the car in the driveway and Rich headed for the basement. If he finished carrying up the boxes quickly, he reasoned, he could read for a while before his mother got back.

There were five boxes stacked three and two. Lia had spent the whole week sorting clothes that spring, throwing out what was unwearable and washing the rest so they could be donated. Rich started taking the boxes up the steep stairs one by one. They were heavy and bulky. On the fourth trip Rich missed the top step and nearly fell as he watched as the box he was carrying tumble back down the steps spilling its contents at the bottom.

He raced back down, righted the box and started to repack the box. Shirts and pants, some were his and some had been Gary’s. Lia had marked the box “boys – early teen”. Rich finished repacking the box and was able to put it on the porch with the other three. As he was setting it down he noticed one of the boxes he had put on the porch was marked “girls – 13 to 15”. He looked at the other two; one also marked “boys – early teen” and the other “girls – 16 to 17”.

Without thinking Rich took the box marked ‘girls – 13 to 15’ and carried it up the stairs to his room. He opened the box and started to carefully lay out its contents on his bed making sure to put each item in order. There were several skirts, three blouses, a strapless bra, a winter jacket and four dresses.

Rich was no longer in control of what he was doing, just like when he dressed up that day his mother and sister were shopping. He quickly undressed and fished the panties and bra he kept hidden in his bottom dresser drawer under the baseball uniform he never wore, or had any reason to. The panties and bra he had pilfered shortly after the day of dress up almost two years prior. He put on the panties and bra stuffing socks in the cups of the bra. He then stepped into the summer dress he remembered Mary wearing so well when she was about his age (to church one Sunday to her mom’s consternation). It was sleeveless, with a not too full flared skirt, belted and had a V neck (too revealing the mother of the then fourteen year old girl made clear). The material was a soft silky rayon, light brown with white poke dots. Rich buttoned the dress and was startled at how well it fit, snug around the stuffed bra, just right at the waist and falling perfectly just below his knees. He quickly ran to the bathroom mirror to see how it looked. To Rich he could almost see Vickie in the mirror but what overwhelmed him was what he could not see. He could not see the long hair he wished he had; could not see any curve at the hips (the dress just hung so straight) and there was no real contour to that area of the V where breasts should be. The dress did not look the same as when Mary wore it.

Rich knew he had no time. Still wearing the dress he quickly packed the box with the things he had removed and closed it up. He carried it downstairs and back to the door leading out to the porch. He dared not go outside. He was back in his room sitting on his bed with his legs folded under him when he heard the car in the driveway just below his room. Panicked he unbuttoned the dress, stepped out of it and hung it on a hook in the back of his closet. He was able to unhook the bra and shove it back in his dresser but didn’t have time to take off the panties. He jumped back into his boy’s shirt and pants when his mother called to him.

“Rich Bromely, what are you doing?”

“Just brushing my teeth mom.” He answered quickly running into the bathroom and turning on the water.

“I asked you to help.” The mother yelled from the bottom of the stairs. “Rich you only brought up four boxes. Get down here and bring up the other one.”

“Coming mother.” Rich responded.

The fourteen year old boy made his mother happy the rest of the day, loading the car with the boxes for the bazaar, going with her to the church and doing all of the unloading. He knew what he had done was wrong, stealing a dress meant for the less fortunate; Rachel should have it, not him. He knew he had failed to resist the temptation that could bring him so much pain. But it felt so right.

Rich watched as his mother helped the other women unpack the boxes, hang up what they could for display. He looked to see if his mother noticed the missing dress and when she didn’t, Rich was happy again, happy that he finally had his first dress and happy that he was still wearing the panties.