I wondered absurdly, what would it feel like to kiss someone with that kind of—scruffiness?

 
Butterscotch

24. Decision

by Erin Halfelven

No one had actually said what part of my body would be ultra-sounded, but I had a guess. Things seemed very awkward.

I tried a kind of bluff. "Are you sure it doesn't say Kissy Parker somewhere on that paper?" I asked.

He stared at me for a moment too long. 

I stared back, noting that he had, well, beard stubble, as if he hadn't shaved in two or three days. I wondered absurdly, what would it feel like to kiss someone with that kind of—scruffiness? I didn't feel melty, like I had with Rory, but I definitely felt interested. Of course, he was probably thirty or older, so—kind of ew?

He finally looked at the paper in his hand and looked back up at me quickly. "It does say—Kissy Parker, further down." 

I nodded. He nodded. Impasse.

He spoke softly. "David Kissee?"

"Yes," I said, sighing.

He looked to each side as if he planned to step off a curb.

"Where—uh—where are you supposed to—do—the machine? The ultrasound? What—part of me?" I managed to ask.

He looked at his paper again. "It says, lower abdomen and—uh—groin, and—." He looked back up at me and frowned.

I winced and glanced at the door behind me. Maybe Mom could sort this out; where was she?

"Do you—uh—would you—prefer a female tech?" he asked.

I'd already had a man poking and prodding me down there, Dr. Forbes. So—what the heck? "No," I said. "I'm just waiting for my mother to get here." I shrugged. "I'm underage."

"Ah—ah—ah?" he said. I had no idea if a reply was needed to that. He finally said something intelligible. "I don't usually work with Dr. Forbes's patients."

"Okay," I said. "I'm new."

He looked at the floor then at me. "You're very pretty—Miss Parker."

I smiled at him. "Thank you," I said. "You're good-looking, too." I giggled; I couldn't help it.

"I don't usually work in intimate areas with—uh—with—."

"Girls?"

He nodded.

I leaned toward him, and, reflexively, he leaned toward me. I was beginning to enjoy messing with him because he was clearly more embarrassed than I was. "Don't let it bother you too much, sir. I'm not as much of a girl in my—intimate areas," I said.

He sighed. "I figured that from the paperwork."

About that time, Mom stepped through the door. "Mr. Katz?" she asked.

"Uh—yes, ma'am. Eli Katz," he amplified.

Mom grinned at him. "This isn't as bad as it seems, eh? It's embarrassing, but it can soon be over with, y' know." Mom's parents were Canadian, and that was sometimes evident in things she said, eh?

Eli looked relieved. Someone was prepared to slice through problems.

With Mom's direction and commands, the whole thing was over in less than thirty minutes. It was embarrassing for both Eli and myself, but Mom did not seem bothered by that. 

It was uncomfortable for me, in more ways than one, but tolerable. I had to get completely undressed below the waist. The jelly smeared on my skin, and the machinery itself were cold. But Eli handling my intimate parts did not cause the embarrassing reaction I had feared because, by that time, I was bored. Sad, really.

Besides the intimacy, the doctor had also asked for a bone density survey and a growth zone survey, which Eli chose to do on my left hand. This was to make sure my hormone problems had not weakened my bones and to find out if I had stopped growing when my puberty went into neutral.

"If this turns out to be important," Eli explained about the bone scans, "they'll probably do an MRI. But I can rule out major problems with ultrasound."

"Uh, huh," I said, watching how the corners of his mouth crinkled when he talked. In some ways, he was so cute that I could wish he were younger. Whatever part of me remained Davey cringed, but as Kissy, I could get into a handsome guy who thought I was very pretty.

After the scan of my hand, I got to clean the jelly off my various parts and get dressed again, wondering vaguely why the ultrasound lab wasn't as cold as Dr. Forbes's examining room. And the tables were padded vinyl with paper covers instead of stainless steel. Why the difference?

Mom had followed me into the dressing room as much to get out of Eli's way while he did clean-up as to keep me company. She handed my purse over, and I touched up my makeup in the small mirror. The green mascara had stayed in place and still looked amazing.

I paused in front of the full-length mirror before leaving. The shorts and tank top combination felt right and came off stylish on me, but I suddenly realized that without the corset, my nearly straight-up-and-down figure made me look about twelve. "Crap," I muttered.

And my hair did look kind of flat. I tried fluffing it with my fingers, but that didn't help much. 

Mom watched me with some amusement. "We could put a bow in it," she offered. "You would look so sweet."

So I gave her a sour glare. 

On the way out of his office, I made a finger wave at Eli and a musical, "Bye-yee," and he gave me a smile and a stammered goodbye back.

Out in the hall, Mom remarked, "He's too old for you to be flirting with, honey."

"Who says?" I replied. "He sure is good-looking, and it's fun. But I do confuse him, huh?"

Mom shook her head. "Marlette created a monster."

I laughed. "Where to?" I asked, noticing that we were heading to the elevators.

"Emmaline said Doctor wants to see us for a conference at 3:15, so we have almost an hour to kill."

"Is she the lady that sits behind the window?"

"Uh-huh. Emmaline McHenry." Mom almost always knew the name of everyone she met as soon as possible, a talent I lacked but would like to develop.

I made a face as we got into the elevator. "Not enough time to get the car and go anywhere, and I'm ready for lunch." I'd been padding around in the high-heel beach sandals all afternoon, getting used to them (it was nice to be taller), but didn't feel like walking several blocks to find a cafe, especially in the afternoon sun without my hat and sunblock.

Mom pushed buttons. "I'm told there's a snack bar on the third floor."

There was—prepared sandwiches and salads, hot soup, sodas, chips, cookies and other snack food, in vending machines and from a tired-looking Asian guy in an apron. About like the snack bar option at school, though, the smoked turkey sandwich was at least a whole grade better. And there was a balcony to eat on.

The plastic table and chairs outside were even clean, so Mom and I happily sat out there with a view of the Hollywood hills. A row of potted ficus trees shaded us from the sun, and I was careful to pick a chair in full shadow, not needing any more new freckles.

While I ate my sandwich, I looked toward Newport Beach, thirty or forty miles away, wondering how Rory was doing in his game. He'd said he was going to pitch today, which he did only every third or fourth game, playing right field on the days he didn't pitch. I assumed that was because they wanted his bat in the game. He had the size on him to be a slugger.

I had a mental image of him in his baseball uniform, waving his bat around, but Mom interrupted any further fantasy.

"Uh-oh," she said.

"What?"

"You got all starry-eyed and started giggling."

"I did not—giggle!"

"You did. Who were you thinking about?"

"Uh," I blushed. Where is this mom-school she must have attended? I bet she got straight-As in mind reading. "Rory," I admitted.

She looked relieved! "At least it wasn't Mr. Katz or that Pritzger woman," she said. "I guess you're normal."

We both laughed at that.

A bit early, we dumped our trash and headed back to Dr. Forbes's office, getting there in plenty of time to be told to wait another fifteen minutes. I sat there, maybe a little sleepy from the turkey, wondering how it was, only moments from learning something that might change my life, in the middle of what was already a crisis—how could it be that my main feeling was boredom.

I picked up one of the magazines on the table and idly paged through it. And there in an advertisement for an investment bank was a short-haired redhead with a black and white polka-dot bow in her hair. Mom had only been kidding, but it didn't look bad. 

The woman in the picture had to be Marjie's age or older, though. On me, it'd probably make me look ten instead of twelve. I needed more shape, I decided, before I could wear something that made me look that much younger.

Finally, Emmaline called us back to an office we hadn't seen before. Dr. Forbes sat behind his desk, surrounded by shelves of medical books and wall plaques, declaring that he had achieved some degree or certification or was a member of some professional association.

"Ms Parker, Miss Parker," he greeted us standing, then sat back down. He pronounced the name the French way, just like Mom. "I got some of the preliminary blood work back, and I've taken a look at the ultrasound. You don't have any worries about genital anomalies or bone density, and the growth zone survey appears to confirm what the blood tests indicate."

"Um?"

He folded his hands. "We can't find anything very far out of norms. You appear to be simply going through a very slow puberty. You're seventeen, almost eighteen, but your body is more like that of a young person—boy or girl—only thirteen or fourteen. This is why your voice hasn't changed, why you don't have any beard, muscle development, or body hair consistent with a male your age, and why you aren't any taller than you are."

"That's a relief, I guess," Mom commented.

"It's probably an under-active central hormone system," he mused. Then he started getting technical with alpha-hydroxy this and androgenic that, and I zoned out a bit. Mom would give me a summary later.

The bottom line was, I simply hadn't finished growing yet. There wasn't anything wrong with me that a little more time wouldn't fix. For instance, the doctor explained, a bit of nipple growth in young boys in early puberty wasn't anything unusual. I wasn't somehow turning into a girl.

In fact, if everything were allowed to develop the way it was going, I would turn into a man, just like almost every other boy in the world. A short man, perhaps, but my dad was barely 5'9" himself.

Dr. Forbes reached some sort of closing. He spoke to me, not Mom. "The result of our investigation is that I don't see any reason that we can't start hormone therapy to help your puberty along, if desired. Today if you like."

He looked at me pointedly. "But the question for you—David, or Kissy—is what kind of puberty do you want?"