Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

“Want to tell us something?” Mom asked after we sat for dinner. We – mom, dad and me Ron, my sis Tiff was in the college already.

Mom’s question made me feel something uneasy. It was the first week of summer break. I couldn’t have done something wrong. Or could I?

“Something what?” I asked in a meek voice.

“Something on your chest,” dad said.

“Breasts,” mom added.

“Ah, those!” I sighed with relief. “Those are falsies.”

“And?” dad said.

“What?” I didn’t understand what he wanted. “As I’ve said, they are falsies.”

Mom pulled with her finger scoop neck of my tee forward and looked down at my chest. Well, the tee wasn’t mine. Most of my clothes are Tiff’s hand-me-downs. That’s the reason why my tee had a scoop neck.

As I said mom looked down at my chest and said, “Those are not falsies,” she stated.

“I swear, they are NOT real!” I squeaked.

“I mean prostheses,” she explained.

“What the difference?” dad asked.

“The different glue is used. Prostheses are attached using medical glue for two-three months. Not like falsies for several hours.”

“Yeah, Alice said to leave them in place for a while,” I said.

“Alice? Who the f@#k is Alice?” dad asked.

“PAUL!” mom raised her voice.

“Anyway. Who’s Alice?”

“Alice?” How couldn’t they know? “Alice.”

I saw rents didn’t connect the name with a real person.

“Alice Spencer,” I explained.

“Thank god,” dad sighed, “I was afraid it’s Alice Cooper.”

“There is no Alice Cooper,” I said, “Coopers’ daughter is Melanie.”

“Alice Spencer then,” mom said. “Where she comes from?”

“Spencers are our neighbors as long as I remember. Their backyard is behind the fence in our backyard.”

“Oh! These Spencers. I know them. Jim and Dorothy,” dad said.

“And their daughter is Alice,” I added.

“Back to the question, why do you need breast?” dad asked.

“I don’t need, Alice does…”

“To the hell with Alice…!” dad shrieked.

“PAUL!” mom raised her voice.

“I’m calm,” dad said. “Ommmmm… See? It’s ok. I got it. Alice needs breasts. What our son has to do with it? Or not the son anymore? Daughter? Or son?”

“Son, I guess,” I offered.

“You guess?” dad inquired.

“Well, no,” I had to say I wasn’t uncertain about who I was and I started to think intensively looking for a proper word to end this discussion.

“I see,” dad said, “you are not sure.”

“Certainly,” I’d found at last the word I was looking for.

“U-huh…” dad said.

“Back to the business, people,” mom said. “How did you end with B size cup anyway?”

“Alice assured me it’s an A-cup,” I complained.

“No. It’s B-cup on your frame,” mom objected.

“Let it be B,” I complied.

“So?” dad was getting impatient.

“Huh…? Oh… Ok,” I started. “Alice is a senior and senior girls have a project to make a prom dresses for themselves. I’m the same size she is and she needs me as a dummy for adjustments. Alice’s dress is sleeveless and strapless. It doesn’t look good on my flat chest. She asked to glue on those falsies…”

“Prostheses. They are called prostheses,” mom corrected.

“When you say they are prostheses it seems I need them to myself,” I complained.

“And you don’t…”

“Well, I do,” I tried to explain the obvious, “but only to model the dress.”

“And when not in the dress? Don’t they bother you?”

“No, they don’t. I don’t feel them. They were cold first but then they warmed up.”

“And the dress?”

“What about the dress?” I wasn’t sure I understood what mom wanted.

“Do you like it?”

“The dress is pretty. I can’t say I don’t like it, cuz it looks lovely, especially with breasts glued on.”

“Lovely…?”

“Why yes. Its skirt is just above the knees and has some two layers of petticoats so it’s something puffy but not tutu puffy. The dress is mauve and Alice has the matching shawl.”

“What’s mauve?” dad asked.

“The color of the dress,” I replied.

“What color it is?”

“Mauve.”

“Pale purple,” mom explained.

“I see,” dad said.

“What will you do with your, eh…, breasts?”

“Alice will make final adjustments tonight. I’ll model her dress tomorrow. Afterward, I’ll remove those falsies.”

“You will not,” mom said.

“Why not? I have a solvent.”

“It will burn your skin. You have to wait for the glue to wear off something. Like six or eight weeks, maybe longer.”

”Ok. I’ll wait. They are almost invisible…”

“They are not,” dad said.

“Your nipples are sticking out,” mom said. “You need a bra.”

“Definitely,” dad added.

“What bra?” I whined. “I’m a boy…”

“Take it like a man,” dad said, “you are a girl this summer.”