Before I go on I have a confession to make. It's kind of embarrassing, but considering the stuff I've already told you, I guess I may as well and tell you everything.

In the course of my "studies" there was one article in "Seventeen" magazine that caught my attention. Well, there were several, but one for sure stood out among the rest. It was about kissing, or how to practice kissing, to be more specific. When I first read it as part of my assignment I thought it was the dumbest thing I’d ever read. But once I realized what it was saying … I found myself fascinated … not to mention aroused beyond belief.

In a nutshell, the article talked about the different ways boys and girls kissed, what was appropriate in which situation, and how to conduct yourself when presented with the chance to kiss the beau of your dreams. I wasn’t at all comfortable with all that talk about kissing boys — that was just plain disgusting! — but kissing girls was something else. I soon found myself drawn in by the images of red and pink lips coming together and the little bits of intimate information such as how to tilt your head so that you didn’t bump noses and what to do if you feel your partner open their mouth.

You have to understand that up until that point it never occurred to me that you might actually open your mouth when you kissed a girl. My imagination went overboard trying to create that sensation in my mind, and my life suddenly had a purpose!

The part that really caught my eye was how to practice kissing. Yes, that’s right … in one of my "Seventeen" magazines there was actually a brief tutorial on how girls practiced kissing! Oh, you know, like at slumber parties and such. Don’t look so surprised; they publish even sillier stuff than that now, you know.

The procedure was quite simple, really. You just found a mirror, either handheld or over the bathroom sink or wherever. The first thing you did was bring your face really close to it. Then you were supposed to stare into your own eyes like you would your boyfriend’s eyes and pretend to listen to him sweet talking you. And then you were supposed to move closer to the mirror, as though the two of you were coming together. As your nose touched the glass of the mirror you tilt your head slightly, press your lips against the glass … and give it a kiss!

Pretty stupid, huh? Well, I thought so, too. At first. Then ... well, I was working on my essay and I started thinking about it. Like I said a minute ago, I couldn’t bring myself to thinking about kissing a boy, but I was definitely interested in kissing a girl. That’s what got me thinking. I looked down at the polka dot dress I wore and I realized … I looked like a girl .. which meant my reflection would look like a girl!

I ran upstairs as quick as my heels would let me and I found myself staring into the bathroom mirror. Omigosh! I thought to myself. What I saw was amazing!

Although I’d seen myself in the mirror countless times before, while putting on lipstick or touching up my mascara or scrubbing my face clean, I’d never really — really! — looked at myself … not like this. After reading that silly magazine article I was entranced, caught up in an illusion that wouldn’t let go. The wide blue eyes, the long lashes and red lips, framed by a thick crop of dark bangs … the very thing that haunted me suddenly became a source of excitement … and pleasure.

I couldn’t believe it. I was hard as a rock beneath my panties and girdle. As excited as I'd ever been in my entire young life. And it was painful, let me tell you, being constricted under all that lycra and spandex like that. Despite my mother’s warning to the contrary, the urge — and the absolute need! — to relieve myself was overwhelming.

You wouldn’t believe how much I wanted to do it. But I was afraid. Terrified is probably a better word. If Mom even suspected that I was jerking off again, especially in my girlie clothes, there was no telling what she’d do to me! Still, as I stared into that mirror and into those deep blue eyes, I knew I had to do something. Either that, or else go crazy from the frustration!

The solution came as an accident. It turned out that I didn’t even have to do anything. The way I’d been practicing my kissing provided the answer. All I had to do while I was kissing my reflection in the mirror was to press my hips against the countertop, which put pressure on my satin and lycra-covered erection. The resulting sensation, combined with the fantasy of kissing a beautiful girl, was enough to make me tremble all over!

To make a long story short, for that first week or so following my discovery I must have spent an hour a day in the bathroom, staring at the adorable creature before me and admiring her shy, disarming demeanor. I bumped noses with her, looked deep into her half-closed eyes … and lightly kissed her ruby lips. Her breath was fresh and sweet and the taste of her lipstick was sticky sweet, making me squirm as I pressed my hips against the countertop until I was faint with pleasure. Afterward I watched as we pulled apart; her face red with embarrassment and a shy smile causing her lips to pull apart, revealing a row of lipstick-stained teeth. So delicate, so coy, so feminine … so sexy ….

Before Mom would come home I’d clean up the mess I made — both on the mirror and in my panties! — and ponder my little game. More often than not I'd get excited again, and pretty soon I was holding my erection in my hands, staring at my reflection and masturbating until I was worn out and aching.

Well, once the floodgates were opened — so to speak — I was back to my old habits. Only this time I wasn't masturbating just once a day; it was more like two or three times a day, depending on the chores I was given. And, of course, the clothes.

I know all this sounds gross, but if you've ever been an adolescent boy, then you know how difficult dealing with something like masturbation can be. Male hormones make things bad enough, trust me. Being a nurse as well as a mother of two boys, my mom knew that much. Now, add to that something as exciting as feminine clothing, especially feminine under garments, and you have the recipe for complete and utter chaos! I don't know what it was, but somewhere between the lipstick and the panties and the perfume, I was in a constant state of arousal. It used to be the mere thought of a girl in a pretty dress or the glimpse of her underwear was enough to send me to the bathroom for half an hour; but now the sensation of slipping into a dress and a pair of panties nearly gave me a heart attack.

If my mom suspected what was going on she never said a word. In retrospect I think she knew perfectly well what I was doing, but she deliberately chose not to say anything; I sincerely believe she wanted me to become addicted to my new wardrobe, and what better way to do it than associating ultimate pleasure with my new regimen? By keeping it forbidden and threatening to punish me at the slightest sign of giving in to my nasty, boyish tendencies, she made masturbation even more enticing, and all that much more rewarding! The between the adrenaline rush and boyish hormones, I was hooked! I just had to come up with more creative ways of not getting caught.

Eventually, of course, my little habit would prove my undoing, leading to my being trapped even tighter in my mother's grasp … and my new way of life.

The days passed fairly quickly and the next thing I knew the summer was half over. Mom was in a extremely good mood, the best I’d seen her in a long time. And, strangely enough, Dave and I were getting along pretty good. Everything was going great except for one thing.

I was still stuck in those stupid girls' clothes!

Oh, I mean, things could have been worse, I guess. But then again, they could have been a heck of a lot better. Sure, I’d had some fun (though I didn't dare admit it!) and I was managing to stay on my mom’s good side by letting her do whatever she wanted with me. But let's face it, as far as I was concerned the entire summer was a complete waste. The baseball season was practically ruined, I never got to watch hardly any television — at least not the kind I wanted to see! — and I never got to see my friends. I mean, things were so bad, the one time my dad tried to take me on vacation he got called back to the office because of some emergency.

"Sorry, son," he said to me over the phone from his office more than a thousand miles away. "Maybe we try again later this year."

To say I was disappointed was a tragic understatement. My fourteenth birthday was coming up and I was hoping to spend it fishing and hiking with my dad, as far away from anything feminine as possible. Instead, it looked like I was going to be stuck in the house, probably doing dishes or some stupid thing. My mom didn’t say anything about Dad backing out, but the look on her face said "I told you so."

Then one day something really scary happened.

Mom came home early from work with one of her "sick headaches" and went straight to bed. With all of my chores done I puttered about the house and pretended to keep busy. Dave was out playing with his friends, so I couldn’t watch television or anything. Bored out of my skull, I wandered to my room and sat at my vanity and touched up my makeup and hair, just in case anyone was in a mood to criticize my appearance; when Mom was feeling bad she was usually quick to take her frustration out on me and I’d do just about anything to avoid that!

I picked up one of the girls’ magazines I’d been assigned to study and settled down to learn all about the latest back to school fashions (yuck!). A short while later I was called into my mother’s room. I was surprised to find her laying on the bed in her nightgown, a wet cloth on her head.

"Here, sweetie, take this list. I want you to go to the store for me and pick up a few things. I haven’t been feeling too good today, so you’ll have to manage on your own. There’s a prescription that needs to be filled. Just tell Rita to charge it to our account."

I started to say something, but thought the better of it. The last time I’d hesitated to do as I was told I nursed a bruised cheek for two whole days. Still, I was terrified to go out by myself as "Pamela." Dressed to do housework, I was clad in that horrid orange shirtwaist and my black heels, my hair clipped back over my ears. My mind worked feverishly to figure out a way from my dilemma. I had to think up a safe, but effective excuse.

I looked at my mom laying on the bed and it came to me. "Mom, I’d love to go, but I’m … I’m kinda feeling sick, too. Maybe I got what you got."

"Don’t be ridiculous! Whoever heard of a boy having a period …?" My mother pulled her wash cloth from her head and looked at me for a moment. The scowl on her face sent a shiver through me, but then it softened into a warm smile. "Well, now … maybe you do have what I have, sweetie. You’re old enough, I suppose. Is your belly hurting you at all?"

Taking my cue, I nodded. I then swallowed deeply, took a breath, and proceeded to whine softly about my "upset stomach."

The sympathetic smile turned to concern. Mom put her hand on my forehead, and then on my belly. I moaned and mewed like a weak kitten, hoping that she would reconsider. There was absolutely no way I was going to leave the house in that stupid orange dress!

Whimpering quietly, I said something about waiting until Dave came home. Maybe he could run Mom’s errand for her. She acted as though she hadn't even heard me.

"When was the last time you went to the bathroom, sweetie?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I dunno. A day or two ago, I guess."

"You haven’t been sneaking snacks have you? Eating stuff you shouldn’t?" I shook my head, giving her my innocent look. She poked and squeezed my belly carefully. "Does that hurt? Tell me the truth, now."

I made a pouty face and nodded. Anything to keep from walking to the shopping center in that stupid dress!

"Hmmm … tell you what. Go to my bathroom and sit on the pot. See if you can go. If not, I’ve got just the thing to fix you right up."

Of course, it took me five minutes to get my girdle down and by the time I did Mom showed up, sipping a cup of coffee and taking some aspirin. I felt self-conscious sitting there with my dress hiked up around my waist and my undies tangled about my knees, but she acted as though the scene was completely natural. I pretended to try to go, but couldn’t, of course; even if I could I wouldn’t do it in front of my mother. That would have been totally disgusting!

After sitting and listening to my mom lecture me about eating right and taking better care of my body, I finally conceded that I just couldn’t go to the bathroom. I moaned a little for effect, hoping to get a little more sympathy and maybe win a reprieve from my errands.

Mom rubbed my forehead affectionately. "Poor thing. I know just how you feel. It’s called having your period. That's why I had to come on home. Why don’t you go undress and I’ll draw you a nice bubble bath. The warm water will help your cramps. They always do for me."

Yes! I had to fight to keep from grinning. Not only didn’t I have to go to the store in my girlie clothes, but I was getting out of that awful girdle, too! My mind spun with excitement. If I was lucky, maybe I’d get supper in bed!

It took me a few minutes to get everything off and put away properly, and by the time I was back in my mother’s bathroom she was finished filling the tub. The room was steamy and smelled of perfume and soap. I watched with curiosity as Mom rummaged through the cabinets and started laying some things out on the counter. I wrinkled my nose when I saw a large red rubber bag with a funny looking hose attached; a really strange nozzle — long and fluted and with all sorts of holes in it, like some sort of water sprinkler — was stuck on the end of the hose. It was weirder than anything I'd ever seen before in my life. There was also an oddly shaped rubber bulb with smaller version of the odd-looking nozzle. Most alarming was the large jar of petroleum jelly and a glass thermometer.

For some reason I was suddenly glad I’d put on that silly housecoat she’d given me. I tied the belt tight and pulled the collar snug about my neck as I tried to figure out what all that queer paraphernalia was for.

A loud "snap" woke me from my reverie. My mother touched me on the shoulder and smiled. I was surprised to see her slipping her hands into a pair of thin rubber gloves. The kind they used down at the clinic.

"Before you get into the tub I want you to go and bend over the sink for a minute. I need to check something." Not sure what she meant, I went over and put my hands on the edge of the countertop. I winced as she gave my bottom a playful pinch. "No, silly goose, I mean bend all the way over."

A funny feeling came over me. With great reluctance I did as I was told, resting my arms on the counter and laying my head down like I was going to take a nap. Mom took a towel and placed it under my head like a pillow. If I wasn't so scared it would have been nice. I then felt the hem of my robe lift up, exposing my bare bottom.

What happened next was so shocking, I couldn't believe it! I thought for a moment I was in some nightmare and that any moment I would waken and find my dad standing over me and saying something like "Hey, gonna sleep the day away?"

Instead, when I opened my eyes all I saw was the reflection of my mom standing behind me … and those dreaded rubber gloves!

"Now try and hold still, honey. This might tickle a little bit."

The next thing I knew I felt a firm hand spread my cheeks wide apart, baring my most sacred secret body part to the world! I couldn’t believe it! Why in the world would she be looking there? This was the most horrible feeling I’d ever had in my entire life!

I remember thinking "This is what I get for lying!" No doubt I would have been better off keeping my mouth shut and going on to the store, dress or no dress.

But it got worse. I heard something like a jar lid being removed … and then I almost ran my head through the wall as a cold, slippery finger touched that spot between my cheeks, smeared its slipperiness around a bit … and then pressed inward.

I gasped for air. "Oooooh, Mom … no! Please, not this …."

"Hold still, now," I was warned. "I'm checking to see if you're stopped up. Don't worry, we do this all the time down at the clinic. It'll feel funny, but some of our patients enjoy it."

Enjoy it? Not hardly! I started to stand up, but a sharp WHACK! on my bare butt reminded me who was in charge. Instead, I squirmed and whimpered as my mother explored my bottom with a professional thoroughness that left me stunned. Before she finished it felt as though she'd slid her whole hand up inside me!

"Hmmm … you are definitely stopped up," she said. We were waiting for the thermometer in my bottom to warm up. "Not to worry, though. I can do something about that. Very easily. We’ll have you feeling better in no time, sweetie."

I felt my entire body shiver as the thermometer was pulled from my bottom. My temperature was normal, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t sick, Mom said. She insisted on "taking care" of me, in spite of my contention that I was beginning to feel better.

"This is something we needed to do anyway. 'Pamela' is going to be fourteen soon, and all girls that age have to learn to take care of their bottom ends. Don’t worry. It might seem a little uncomfortable at first, but you'll feel so much better afterward. Who knows, you might even think it's fun! As much as you like playing with yourself, something like that wouldn't surprise me at all."

I shook my head. "I hate it! It hurts and I hate it!" I whined desperately.

"You can’t prove that by me." Mom grinned and pointed. I looked down. It took me a second to figure out what she was showing me. And then, to my deepest disgust, I realized what was so amusing.

To my horror I realized I had a full blown erection! Talk about being ashamed!

"Looks to me at least part of you is having a pretty good time," Mom said, her voice oozing like honey. "Maybe instead of jerking off, you should have been playing with your other end, sweetie pie."

The gloating in her voice hurt me worse than any slap to the face.

With my arms still resting on the countertop, I turned my head over and watched with morbid interest as my mother filled the sink up with hot soapy water. I was amazed as she took the pink rubber bulb and dipped the nozzle in the water and squeezed. After filling the bulb she then took a rubber gloved finger and dipped it in the petroleum jelly. As she smeared the jelly on the nozzle it suddenly occurred to me what was about to happen.

"This is called a douche," Mom explained. "Women and girls do this to keep their bottom ends clean. Of course, we do it in the front, in our vaginas. You don’t have a vagina, but we can easily pretend you do. You’d be surprised what will fit up in that little hole of yours."

My bottom was spread once more and I felt something hard and slick probe that spot. I strained against letting the nozzle inside me, but it was too slippery and my mother was too quick; she slid it in like an expert. My eyes nearly popped out of my head as the long, curved nozzle squirmed and slithered it’s way up inside my body. I was shocked to feel the warm sudsy water filling my bowels, and I started crying as the soap started burning my insides.

To my horror Mom repeated this process several times; I lost track of how many exactly. All I knew was that she kept sliding the nozzle in and out of my bottom, over and over again, filling that little bulb up in the sink and then filling me up until I was miserable with cramps. To make matters even more complicated, my erection was tingling as though an electric wire had touched it. All that poking around with the nozzle was making me excited, in spite of the fear I felt. Much more of this and I’d make a mess and really embarrass myself. I buried my face in my towel and prayed for a miracle.

Finally Mom stopped, saying that should be plenty to get me started. She insisted that I rest for a few minutes to let the douche do its work. While I struggled to hold in my water I watched with dreadful curiosity as she filled up that huge red rubber bag with more of the hot soapy solution and hung it from the towel rack.

At long last I was allowed to sit on the toilet and relieve myself. It was undignified and awful, but I was happy to do it, grateful that the pressure on my bottom was easing up.

"Think you can do this by yourself, sweetie?" Mom handed me the bulb syringe and grinned. I held it as though I was touching a venomous snake. "Take a good look. It's something you're going to have to learn. You’re old enough, you know, and all girls have to do it eventually. Even pretend ones."

I just blushed and shook my head. I thought about how she used to make me cut my own switches before a whipping, and later made me put on my own lipstick and nail polish. It didn't satisfy her to do things to me; she wanted me to do them myself, as though it was at least partly my idea. She seemed to really enjoy that for some reason. Well, this was just going too far! There was no way I could ever do something like that to my own body!

"I … I don't think so, Mom. I … I can't."

"Oh, sure you can. Girls your age do it all the time. Sometimes even younger. I started my period when I was twelve and my sister started hers when she was eleven. It all depends on how your body matures. Anyway, you'll know how to do all this stuff before you leave this bathroom today. Like an expert. I'll make sure of that." She gave me wicked smile, one of those that made my stomach churn with dread. "But you're the one who's got to do it after today. I can't keep doing everything for you, you know."

Needless to say we weren’t done. While I finished up on the toilet a towel was spread out on the floor. I was directed to kneel on it while Mom took up position on the fuzzy toilet seat lid. The look on her face frightened me; she seemed to be having an absolutely wonderful time, she was smiling so big!

"The douche was to get you started. Now you’re about to get an enema. This will really clean you out and make you feel all better. By the time I’m through with you there won’t be a dirty spot on you, inside or out!"

I whined and begged and whimpered, but it was no good. The little towel pillow I'd been using was placed before me. I was told to kneel face down on it and stick my bare bottom up in the air. Mom dipped her slippery finger in between my cheeks, taking my breath away. Her finger was forceful as it probed my shame. I felt my erection respond to her touch and I tried to think about something else. Something ugly, dull … boring. It didn’t work. The intrusive finger worked its way deep inside me and pressed forcefully on a secret, sensitive spot. I thought I was going to black out as my penis let go its boyish load, making a pearl-colored mess on the tile floor. The pressure kept up until I was empty, and I found myself trembling with exhaustion … and shame.

"M-mom … I … I’m sorry." I struggled to catch my breath, braced for the spanking I knew was coming.

That first blow never came. I looked up and saw my mother shake her head. "Funny, how those little things like to be touched from behind like that. God’s got a sense of humor, I guess. That’s why I put that towel there. Boys can be so messy when they get poked."

Huh? She's done this before? I said to myself. I wondered how many other boys she'd touched like this, but before I could go too far I felt the new nozzle pressing against my bare bottom. Long, thick and with an alarming curve to it, that fluted ivory monster was considerably larger than the first, opening me up and sliding on through as though it was a living thing. A wave of unexpected pleasure swept through my body, putting me into a frightful panic. I was shaking with fear as the little valve was opened and I felt that first blast of hot soapy water filling my bowels.

To make a long story short, I was completely drained when she was done with me. Figuratively and literally! After flushing me out repeatedly my mother did exactly as she promised; there wasn't a part of my body — inside or out! — that hadn't been poked, probed, washed, scrubbed, rinsed and polished to perfection. Beyond that, true to her word, Mom made me practice a couple of times with the little douche bulb, the whole bit, from mixing the soapy solution to injecting it in my bottom to cleaning up afterward. The whole process seemed ugly and distasteful, but she insisted that I follow through. I couldn’t believe it when my penis started tingling again!

"I want you to do this every morning for the next few days. A girl's period usually lasts about five days, depending on her metabolism. If you do this, you'll feel so much better and it'll help keep your cramps down. I'll be checking on you, so don't try and skip out of it."

"But .. it's disgusting!" I said, my eyes burning with frustration. I thought about the sensation of having something long and slender moving around inside me like that. I didn’t dare say that I was afraid that I might like it… too much! Instead, I bit my lip and blurted out "I hate it!"

Mom smiled. "I know, sweetie, but you have to do it. I've been trying to tell you, all along. There is so much more to being a girl than you think. Boys think girls are all so pretty and fragile and everything. They think being a girl means being a helpless little sissy or whatever. Well, let me tell you, we girls have to do a lot of things that would scare the pants off most men."

After my bath Mom had me sit on the edge of her bed and she held me in her arms like I was her baby. While I whimpered and pouted, she got out a couple of bottles of lotion, poured a generous dollop of each in her hands and smeared the sticky concoction all over my nude body. After all I'd been through it was hard for me to put up more than token resistance.

"Mom … please, don't …." was about the limit of my indignation. My mother just smiled and continued with the ritual, moving from lotion to talcum powder. To my dismay, she brandished the huge feathery puff like a weapon of some sort, and nary a nook or cranny of my body was left untouched. I felt so weird, all sticky from the lotion and the fragrant powder tickling my nose. By the time she was done I was shivering and reeking of a smell that obliterated the last vestige of my masculinity.

Coated with lotion and baby powder and otherwise feeling completely miserable, I laid down next to my mom and quietly cried. She rubbed my empty belly and comforted me and told me how happy she was with me. I'd just taken my first real steps to being a woman, I was informed, and I'd passed with flying colors. Gee, that's wonderful, I thought sarcastically. What's next? Changing my birth certificate?

Despite my hard feelings, my mom seemed sincerely proud of what we'd just done, as though we'd shared something really special. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. As I laid there and thought about how humiliated I felt, Mom went on to explain that this was her "time of the month" and that's why she came home early. Sometimes women got sick, either with bad headaches or between their legs or in their bellies. Sometimes in other places as well. That was what happened to her that day, only she’d run out of her medicine.

She went on to tell me all about menstruation and the things that went with it. I found myself blushing bright red when she reminded me that girls usually had their first periods when they were my age and even younger. I about died as she went into great detail — as though I really was her daughter — telling me about tampons and pads and stuff and how women and girls used them. I tried not to listen too much to what she was saying, but she figured out what was going on she smacked me on the bottom and told me to pay attention.

"I'm going to be asking you some questions in a few minutes and if you haven't been listening I'm going to get out my belt. Understand me?"

As a result, I was told to imagine what it would be like to go through the things she described, especially the part about wearing tampons! Talk about sick! Who in the world thought up something like that??!!! The thought of it was too much for my boyish brain, and my mom laughed when I told her so. Having my bottom poked and washed was bad enough; I couldn't imagine having to walk around all day with something stuck up in there!

Mom was tickled to hear my opinion, and she gave me a wicked smile in return. "Oh, if you think that's bad, then think about what it would be like to go to bed with another boy … or a man. If you think having that little bitty douche nozzle up in your bottom was uncomfortable, try to imagine what it's like to have somebody's penis inside you."

"Mom, no!" I protested. I couldn't believe she was saying stuff to me like this! "Can't we talk about something else?"

"Hush up, ‘Pamela’!" she commanded. "We're just saying 'what if,' that’s all. Don’t be such a prude. Just listen. As I was saying, a man's penis can be quite large, large enough to make the first few times agony for some poor girls. That’s why brides are so nervous on their wedding nights. In fact," she said dramatically, "it's not uncommon for their bottom ends to bleed first time or two."

I'd never thought about things in those terms and just the mere thought of any of those things happening to me was enough to make me tremble. To have something like a penis up my bottom, and for it to be so big it would make me bleed? The thought stuck in my mind like a bad dream. "I … I'd never go to bed with a man," I said, making a solemn vow. "Or a boy, either. That's nasty!"

My mother laughed. "That's what a lot of girls your age say, sweetie. But it keeps on happening, and so do the babies and everything else that comes with them. You just keep thinking like that and, well then, we'll see what you end up doing. You're still young. Never say never."

I tried to imagine what she was talking about, but it was just too horrible. To have a man or boy touch me like that? Something as ugly as a penis … inside my bottom??!! It was just awful to even think about! I felt sick to my stomach.

While I worried about losing my virginity, Mom kept lecturing. By the time I came out of my trance, the conversation had shifted to the consequences of having sex. Which, I soon discovered, was even worse than I imagined.

"Sex isn't the worst part, sweetie. Believe it or not, you get used to that. There are worse things to worry about."

I shifted uncomfortably and winced. "I can't imagine!"

Mom gave my bottom a playful slap. "Hush, 'Pamela.' This is important. Now, let's just pretend you did get married and you went to bed with your brand new husband."

I made a "yuck" sound and she giggled for a moment, just like a school girl.

"It could happen, sweetie. Stranger things do. Anyway, after he puts his penis in you and you have sex and all that, then you have to worry about getting pregnant. Of course, that would probably be a miracle since you're a boy, but just think for a moment. If you were pregnant, your belly would grow until none of your clothes would fit. Then, after nine months of carrying it around, imagine having a ten pound baby passing through that precious little hole of yours? Oh, say about the size of a small melon? You think a penis would be uncomfortable? No, sweetie … having children is uncomfortable! Believe me, I know that from painful experience."

It took a second for me to realize I'd stopped breathing. After what I'd just been through in the bathroom, the thought of a baby passing through my poor bottom was … well, unthinkable!

"I … I'd die," I whispered.

Mom hugged me. "No, you wouldn't, honey. It happens all the time. To girls and women all over the world. That's why moms are so protective over their children. We go through a lot of agony to have our babies and we want our pain to be worthwhile. That's why I'm so hard on you. I want you to be a good person, not turn out like some pervert or criminal. I didn't go through the pain of childbirth for you to end up like that."

The conversation trailed off from there. While Mom dozed I lay there trying to imagine going through all the things she told me. A lot of it made sense. Most of it was scary. No, that’s not true — all of it was scary! No wonder girls are so screwy, I thought. No wonder they get so upset and crazy. If I had to worry about the things they worry about, I'd be a nervous wreck, too!

The rhythm of my mother's breathing calmed me down somewhat. I tried to go to sleep, but it wasn't easy. My bottom tingled as I dwelled on the images in my mind. It was as though I'd been given access to a treasure trove of secrets in some dark, veiled society. As frightened as I was, I was equally fascinated. I was also relieved. As I slipped away, I remember thinking I'm sure glad I'm not a girl for real!

After a short nap Mom woke me and asked if I felt good enough to go to the store. She was feeling worse and needed her medicine. I hesitated, but when she suggested that maybe another session with the douche bag would help, I changed my mind. Getting out of the house suddenly became my main goal in life, even if it meant parading around the neighborhood like some sort of stupid fairy!

I went to my room and put on the clothes my mother laid out for me. The orange dress was in the hamper, but what took it's place wasn't much better — a short white puffy sundress trimmed with yellow flowers, my "favorite" white heels, the prerequisite panties and brassiere. Instead of hose there was a pair of knee high socks that matched the dress. To my relief there was no girdle of any sort in sight.

The dress fit me snug about the bodice, emphasizing my chubby breasts encased in the padded bra. The skirt flared out from the high waist, stiffened by some netting sewn within, forcing the hem to stand out well above my knees. Without a girdle the effect was to make me feel like I was practically naked from the waist down; after all I’d just gone through, that wasn’t such a pleasant feeling, let me tell you!

When I was ready I went to tell Mom. I hoped she’d change her mind about making me go, but she didn’t. Instead, she smiled at me from where she lay on the bed and told me I looked very pretty. I looked in the mirror just before leaving the house. I disagreed. I thought I looked like a complete dork!

"One more thing, sweetie. I want you to go into my bathroom and look in the cabinet. There's a box of pads there."

"Pads? What kind of pads, Mom?" Hey, remember, I was just a thirteen year old boy. I didn't have the slightest idea what she was talking about.

My mother smiled. "Feminine pads, honey. You know, sanitary napkins, like the ones I told you about? Get one out and put it in your panties. Under your bottom, sweetie. You don't want to have an accident in your pretty dress, do you?"

It took me a few minutes, but I figured it all out. Weird thing, it kinda made sense, too. My stomach was still gurgling some, and I'd been to the bathroom a couple of times to "pee" out the rest of all that soapy water. With just a pair of silk panties on, they seemed like just the thing, just like Mom said.

So that's what they're for! I felt dumber than a stump as I read the label on the box. Man, being a girl is a pain in the butt! I thought ruefully.

I took a deep breath as I opened the front door. Then I sighed. It was no picnic as I stepped out into the bright sun and looked up and down the street. If anyone recognized me dressed like a priss … well, the consequences were just too horrible to imagine.

Fortunately, I’d grown a little wiser in my old age and in addition to my purse, I’d gathered a couple of other accessories chosen for their value as part of my disguise rather than fashion. A pair of sunglasses and a white sunhat were donned before going out the door, and I added a bright yellow scarf around my neck as well. I had to be careful not to get the scarf tangled in my hoop earrings. I’d seen Mom with similar accessories on many occasions and I thought between those three things there was little chance anyone would suspect that I was really me; I hoped they’d forget all about "Greg Parker" and see an anonymous girl instead.

The walk to the shopping center took about twenty minutes. It wasn't the most comfortable walk I'd taken, thanks to my high heels and that stupid sanitary napkin stuck up against my bottom. I had to fight the urge to reach under my skirt and adjust where the pad was tugging against those skimpy panties I wore; I worried constantly that it was either going to fall out or that my panties would fall down or some other horrendous accident would happen. I made sure to take careful, deliberate steps, just in case. The effort was wearing me out, but the adrenaline flowing through me was enough to keep me going. Barely.

I was fortunate in that the only people I met along the way were a few mothers taking their afternoon walk with their children. Most of the kids I saw were little ones, playing in their front yards, too busy to pay me any mind. I guess I looked too grown up to be bothered with. That was what I was hoping. Each time I did pass someone I smiled and nodded, holding my breath inside, fearful that at any moment someone would point a finger and say "I know you!" Even when I passed Mrs. Henderson, the young lady who moved in next door with her little boy Timothy and her husband Robert, I managed to keep up my charade and we parted company with little more than a "Good afternoon."

As smoothly as my walk went, inside the store was another matter. The list I was given shocked me as much as it did confuse me. Most of the things I had no trouble with, like headache medicine and lipstick. But tampons? Maxi-pads? Douche kits? What the heck? After what I'd just been through I knew all about what these things were for, that was for sure. Nevertheless, the idea of having to actually buy them, much less pick out the right ones, was something that I was not looking forward to!

After spending the longest time trying to decipher the packages and make the right decision, I was about to give up and go home. Mom wasn't going to be happy, but what could I do? Then I found an unlikely ally to help me out. Rita Johnston, of all people, appeared at my side, her face shining with glee to see me standing there looking like a complete idiot.

"Greg? Greg Parker? Oh, gosh, that is you! In a dress, yet! I can't believe it. I mean, I guess I should, I suppose. Are you still playing that crazy dress-up game? I just wasn't expecting to see you like this. Is your mom with you?" She looked around and seemed puzzled that I was alone. "She’s not here? Well, what in the world are you doing out on your own dressed up like some sissy girl? What’s up with all that, anyway?"

My face was hot and I felt kinda dizzy. "It’s just a stupid game she likes me to play. My mom, I mean. She isn’t feeling too good and I … uh, I had to run an errand for her. She sent me to the store to get some stuff for her." I was surprised that I managed to stammer through my lame explanation without actually hurting myself.

Rita stared at me for a moment. She then looked me up and down. "You walked here all by yourself? Dressed like that? You nut! You’re either crazy or you’re a lot braver than I thought. I’m impressed! Really, I am!"

I blinked. For a moment I thought she was kidding. But then I realized she was being serious. Maybe. "Really? You’re impressed? You … you don't think this is dumb?"

She grinned and nodded. "Oh, yeah, it’s dumb all right. Absolutely. It is one of the silliest things I've ever seen in my life. You're taking an awful risk. But you know, I don’t know of any other boy who could pull it off. This is so neat! You’re sure you’re just thirteen? You look a lot older in that dress and those shoes."

I blushed. "I do? Well, I’ll be fourteen this weekend. How old do I look?"

My friend looked at me carefully and then winked. "Oh, maybe sixteen. Fifteen for sure. Oh, my goodness … you're barely a teenager. Already you look like that? With pierced ears, yet. Gosh, what in the world is your mother going to do with you when you get older …?"

I started to ask her what she meant, but thought the better of it. We were drawing a lot of stares as it was and I didn’t want anymore problems.

If Rita thought it was funny that I was wearing a dress, she considered it hilarious when she discovered I was buying such intimately feminine paraphernalia. Between helping me choose the right size tampons and showing me the various hot water bottles to choose from, she grinned like a Cheshire cat. Occasionally she would make some remark about "a boy as pretty as you" this or "a cute boy like you" that … which only added to my shame factor.

At the checkout lane my new friend made a big show out of ringing up my purchases, naming off each item in a voice so loud as to be heard by all of the other cashiers. Giving me a mischievous wink, she rubbed it in good, acting as though I was her favorite customer.

"Now, if these tampons are the wrong size and you need to return them, Miss Parker, please feel free. The same goes for your panty-liners and pads. I hope you enjoy your lipsticks and mascara. Your business is important to us and we want you to be happy with your purchases. Bye, Miss Parker! And, please, tell your mom I said hello!"

Blushing brilliantly, I managed to gather up my purchases and mince out of the store without making a scene. Pretty good, considering that I wanted to kick off my high heels and run away as fast as I could!

I was furious as I clip-clopped my way home. Rita was right. This was insane, me running around the neighborhood dressed like some teenaged girl, buying makeup and feminine hygiene products and junk! I was a boy, doggone it! I should be at the arcade or playing football or riding my bike! Not worrying about tripping in a pair of high heels or how my lipstick looked!

The ironic thing was, of course, that the madder I got, the sillier I probably looked. There I was, in my puffy little dress, clacking my heels along the sidewalk, my purse in one hand and a pink shopping bag in the other. I was so angry I even forgot to put on my sunglasses, a fact that struck me when I bumped into Mrs. Henderson, who just happened to be standing in her yard as I approached my house.

I thought about going on down the street and coming back later, but where would I go? I could try sneaking about to the back yard, but not in those heels! Sighing a sigh of despair, I swallowed my pride and turned into the path leading up to the front porch of our house. Maybe, I thought, she won’t pay any attention to me ….

"Hi, Greg! Nice outfit!" I stopped in my tracks and turned. Mrs. Henderson waved and smiled as though seeing her neighbor’s thirteen year old son running around in hose and lipstick was the most natural thing in the world. I was so shocked all I could do was croak out a hoarse "Thanks."

Mom was waiting for me in her room, the lights low and her head still covered with a wet cloth. I gave her the medicine I bought and fetched her a glass of water. I thought about it while she took her pills and went and got a fresh cloth for her head. The smile on her face made everything worth while.

"Here, sweetie, take two of these," she said when I got back. She handed me a pair of salmon colored pills. "Dr. Richardson down at the clinic gave me a prescription of these for you. I want you to take them every morning, all right? They'll make you a little sick for a couple of days, but then you'll feel a lot better."

Nodding, I did as I was told, sipping from the same glass my mom used to take her pills. When I was done she had the strangest smile on her face. Like she knew something I didn't. I would have screamed with horror had I known the truth.

I started to put away the rest of my purchases in the cabinet in my mom’s bathroom. I remember seeing at least two more large rubber bags with hoses attached already in there, and I tried to imagine what in the world she needed so many for. It turned out they weren’t all for her.

"Here, sweetie, take these and put them in your bathroom." Mom handed me the sack of feminine hygiene items I’d purchased at the drugstore. I felt a chill run through my body. "Those are for you to use. Remember, now, if you run out of anything you’ll have to remember to put them on the grocery list. I can’t do everything for you, you know."

My hands trembled as I arranged everything neatly in the cabinet under the sink. My bathroom was already looking like a girl’s room, what with all the lipsticks and lotions and makeup scattered about on the counter and shelves. The boxes of tampons, pads and douche supplies made it official.

It was a couple of hours later that my mom came downstairs and sat down on the couch next to me. She looked at the magazine I was reading — I’d finished my fashion essay and was reading an article about girls who had "boy trouble" — smiled, and then kissed me on the side of the mouth.

"You know, sweetie … we might not get along perfectly all the time, and you probably hate me for treating you the way I do … but it’s times like this that makes it all worthwhile." She squeezed my hand and kissed me again. "Thanks for getting my medicine for me. I’m feeling a whole lot better, thanks to my little angel of mercy."

I shifted about and smiled a weak smile. "Uh, nah … that’s all right. It was kinda fun, I guess. Rita was there. She helped me get your stuff for you."

"That’s nice. She’s a good girl. I know she likes you, all right. Did you know that?"

No, I didn't know that. Mom went on about Rita and what a great daughter she was and how wonderfully she and Mrs. Johnston got along. I swear, I thought if I heard the name "Rita" one more time I'd scream.

The next few days were strange. Just as she said, the pills she gave me caused me some nausea, and I didn't have much appetite for a while. I spent a lot of time with a heating pad on my stomach, languishing about like a menstruating teen girl. I even cried some, which was weird. I never cried, well, not until recently. It was like I was going through some strange change or something.

Under my mom’s careful scrutiny, I also followed up on my new hygiene routine. To the letter, for the next five days straight. As much as I hated to do it, I imitated everything she taught me about douching and enemas, cleansing myself in a manner that most boys would find as shocking as it was degrading. While I knew girls were different, I never, ever knew that boys’ bodies could be touched that way. Who would have known?

This was even more confusing considering my continued erections. All I had to do was just think about douching and I’d be get so excited I’d mess my undies. I thought for sure that my mom would fuss, but she said it wasn’t my fault. As long she thought I wasn’t jacking off, she didn’t seem to care. Maybe she knew, but wasn't saying anything. Regardless, she just gave me some pads and panty-liners to keep me from ruining my girlish underthings.

"I told you it wasn’t so bad, didn’t I?" she teased me one day. I’d just finished my morning enema and was stepping into my bubble bath. "After all that crying and fussing. And here you are, carrying on like a high school girl. Didn’t I tell you it would be fun?"

And to be honest, she was right. It took me a while, but I actually started looking forward to my sessions in the bathroom, almost as much as I used to enjoy playing with myself the old-fashioned way. My only fear was that my mom might figure out just how much fun I was having.

Then again, she probably already knew.

Continue on with Chapter 17 of "Lipstick Discipline"