That Saturday I was allowed to sleep in late. When I finally did get up Mom sent me to the bathroom to cleanse myself and take a bath.

"Today's a special day, sweetie," she said cheerfully. "I want you feeling and looking your best. I laid out your stuff for you. Including some tampons. You're fourteen today, old enough to try one. I don't want to hear any argument. It's not that hard. Just douche and then sit down and read the instructions and try it. If you need help I'll come in and give you a hand."

Following my mother's orders to the letter, I douched until my bottom was "sparkling clean," as she liked to say. It wasn't nearly as bad as that first time, and I'll tell you now that I had a smile on my face the entire time I was doing it. It actually was more fun than jerking off (well, I couldn't help it ... it was!!!) and I probably poked the nozzle around inside my bottom a lot longer than I needed. Of course, I would have died before letting my mother know how much I'd grown to like playing with myself like that.

While I was sitting on the toilet I did as I was told and read the little booklet that came in the tampon box. To say that I was shocked is an understatement! After all I'd just experienced you'd have thought I'd have been prepared, but after reading about how everything worked and looking at the diagrams, I was speechless. It was weird enough to be washing my bottom like a girl, but ... well, to be wearing a wad of cotton up there ... all the time? My god, for a fourteen year old boy who was more at home building model tanks and reading comic books, that was unthinkable!

I remember looking in the mirror, eyes red with tears and hands trembling with fear. "When is this going to stop?" I thought to myself. It was like a nightmare that had absolutely no end in sight!

I about jumped out of my skin when a harsh knock announced my mother's arrival. She stood looking at me moment, glanced at the little booklet and smiled. "Not done yet? Better get to it. We've got a big day ahead of you today."

I gave my most pitiful (and sincere!) pouty look. "Do I ... Oh, Mom ... do I have to?" I nodded at the little pink and white paper packet in my hand.

"Yes, you have to. If you don't, I'll do it for you. But I'm sure you don't want that." The look on her face reinforced what she was saying.

"But," I swallowed anxiously and took a deep breath, "It's going to hurt."

Mom shrugged her shoulders. "It's not going to hurt any worse than if I have to whip your bare bottom. Don't be such a baby. Girls your age and younger use tampons all the time. I don't know what you're making such a big deal about it for."

I paused for a moment, and thought seriously about saying "No!" But sitting on a toilet in your birthday suit isn't exactly a position from which hold a debate. I nodded and tore open the little packet ....

I won't bore you with the gory details, but suffice it to say that it took me quite a while to get it right. It just took a little petroleum jelly and a lot of patience. Those stupid tampons are so hard to hold on to with slippery fingers, but I finally got it in; I knew my mom wouldn't let me go otherwise.

Sure enough, when I was done she insisted on checking me, and I remember blushing like crazy as she made me bend over and then tugged on the little string drooping between my cheeks. The only words she said to me were "Good job, sweetie-pie," but the look on her face was one of complete and utter triumph.

I do have a confession to make before going further. As much as I may have hated my predicament — and myself, for getting into such a mess — it, uh, really wasn't all that bad. As a matter of fact, it ... uh, well, it felt kinda nice. I mean, I suppose I should have been screaming bloody murder, but by the time I was done I was feeling giddy and silly.

Well, I couldn't help it ... it tickled!

So anyway, after my bath and toilet I slipped into my outfit for the day, bra and panty girdle, knee socks and flats, a skimpy little flowered midriff top and my pink pleated mini-skirt. I then made up my face with the usual mascara, lipstick and rouge, taking time to put my hair up in twin ponytails just for the heck of it. I looked in the mirror when I was done. My hoop earrings dangled conspicuously on either side of my head, and I giggled as I turned my head from side to side, making them swing outward. I used to hate the way that felt and looked. For some reason now, though, it seemed like fun.

Hey, don't blame me ... I was bored!

When I came downstairs I found a leisurely lunch already laid out, after which Mom sat down with me at the kitchen table and chatted while I worked on my nails. I'd hoped that maybe I'd get to spend my birthday as "Greg," but as I carefully painted my nails bright red I figured that was a lost cause.

When I was done Mom sent me to fetch my purse and told me we were going out. I looked at her for a moment and started to protest. The short top and skirt set I wore was enough to make any girl blush, much less an adolescent boy. The idea of going out in it scared me to death. Still, I didn't say anything; after all I'd been through that week I realized it didn't matter who saw me dressed like a goof. I'd just as well give up and try to enjoy myself. It wasn't like I could do anything about it.

The ride in my mom's car was short and sweet, though I did get a little uncomfortable sitting with that stupid tampon irritating my bottom like that. At one point Mom asked "do you have ants in your pants, sweetie?" I was squirming so much. I just shrugged and said something about being restless.

Imagine my shock as we finally pulled into the parking lot of the salon where my mother got her hair done. Then imagine my expression when I was told to get out of the car and follow her inside. It was a long walk from the car to the front door.

Inside the salon I was introduced to Phyllis, my mother's stylist, and a couple of the girls who worked for her.

"And so this is Gregory?" Phyllis took my face between her hands and gave me a careful look. "I understand your mom is trying to help you satisfy your curiosity about girls, is that right? Well, it sure looks like you have a great head start, sweetie. Did you do your makeup yourself?" I nodded sheepishly, causing one of the other girls to giggle.

"Wow!" enthused the assistant. "And you're a boy? I sure wouldn't have thought so. That outfit is so cute on you. Look, he's even wearing nail polish!"

I remember hearing everyone laugh as I stared down at my hands; with no pockets in my skirt there was no place to hide them and I found myself picking at the trim along the hem.

I don't remember much about what happened there except to say that by the time I left I was proudly sporting a new haircut. Funny, it seemed like Phyllis cut almost all of my hair off, judging from all that fell before my eyes and that covered the floor; but when I looked in the mirror it actually looked like my hair was longer. I know now it was because she'd completely reshaped the silhouette, giving me a sharp pageboy look reaching just past my ears.

The torturess/beautician seemed to be really enjoying herself; she even gave me a quick lesson on the use of hot rollers "for a more girlish look."

"Oh, how darling," Mom said as my hair was brushed out and teased into shape.

The crowning glory, of course, was the severe set of bangs that brushed my eyes. Like the earrings that dangled and tickled the side of my face, the constant flutter of my dark lashes against the tips of my bangs were a sore reminder that I'd somehow lost control over who — and what — I was.

Phyllis topped it all off with a pair of yellow plastic barrettes, which she clipped on either side of my head. Great, I thought to myself. Now I really do look like a girl!

"Now that's perfect," my mother said as I was presented to her. "It's funny what a little haircut will do for your appearance, not to mention your attitude."

"Maybe next time we'll give him a real perm," Phyllis suggested. "That is, if he hasn't outgrown this phase he's going through.

Mom glanced at me and winked. "Oh, I doubt this is something he'll outgrow. I know he's acting kind of shy, but he's really excited about the way he looks. I think we're going to stick to this little game all summer, so we'll probably be back for a new look. You know how kids are."

Back at the house I found myself wrapped in that goofy apron, which, coupled with my hairstyle, made me look like a total idiot. My new look, of course, delighted my mother to no end. She was so thrilled with my new hairstyle, she was talking about taking me shopping for new clothes and maybe even getting a mother-daughter outfit for us to wear when we went out!

Not that I had much time to worry about my future; I was kept busy for nearly two hours running around the kitchen and dining room like the hired help, cleaning vegetables, mixing batter and setting the table. Between my tampon tickling my bottom and the smell of perfume and the aroma of cooking food and my new bangs constantly brushing against my eyes, I felt as though I was walking around in someone else's shoes ... which I guess I was, come to think of it. Even after all I'd been through, this was still an alien environment to me, surrounding me with so many unfamiliar sensations and feelings. This wasn't part of who I was or who I was supposed to be. Not at all what a boy was like, right?

Some birthday ... I wondered what my dad would think if he could see me right then; the image that came to mind made me cry ....

As soon as the chicken was in oven I was sent to my room to get change clothes. "Put on what I laid out for you," my mother instructed. "Oh, and change your tampon. You need to do that every four or five hours, honey. If you need any help give me a yell. You should be able to manage by yourself, though."

My heart was in my throat when I saw what was waiting for me when I entered my bedroom. Laying across my bed was a brand new party dress! I couldn't believe it! I remember thinking "Where in the world did this come from?" Mom must have bought this when I wasn't looking. My stomach dropped as I realized it was the slinkiest, frilliest thing I'd ever seen in my life. Coral pink with a wide, full skirt and a lace bodice and spaghetti thin shoulder straps, it sure wasn't the kind of thing any of my teammates would be wearing to the tournament that season.

Accompanying my new dress was a fresh bra, panties, long-legged girdle and sheer hose. There was also a slip. On the floor was a pair of pink sequined three-inch heels. What in the world? The entire ensemble lay there ominously, looking as though they belonged to someone — anyone! — else but me. Surely I wasn't expected to wear such a ridiculous-looking outfit to my birthday supper ....

After staring at it for a while I shrugged my shoulders and gave in. What the heck, I thought to myself. I look dumb enough as it is, what do I care if I look any more stupid? Maybe if I can just get through this night, things will be better tomorrow.

It took me almost half an hour to change, most of that spent struggling to get out of my girdle, which I still thought was much too small for me. Of course, getting into the new one was a fight, too; it seemed even tighter than the one I just got out of! In between I changed out my tampon — yuck! — and by the time I finished I was exhausted.

The dress was as difficult to manage as it looked. I hated it. It had to be buttoned up the back, which I could barely do without dislocating my shoulder, plus it was very snug, around my chest as well as about waist. As you might suspect, it wasn't all that easy to get into.

The puffy slip forced the hem about an inch or so above my knees and made the skirt extremely wide, forcing me to walk carefully about the house for fear of knocking things over. The taller high heels didn't help matters at all! I thought I was about to tip over with every step I took. Oh, and in keeping with the silliness of my attire, there was a jacket that went with the dress, a skimpy little short sleeved thing, useless except to give me something else to get tangled up in.

Pulling and tugging at the tight material, I felt like my bosom was just huge. And from what I could see in the dressing mirror, it was. Well, for boy, I guess. I mean, between the brassiere and the tight bodice of the dress, my chubby breasts had more cleavage than ever before! Not exactly the kind of thing most boys have to worry with. Faced with that thought, I felt so ridiculous I could have cried.

"Oh, that outfit looks nice on you," Mom said as she entered my room. I was buttoning up my jacket and moping about as usual, wishing it was time for bed. "Even better than when I first wore it. Here, undo the jacket, sweetie. We don't want to hide that cute figure, do we?"

I felt my stomach drop as I realized my mom was talking about my boobs, or what I had that passed as boobs. Feeling like a complete idiot, I stood perfectly still as her fingers fiddled with the buttons and opened up the front of my jacket. She then cinched the belt as tight as she could, emphasizing my bustline even more so. I could have died as she tugged at my bra, adjusted my budding bosom, nodded and then grinned.

"Very nice. Oh, yes, that's much better. You look so grown up like that." Her eyes glistened as she primped and poked at me. "I was sixteen when I first wore this and I have to say you look even prettier than I did. Now, touch up your make up and then put on another coat of nail polish. Oh, and while you're at it, dust yourself with a bit of rouge here," she said, tracing her fingertip across my chest. "Our guests will be here in about twenty minutes. You've plenty of time, but don't take forever."

I sat patiently as she removed the girlish hair clips. She then got out a brush and a can of hairspray and started touching up my hairdo.

A lot of information was coming at me faster than I could deal with. I took a deep breath and swallowed. "What ... what do you mean 'guests,' Mom? You mean somebody's coming to visit? Tonight?"

Tugging sharply on my locks, my mother glanced at me through the dressing mirror and gave me that look — the one that said "Mind your own business." After arranging a mother of pearl comb in my hair, she placed a pearl necklace about my neck and a matching bracelet on my wrist. A small jewelry box was presented to me and I was told to pick out some rings for my fingers. She then told me not to forget to touch up my mascara before leaving me to ponder my fate.

I was waiting for my nails to dry when the doorbell rang. In fact, they were already dry, if the truth be known, but I was killing time, unwilling to go downstairs any sooner than I had to. As nervous and jumpy as I was, I actually got kind of frustrated when I realized the doorbell was continuing to ring and that no one was making an effort to answer it.

"Someone's at the door," I yelled. My voice cracked a bit, still a bit hoarse. I called out again, but no one answered.

The ringing went on and on, until I made my way carefully down the stairs in my new shoes and the poufy dress. Not an easy task for a fourteen year old second baseman, much less an aspiring astronaut.

My brother Dave was in the living room, sitting on the sofa watching cartoons, completely ignoring the incessant ringing that was going on.

I fussed at him from the foyer as best I could, considering my ridiculous appearance. "What's the matter with you? Why aren't you answering the door?"

"Mom told me not to answer it," he said, his eyes glued to the television. "She said it was your job, 'Pamela'!"

"We'll see about that," I said with a growl. Dave looked and me and grinned. It's awful hard for a guy to act menacing when he's wearing heels and lipstick.

By the time I got to the door whoever was there was pounding away like there was no tomorrow. Pausing a moment, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and said a little prayer, opened them ... and then opened the door.

It could have been worse, I guess. I don't know how, but I suppose it could have been.

When I pulled the door around I was both relieved and worried to see Mrs. Johnston, my mom's friend from work. She seemed so glad to see me that it was only natural that I open the door and let her into the house.

What I wasn't prepared to see was her daughter coming in behind her.

You remember Rita don't you? Rita, from the pharmacy? Of course you do. I certainly remembered.

Anyway, neither Mrs. Johnston nor Rita made a really big fuss over me when they saw me, not in the way I expected. Instead of laughing and making fun of the little boy in the stupid dress, they acted as though what I was wearing and how I looked was perfectly natural. It was kind of eerie, the way they talked about me. I can't tell you how uncomfortable I felt standing there before those two women in my new dress and heels, reeking of perfume and teetering on the edge of tears. All I can say is that I felt ... well, really, really weird.

"You look very chic, Gregory," Mrs. Johnston said sweetly. She gave me a warm smile, the kind that makes you feel as though your entire soul is open for examination. "And I like what you've done with your hair. I like long hair on boys, especially if they take care of it like you've done. It looks so poufy and femmy. You look so sweet like that."

I mumbled something like "Thanks" and wished I was dead.

Rita s reaction to my appearance bothered me even more so. Instead of laughing or pointing as I'd expected, she kept looking at me with the most curious grin.

"So, how do you like wearing that bra?" she asked coyly. "Pretty neat, huh? I bet that's not something you get to do everyday, is it? Or is it?"

I just shrugged my shoulders, prompting a laugh from everyone, including my mother, who'd just entered the room. That was pretty difficult to take, considering that I didn't have any pants on and that stupid tampon was irritating my bottom like crazy; I'd never felt so vulnerable in my life!

"Such a shy thing, my little 'Pamela.' Nothing at all like that awful Greg. Look at her, so sweet and demure ... isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen? I'm so proud of her."

I stopped in my tracks and looked at my mother for a moment. Her eyes were glowing and tone of her voice was sincere for once. That's when it hit me ... Proud of me? My mom was actually proud of me? For real? How could that be?

I mean, you have to understand, for just about my entire life my mother had never, ever said a positive thing about me! Not once could I recall her saying she was proud of me or anything I'd ever done. And then suddenly, there I was, dressed in an outfit that screamed GIRL! ... my face painted with mascara and lipstick and my hair looking all puffy and goofy ... and she was saying how proud she was of me?

Our guests both nodded their approval, and for the next few minutes I found myself subject to the most humiliating scrutiny as they discussed my outfit in the greatest detail. All along I was subjected to knowing glances from my mother, who seemed to be saying "I told you so" with little more than her eyes.

Mrs. Johnston was quite polite about it all, and she made no qualms in regard to her enthusiasm for the way I was dressed. "Oh, I'm so sorry ... 'Pamela,' is it then? I forgot. Well, you know, 'Pamela,' that outfit would be perfect to wear to the theater or the ballet. Have you ever been to the ballet? No? Well, we'll have to change that! You look so sophisticated, we'll have to take you out and show you off to the world! What do you think, Rita?"

"Oh, I think our little 'Pammy' better watch out," my former babysitter said with a lilting tone. "If my little brother ever sets his eyes on you, he'll be camped out on the front porch just dying to ask you out!"

My face turned bright red to hear such talk, but my tormentors all laughed uproariously. It seemed that "Pamela" was in for a long night.

Indeed, supper was a long, tortuous event for me that evening. Everything was so formal, a rarity in our household until that fateful day. In addition to me wearing my new party dress, Mom wore one of her best evening dresses and Dave actually wore a shirt and tie. Our guests fit right in with their dresses, and all of the women and girls — yes, including me, I guess — were impeccably made up and coifed beyond perfection.

"Well, what do you think of your big sister, little man?" Mrs. Johnston asked Dave at one point. I glared at him, but the smile on his face dimmed not a bit.

"I think he ... she ... is pretty silly." I noticed Mom watching him carefully, as though she'd coached him in what to say. "Pam's always hogging up the bathroom and playing with her clothes and stuff. I'm sure glad I'm not a girl!"

Everyone laughed at my little brother's remarks, and Mrs. Johnston ruffled his hair, as though he was the most adorable little thing. I just sat there and plotted my revenge.

I tried to remain in the background as much as possible, but it seemed to be a game with everyone to entice me to talk. And talk I eventually did. Between questions from Rita and Mrs. Johnston regarding my make up and attire, and the constant prompting from my mother about little, nitpicky things — I nearly died when she told our guests that I collected and read "Seventeen" magazine! — I found myself drunk with confusion and emotion. Rita seemed to enjoy my predicament as much as my own mother, as demonstrated by the attention she showered on me throughout the evening.

"Oh, Mama!" she gushed at one point near the end of our meal. Taking my hand in hers she held it up for Mrs. Johnston to see, very nearly pulling me across the table in the process. "Look at the color 'Pamela' picked out for her nails. I just love that shade of red! I should get some like that, don't you think? It's just scrumptious!"

Mrs. Johnston nodded and smiled at me warmly. "It's very nice. You did a good job applying it, too, sweetheart. Do you help your mother with her nails?" I shook my head timidly. "Well, Rita does mine quite often. Ever since she was a little girl, in fact. That's a really fun mother-daughter thing to do. You should try it sometime. I just know your mom would appreciate the extra pampering."

My mom laughed out loud enough to make my face turn bright red. "Oh, tell me about it! To be pampered by my beautiful, loving daughter ... why, I think that would just be wonderful! What about it, sweetie? Would you mind taking care of your dear old mom?"

Everyone laughed while I just sat there and grinned like an idiot.

When everyone was done I started to excuse myself to clear off the table. Mom stopped me, saying that she had a surprise for me. I remember looking around the table and seeing smiles all around me.

"Rita is going to take you into the living room for a few minutes, sweetie. Mrs. Johnston and I have a couple of things we need to get ready for somebody's birthday surprise!"

I let Rita lead me out of the dining room like a little kid. As soon as we were alone pushed me down on the couch. Then she sidled up to me and bumped against me with her hip.

"Hey, there, pretty boy! Funny, last time I saw you like this you swore up and down you were just playing a game. Looks to me like this is more than just a silly game." The look on her face caused me to feel weak in the knees. It was bad enough being paraded around in front of my mom's friends in such sissy clothes, now I was being humiliated in front of a girl more closer to my own age. The feeling was just awful!

"Honest, Rita, this isn't my idea," I said hoarsely. "My mom made me put this on. I told you before, it's just a goofy game she likes to play with me. You're not going to tell anybody are you?"

"Oh, come on, Greg! Or is it 'Pamela?' You don't expect me to believe that. Your mom didn't do all of this. C'mon, you goofy thing, tell me the truth." She took my hand and looked me in the eye. "Are you turning gay or something? You can't look this good in a dress and then blame it all on your mother. There's stuff you're not telling me."

I was shocked! I knew what gay was and very idea was enough to make me sick. Boys kissing each other ... and worse! YUCK! It had always worried me that people might really think I was gay if I dressed up; being a sissy, a wimp and a crybaby was bad enough, but gay ... as far as I was concerned that was the ultimate insult! And for my ex-babysitter — who just happened to be the most beautiful girl I knew — to think I was queer, well, I realized I'd better come up with something quick.

The problem was, I didn't have anything to say.

"Please, Rita," I said with tears in my eyes, "I'm not a ... a fag." Just saying that word made me upset. "I got into some trouble with Mom and, well, this is how I ended up. It was all her idea, see. I never wanted to wear a dress. Please don't tell anybody, okay? Please? It's bad enough that my mom teases me about stuff like that ... I just don't want anybody else doing it, either."

Rita made a face and poked me in the ribs. "Oh, calm down. And don't say 'fag.' It's rude. And don't say 'queer,' either. That's just as bad. 'Gay' sounds so much nicer, don't you think?" My tormentor smiled while I felt sick to my stomach. "Anyway, I don't care if you're gay or not. Being gay isn't bad. It just ... well, it just is. I know a lot of gays and they're okay. You'd be surprised."

That didn't make me feel much better. "But Rita, I'm not gay!" I insisted.

Rita shrugged her shoulders. "You coulda fooled me. You look awful comfortable dressed like that. The way you do your lipstick and nails is so girlish ... how nice you smell ... and the way you walk in your heels; I've got girlfriends that never manage getting around in a dress like that. There's more than meets the eye with you, 'Pammy'." The grin on her face was bright and contagious. "Too bad you weren't dressing up a couple of years ago, back when I was keeping you. We could have had a lot of fun, you know. You'd look really cute in some of my old babydolls."

All I could do was blush and pray that the evening would come to a quick and uneventful end.

"Really, Greg," Rita continued, "what did you expect me to think? It's hard to believe you're actually a boy beneath all that makeup and that sissy little dress. I mean, just look at your hair ... it looks just perfect. Who did it for you? It couldn't have been your mom."

I told her about Phyllis cutting and rolling my hair. She seemed excited by the idea of a boy going to a beauty parlor.

"Wow ... that is so neat! Maybe next time your mom will let me go with you to get a perm! I'd love to see that!"

Get a perm?!!! What was going on with everyone? I started to explain that a perm was the last thing I wanted, but from the look on my friend's face I decided to keep my mouth shut.

Rita took advantage of the silence, a sly grin spreading over her face. "Can I ask you a question? Well, that's silly. I don't know why I always say that 'cause I'm going to ask you anyway. You're wearing stockings, right? So, tell me, what are you wearing to hold them up, a girdle or a garter belt?"

I thought my head was going to explode, I was blushing so hard. "A ... a girdle," I slowly confessed. "My mom ... she made me ...."

Rita cut me off. "Hmm ... a girdle. I thought so. You've got a really cute figure and the way your bottom looks through your dress, it looks like you're curved in all the right ways."

Guilt and shame flooded my eyes as I looked down at myself. "You ... you can see through this thing?" The pressure of my tampon caused me to squirm right then. Oh, God! I thought in a panic. What if she asks me about that!!???

"Oh, not that way, silly! I mean, the way the dress hangs on you. I can tell — most girls can see this and you will, too, eventually — by the way you move under your dress that you're a perfect size 3 and that you've got really cute little boobies. They're a bit small, but they're shaped just perfect!"

I would have grinned if I wasn't so scared.

Rita held out her hand and smiled. "Come here, sweetie. I've been wanting to do this all night."

My whole body trembling, I took her hand and let myself be drawn close. I remember looking up into her violet, almost purple eyes, and for an instant I thought she was going to kiss me. Instead, I found myself being pulled into a warm, soft hug, oh, so brief, but long enough to cause me to melt all over. As we pulled apart I did get a quick peck on the cheek, a sisterly kiss, the kind girls give each other all the time.

For some reason my knees felt awful weak and I tingled like wildfire between the legs.

"You are so cute! It's almost impossible to believe you're really a boy. I mean, you look like a girl, you smell like a girl, you sound like a girl. You even feel like a girl." I tried to dodge as she gave me a friendly slap on my bottom. "Come on, Greg, sweetie, admit it ... dressing up isn't all that bad. I bet that girdle feels pretty neat, doesn't it?"

"It feels stupid," I said softly. I didn't want my mom to hear me, but I wasn't about to let this pretty girl think I liked dressing up as prettily as she did. "I hate it!"

Rita considered me for a moment and then smiled. "Oh, pish-posh! You probably don't know what to think, wearing all that girlish stuff. Boys like that kinda stuff, believe me. It's all so sexy and rousing for them, they just can't help it. They just don't want to admit it, that's all." She grinned at me again. "Now admit it ... don't you think it's kinda sexy? Just a little bit?"

"Uh, I guess so." I shrugged my shoulders. "I mean, sure, maybe. I don't know. It just makes me feel dumb, that's all."

"I can understand that. You feel dumb, but you feel nice, too, don't you?" Eyes wide with bewilderment, I nodded. "Well, you've got absolutely no reason at all in the world to feel dumb. You make a wonderful girl and I think you ought to dress up more often. I mean, Greg's okay, I suppose, but 'Pamela' is a lot more fun. Promise me you will? Okay? Promise?"

All I could do was nod.

"Good. Oh, and by the way ... that thing I said about my brother Kevin? Well, keep him in mind if you ever want to go out with somebody. I know, I know, he's a boy and you're a boy. Still, as cute as you look, I just know he'd go wild over you. Trust me. I really think the two of you would have a great time together."

I thought I was going to faint to hear such talk!

We chatted for a few more minutes, then my mom appeared at the door. I blushed to see her smiling so brightly. The last time she smiled like that I was humiliated beyond all belief.

"Come along, birthday girl. It's time to see what the gift fairy brought you." I felt my face burn to hear the tone in her voice.

Following my mother's instructions, I closed my eyes and let her lead me back into the dining room. I wavered slightly as I was led to a chair and order to sit. When I was finally allowed to open my eyes I couldn't believe what I saw.

"Happy birthday, 'Pamela,' sweetie!" A wet, lipstick drenched kiss was planted on my cheek as I stared in awe at the elaborate birthday cake and packages laid out before me. Everyone joined in on the "Happy Birthday" song for 'Pamela' — my little brother singing the loudest, of course! — and I probably looked like a complete fool as I tried over and over to blow out the trick candles that decorated the cake.

The party was a blur. In addition to the cake, I was treated to a handful of very girlish birthday cards and several embarrassing presents. There was a package containing a very feminine panty and bra set from Mom and a very pretty nightie from Mrs. Johnston. Most surprising was a girl's bikini bathing suit from both Rita and her mom. I about died when I was how tiny it was; decorated with hearts and a touch of lace, it looked more like underwear than something to go swimming in.

"Hold it up so I can see it, 'Pamela'," Mom said. I felt my face burning fiercely as I did as I was told. "How adorable! It looks like something you'd wear on Valentine's Day. Isn't that cute, sweetie?"

"I just couldn't resist." Mrs. Johnston's voice oozed with warmth. "We were going to get it for Rita, but when she tried it on it was way too small. Greg, I mean, 'Pamela' immediately came to mind, so we got it for her instead. She can wear it to the beach or at the pool."

"You're going to be very popular," Rita assured me. "The guys will go wild when they see you wearing that."

The very thought of such a thing happening made my stomach churn with nausea. Everyone chuckled as I said something along the line of "No way!"

Mom presented me with several pieces of jewelry, including a pair of expensive looking earrings — these with little cupids hanging beneath — and a charm bracelet that she'd worn as a young girl. I was in a daze as she locked the bracelet on my wrist. Dave even gave me a small bottle of perfume, and I was so confused and mixed up I gave him a kiss — thanks to my mom's prompting. He grinned like a big goof, sitting there with my lip print on his cheek.

The fact that I was a boy wasn't completely forgotten. I ripped open one present with my real name on it. I'd asked for some baseball cards and comic books to add to my collection; I was stunned to see instead copies of "Mademoiselle," "Seventeen" and "Glamour." To my horror the subscription labels all said "Greg Parker." Mom said she thought it was probably the most appropriate gift she could give me, considering how much I liked looking at the pictures.

"But, Mom ... they're addressed to my ... boy name!"

"So? Who was I supposed to address them to? Surely not to your little brother. They are your's, after all."

I squirmed in my seat. "But ... what if one of them falls into the wrong hands? What if any of the guys from school see them?"

"Hmmm ... well, I guess I can see where that might cause some concern. Then again, it's not my problem now, is it?"

I started to say something but then stopped. Nothing I could think up would change her mind, that was for certain. Instead I fretted about how humiliating it would be for something like a copy of "Glamour" to be passed around school with my name all over it. I'd have to keep close hold on all my new magazines if I didn't want my reputation ruined.

The last gift was also the most embarrassing. No, make that humiliating. Okay, maybe devastating is more appropriate. Whatever. Giggling like a fool, Rita pulled out a gift-wrapped tube almost a yard long. Fearing the worst, I opened it up carefully, as though I was afraid of getting bit.

"This is going to be great," I heard her say to no one in particular.

The tube turned out to be a poster. The rippling giggles grew into a wave of feminine laughter as I unrolled it across the dining table. When I realized what it was ... well, I almost cried, it was that shameful.

The poster showed four smiling bodybuilding-types sunbathing nude on a beach. Men, unfortunately, not girls or women. Lying side-by-side in the sand, their tanned bodies oiled and glistening in the tropical sun, their naked bottoms were in perfect alignment beneath a flashy sign that said "Hot Buns!"

"Ew!" a lone voice said. It was my little brother, not surprisingly. It very well could have been me.

While this was probably a teenaged girl's dream come true, it certainly wasn't for me. More like a nightmare. As I stared at the row of fleshy buttocks laid out before me, I thought they were the grossest thing I'd ever seen! I mean, really! I actually felt sick to my stomach.

"Happy birthday, girlfriend!" Rita gushed. "I thought maybe you could use a little spice in your life now that you're a woman!"

My stomach churned as I realized everyone in the room was looking at me looking at my new present. Mom was all smiles and Dave had his hand over his mouth, barely able to keep from busting out laughing. I couldn't blame him for acting like an idiot; I probably would have been even worse if I'd been in his shoes.

"Good grief, Rita! Don't you think that's a bit much?" Mrs. Johnston shook her head in disgust. "All of those ugly naked butts ...! Where in the world did you get such a thing?"

My former babysitter beamed with pride. "One of my friends had it in her dorm room at college. They made her take it down and so I grabbed it up for the birthday girl here."

"Gee, thanks, Rita!" I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "It's just what I always wanted."

As my embarrassment diminished I started getting angry. Who did she think she was anyway ...? This wasn't the least bit funny, in my not-so-humble opinion.

My frustration only served to amuse Rita, though, who turned and flashed a bright smile at me. "Glad you liked it, 'Pamela'!" she said cheerfully. "There are plenty more where that came from if you want more."

I started to say something ugly when my mom interrupted.

"Well, I think it's just perfect! I used to dream about men like that when I was your age. But I know better now." The women all laughed. She then looked directly at me and said in a syrupy-sweet voice, "I don't know why you're embarrassed, sweetie. This isn't any different than all those girlie pictures you used to keep under your mattress."

As soon as she said that there was a strange exchange of knowing smiles around the table and I decided it might be best if I just kept my mouth shut.

After dessert Dave excused himself to go to his room and play. Mom directed me to fetch coffee for our guests, and then I started cleaning up the dishes as usual. I was somewhat surprised — and concerned — when Rita offered to help.

"We've got a pool, you know," my former babysitter said while we worked. "I know my mother wouldn't mind if you came over. How about it? Maybe if you ask your mom you can? I'd love to see what you look like in that bikini ...."

Our guests stayed for another couple of hours, which meant I had to endure several more rounds of well-intentioned compliments and pinches on the cheek, in addition to having to serve several cups of coffee and a second helping of birthday cake. I also had to learn to play bridge, which was a tedious process as I hated card games; like everything else that evening, I ended up swallowing my pride and immersing myself the best I could. The result was that my mother and I lost every game we played that night, though each round was an improvement on the last.

"Don't take it so seriously, honey," Mrs. Johnston said when we lost our final game. "You'll get the hang of it. The important thing is that you know the rules. The next time we come over who knows? It might be your turn to win."

Rita laughed. "Besides, this isn't a boy's or a man's game. Nobody really keeps score. My mom pays more attention to the gossip that's going on than she does the game. Loosen up a little. Only men get all worked up over a silly card game."

By the time Rita and her mother left I was exhausted. Mom went in to check on Dave and I undressed. Without being told, I made sure to hang up my new dress, sure that I'd catch heck if I did otherwise. I took off my slip and stockings and put them all in the hamper.

Mom stuck her head in the door. "Don't forget to change your tampon, 'Pamela,' sweetie. Tomorrow is the last day of your period. It won't hurt you to sleep with one in tonight."

"Yes, Mom. I'll take care of it." A boy's work is never done ....

Suddenly I was wide awake, a warm stream of semen was spewing from my penis, soaking the panties and girdle I'd worn to bed. I shuddered as the pressure of that silly tampon in my bottom drove me crazy with passion, triggering another spurt of boyish spunk. It was a fantastic, scary feeling, so intense that it repeated itself again almost immediately.

Laying in a tangle of brassiere straps, sheets and tears, struggling to catch my breath, I thought this was the most frightening, disgusting, and yet wonderful thing that ever happened to me. After all I'd been through, nothing like that had ever happened before. Never. The pleasure was so powerful, so intense that it almost hurt.

The funny thing was that, despite the agony and confusion I'd just gone through, I couldn't wait for it to happen again.

Continued on with Chapter 19 of "Lipstick Discipline"