Edited by Victor G.
16 year old Darren Peterman visits a salon as Nancy for an adult make-over and takes up smoking.

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Chapter 5
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I woke up on Saturday morning in a state of frightened ecstasy. My mother was taking me to the salon this morning to meet Brenda. Today was the day that Brenda would make me look like a 46-year-old woman! And today was the day my mother would take me shopping.

Did I really have the courage to go out into public dressed like a woman? I thought about that as I took my shower. What if someone recognized me? What if the women in the salon figure out I'm a boy? Would they laugh at me? Would the kids at school find out?

My mother was waiting for me when I got out of the shower. "Are you as excited as I am?" she asked.

"Oh my God," I said. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"You don't want to back out. Do you?" she asked. "Because you can if you want to, I'll understand if you change your mind and so will Brenda."

"No way," I said exuberantly. "I'm scared as hell, but I'm ready and I want to do this. Do you really think Brenda can make me look older?"

"Of course she can," my mother said with confidence. "She used to work in Hollywood before she opened her salon. We're going to look like sisters when she's done with you."

Mom told me to come find her after I finished getting dressed. She said she would help me with my make-up and afterwards she had a surprise for me. "Did you get me some dangly ear rings?" I asked.

Mom smiled and raised one of her eyebrows. "I can't tell you," she said. "Its a surprise. Now hurry up and get dressed!"

I put on the same outfit I had worn when my mother introduced "Nancy" to Dad and Sammy. It was the only outfit I had, but after today I'd have more clothes to put in my closet. After securing my wig to my head, I walked out into the hallway and called for my mom.

Mom met me in her bathroom and had me sit down in front of her mirror for another make-over, but this time she made me do my own make-up while she gave me verbal instructions.

I was nervous because I didn't want to look like a clown, but Mom reminded me that Brenda was going to do re-do it at the salon. "This is just so you can walk through the front door," she said. "And when you walk out the door, you'll look thirty years older!"

I did a pretty good job with my make-up, but my mom had to come to my rescue a couple of times. "It's like sports," my mother said. "You'll get better with practice," she said as she put the top back on the lipstick. "So are you ready for your surprise?"

"This feels like Christmas, except better," I said as I followed my mother into her bedroom.

I stood by the bed as mom retrieved a Neiman Marcus shopping bag from her closet. "Neiman Marcus!" I said. "It has to be expensive. I hope you didn't spend too much."

Mom sighed and said, "Tell me about it. Your father had a cow when I told him how much it cost. I had to tell him that I was paying for it out of your college fund. So here's a part of your college," she said as she handed me the bag.

I could tell it was a purse as I was pulling it out of the bag but my heart stopped when I recognized the brown and tan checks. "Its a Louis Vouitton" I screamed. "But it's different than yours."

"Remember what I said about you being your own woman?" she asked. "I wanted you to have the best but I wanted it to be different than mine. Yours is from the Damier Ebene collection."

"Its so big," I said as I spun it by its leather handles.

"It has to be," my mother said. "As a woman, you'll need to carry around a lot of stuff and I took the liberty of starting you off with some things you'll need. Go ahead. Look inside."

I unzipped the bag and looked inside. I saw lots of things that a woman would need in her purse like a compact and lipstick and vials of nail polish and nail polish remover. However, my brain pushed all those other things aside and focused on the two other Louis Vouitton pieces. I pulled out the biggest one first. "Its a wallet," I said excitedly.

"What about the other one?" my mother asked. "You know what it is. Don't you?"

I held my breath and bit my lip as I reached in and pulled the Louis Vouitton treasure from the purse. "It's a cigarette case," I said, "and its beautiful!"

I was too stunned to say anything else. The tingling in my groin changed to a burn and made my knees buckle. I could tell from the feel of the case that there was something inside it. I removed the canvas flap from its tab and looked. An open pack of Virginia Slims Menthols peeked up at me. "Are these really for me?" I asked.

"I hope you like menthol," she said, "because I put the rest of your carton next to mine in the cupboard."

With my cigarette case held tightly in hand, I wrapped my arms around my mother and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Mom! Thank you so much," I said. "You don't know how much this means to me."

"I don't know if I'd say that," my mother said. "You did a pretty good job of explaining what it would mean to you the other night. But just so you know, the official story is that you've started smoking to deal with the stress of going through the changes. That's what I told your father and that's what you're going to tell anyone else who asks."

"How did Dad take it when you told him?" I asked.

"He took the news surprisingly well, a lot better than I thought he would. Your dad isn't as big of an anti-smoker when it comes to women. He understands your days of playing sports are numbered, and I think he sympathizes with your nervousness about this. He was all for it when I told him I thought it would help."

"That's fantastic," I said. "But what about you? Why did you change your mind?"

"Because the things you said about having more confidence as a woman struck a chord with me," she said. "It also reminded me of why I started when I was a little girl. I wanted to smoke like my mom too because I thought it would make me more of a woman like her. However," she said, "I was serious when I said I wanted for you to be your own woman instead of a carbon copy of me. That's why I bought you the Virginia Slims and a different style purse. So what do you think about the Virginia Slims?" she asked. "Are they womanly enough for you?"

"I love them," I said. "Not that I have any idea what they taste like, but I've always wanted to be a Virginia Slims smoker. How did you know?"

"When you said you wanted to smoke like a woman, that was the first brand that came to mind," my mother said. "And then I thought about their slogan…"

"You've come a long way baby," I said.

"That's right," my mother said. "You have come a long way and you're going a lot further. It just seemed so appropriate to me."

"Can I smoke them today when we go out?" I asked excitedly.

Mom laughed. "Smoking isn't as easy as it looks, honey. As a matter of fact, there's a very good chance that your first cigarette might be your last cigarette, and I'm hoping that's the case. But even if you do get to the point where you can smoke without coughing out your lungs, you still need to learn the feminine mannerisms of smoking like a woman. Otherwise, that womanly confidence you're looking for is going to elude you."

"Can I try one now?"

"Now's as good a time as any," my mother said. "We don't need to leave for another hour or so. There's a lighter in your purse."

I rummaged through my new purse until I came up with some thing that felt like a lighter. "It's pink," I said.

"Color really doesn't matter," my mom said, "but I thought you'd get a kick out of a pink one. Would you like to do this in front of the mirror?" she asked.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

Mom giggled and said, "Because I did the same thing when I started silly. All girls do."

I approached the dresser mirror nervously with my cigarette case and pink lighter in hand. I saw my moment of truth reflected in the mirror as I withdrew a slim white cigarette from my Louis Vouitton case. The first thing I noticed was the contrast of my dark red nails against the white filter. I raised my hand and placed the cigarette between my lips which were so elegantly coated in lipstick. I paused to admire the effect and that's when my mother saw my erect penis pushing against my skirt.

Mom laughed out loud and said, "Someone needs a gaffe." Sensing my embarrassment, she told me not to worry about it. "I should have said something about it the first night you got dressed up, but time got away from me. I'm glad you're excited. It just means you're happy and that makes me happy. Go ahead and light up. I want to see how you do."

"Okay," I said as turned and faced the mirror. "Here goes everything," I said as brought the lighter to life and touched the flame against my cigarette.

"Suck on it like you're sucking on a straw," my mother said. "But be careful about breathing too much in."

I followed my mother's advice and felt my mouth fill with a warm minty taste. So far so good, I thought as I opened my mouth to inhale.

My mother had warned me that the smoke would seem harsh, but I had neglected to give her warning any credence because she was a woman and I was a tough guy. My respect for her and other smokers rose exponentially as my lungs caught on fire and I doubled over from the pain. I felt my mother's hand on my back as I coughed and coughed. My eyes filled with water and I was lucky that I didn't drop my cigarette on the carpet.

Mom laughed and said, "Not as easy as it looks. Is it?"

I coughed out the words, "How do you do it Mom? Its awful!"

"Had enough then?" she asked as she tried to take the cigarette from my hand.

"No," I said as I moved my hand away from hers. In spite of the initial discomfort, I wanted to keep trying it. Smoking was part of the mental image I had of "Nancy."

"It does get better, right?" I asked as I took a reluctant, slight drag and exhaled. The second puff of smoke was as awful as the first but at least I knew what to expect.

"Unfortunately it does get better with practice," my mother said.

I asked my mom if I was holding it right.

"I wouldn't worry about that right now. We can work on your mannerisms after you get used to inhaling."

"Okay," I said as I lifted the cigarette to my mouth for another go at it.

"How long does it take to get used to it?" I asked.

"Not as long as you'd think," my mother said.

My third puff went down easier. It wasn't quite as bad that time. "My head is spinning," I said. "Is that normal?"

"The light headedness goes away once you develop a tolerance for it," she said.

Five cigarettes and an hour and a half later, I still hadn't developed a tolerance for it. I felt the way I did after having a glass of wine, but at least I wasn't coughing any more.

*****

I'd never been to my mother's salon before but I had envisioned it as being along the same lines as Great Clips. It wasn't. I don't think there was anything less than 40 years old in the salon, including the customers and the equipment. The salon had eight chairs- four on each side. There were also four helmet hair drier seats.

Several of the stylists and a couple of the customers said hi to my mother when we walked in. The receptionist, a lady of about 50 plus winked at me and smiled knowingly. She turned toward the back of the salon and called out to Brenda. "Your ten o'clock appointment is here."

A woman, who could only be Brenda, strolled past the chairs to the front of the salon. I guess her age to be about 60. She had a large bouffant hair-do and a lot of rings on her fingers.

Brenda hugged my mother and said, "Its so good to see you, Karen. I wasn't really sure if you'd make the appointment."

"On the contrary," my mother said. "Nancy wouldn't have missed this for the world. Isn't that right, Nancy?"

I smiled nervously and nodded.

Brenda raised one eyebrow and repeated my name. "It fits you," she said. "Well come on back 'Nancy' and let me see what kind of damage we can do."

Mom and I followed her back to the last chair on the right hand side. She motioned for me to take a seat and then she threw a nylon smock over my chest and snapped it behind my back. "Nice wig," she said.

"It's human hair," my mother said.

"Excellent," Brenda said as she took her scissors to it, shaping it slightly yet still keeping the wavy shoulder-length. "By the way Karen, you did a nice job with her make-up."

My mother thanked her but said said I was hoping to look a little older.

"I see," Brenda said. "So tell me Nancy, how old are you really?"

"16," I said nervously, wondering what Brenda thought of me.

She nodded as she studied my face, "And how old do you want to look?" she asked.

"I was hoping to look around 45 or 46," I said.

"That's shouldn't be a problem," Brenda said. "We can do that with a touch of latex for wrinkles around the eyes and mouth and regular make-up. It's all about using the make-up to create shadowing." She told my mother to pay attention. "Nancy should be able to do this herself, but you might need to help her the first few times."

Brenda talked to me and asked me questions as she did my make-up. None of her questions had anything to do with what she was doing to me and all of them were humiliating.

"So tell me Nancy, do you have any men friends?" she asked as she worked on my eyes, applying some kind of latex pieces.

"Like a boyfriend?" I asked, afraid to talk to much and ruin her work.

Brenda laughed and asked, "What other kind of men friends are there?"

"Nancy plays football when he's not being a woman," my mother said, "So I think he thought you were talking about those kinds of friends."

"Well after I'm done with you, those kinds of friends are going to be a little young for you. If you know what I mean," Brenda said with a wink.

I told her I didn't like guys like that. "I'm not gay," I said.

Brenda snickered. "Gay or not, the men are going to like you, so you best to get used to their attention."

I tried not to frown as Brenda continued working on my face. I didn't say much either, and let Brenda and Mom chat as she worked on my face, applying her latex appliances and redoing my makeup where necessary.

After about a half an hour, Brenda turned my chair so that I was directly facing the mirror. "How's that?" she asked. "Is that old enough for you?"

Staring back at me was a very attractive blonde woman easily in her mid-forties. Brenda had given me crow's feet at my eyes and slight wrinkles around my mouth. Coupled with the perfectly applied, heavy yet tasteful makeup on my face, I looked decades older. I could easily pass for one of my friends' hot mothers, or even the mother of a college-aged kid. I loved it!

I blinked at myself and swallowed. "That's amazing," I whispered. "I look beautiful. Thank you!"

Brenda smiled and said, "Don't thank me yet. You'll look even more beautiful once I clean up your eyebrows."

"You mean pluck them?" I asked warily.

"That's right, sweetie. You know what they say about women's eye brows. You can't get fucked until you've been plucked."

I didn't think that was very funny but it got a big laugh out of Brenda and my mom.

I reminded her not to get carried away, that I still had to go back to school on Monday.

My mother pleaded with me to let Brenda shape them up. "It won't be so noticeable," she said.

"Your mom is right," Brenda said. "A little shaping will make a huge difference. You'd be doing yourself a great disservice if you didn't let me do it."

"Okay," I said. "But don't go crazy with it."

I should have known something was up when Brenda spun the chair back around so that I couldn't see myself in the mirror. The other two red flags were the pain I was feeling from all the plucking and the concerned look on my mother's face. "Watch her, Mom," I said. "Don't let her do too much."

My mother bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"I think that should about do it for your brows," Brenda said. "The next thing you're going to need is a manicure. Your cuticles are horrible!" she said as she turned my hand over in my lap.

"Can I see myself in the mirror first?" I asked.

"Maybe we should wait until after the manicure," Brenda said. "You want to see the whole effect together, don't you?"

"Is something wrong with my eyebrows?" I asked as I looked at my mom. "Did she take too much off?"

Mom shook her head nervously and told me I looked fantastic.

I bent forward so that I could get a foot on the floor and spun myself around to the mirror. I gasped in horror. The same beautiful middle-aged woman was there, just with thinner, feminine arched eyebrows. "Oh my God!" I said. "You did too much! I look like a girl! I can't go to school like this!"

Brenda scolded me. "Don't cry," she said, "or you'll ruin your make-up and I'll have to start all over. Now let me turn you around so that I can do your nails."

I pulled my hands away, wary of what she might do next. I told her that I already had polish on my nails.

"You do," Brenda said, "And it's a nice color, but I'm not talking about polishing them. Your cuticles are terrible."

"It's okay, Darren," my mother said. "It doesn't look bad at all and you needed it done. It won't be so noticeable without your wig and make-up and if someone does notice it, we can think up something for you to tell them."

"You can say you lost a bet to your mother," Brenda said as she went to work on my hands. "Besides, what's done is done and there's no sense of crying over spilled milk."

I closed my eyes and tried not to think about what awaited me at school on Monday.

"I wish you'd let me give you some acrylic nails," Brenda said as she worked on my cuticles.

I told Brenda that I couldn't play football with long nails.

"I don't understand," Brenda said. "Do you want to be a woman or a football player?"

I told her that I wanted to be a woman but that I had to finish out the season. Brenda nodded, seeming to understand, as she repainted my nails the same red color I walked in with.

After a few minutes of drying, Brenda placed my hands back on my lap. "That should do it. You look like a million bucks, Nancy."

As I stared at the mirror, I should have been thrilled. For the first time in my life, I saw what I would look like as a middle-aged woman, the woman I had dreamed of being for so long. Brenda had exceeded my wildest expectations, no doubt about it. The woman looking back at me was attractive, sexy, and sophisticated. Looking at my thinned eyebrows, though, the reality of it started to set in. I felt as if my deepest fantasy had just turned into my darkest nightmare.

Becoming a woman was supposed to be a part time thing while I was in school, a disguise I could take on and off as I wanted until I was ready to make it permanent. It wasn't supposed to interfere with school. Why did mom let Brenda get carried away with my eyebrows? And what was that comment about losing a bet? Did Brenda really think that would fly with my friends?

After paying for the damages, my mother quietly escorted me from the salon. We didn't speak until we were both in the car.

"Why didn't you stop her?" I asked. "You had to see what she was doing to me."

My mother lit a cigarette and started the car. "I know you're mad at me right now, but I was trying to do the right thing for you."

"The right thing?" I asked, as I dug into my purse for my cigarette case. "Do you really think the right thing is for me to get my ass kicked when I go back to school?"

"This isn't a game of dress-up," my mother said. "This is for real and you're playing for keeps. If you can't manage to go to school with those eyebrows then you can't manage becoming a woman for real."

I lit a cigarette, cracked the window and exhaled. "So you're saying this is some kind of test?" I asked tersely.

"It didn't start out that way," my mother said. "I didn't wake up this morning and try to think of a way to humiliate you in front of your friends at school. But since we're talking about it, you're going to need to grow yourself some tough skin. I understand you'd like to keep this whole thing a secret, but you're kidding yourself if you think that no one will ever find out. And not everybody is going to be as understanding as your father and I."

"I'm not ready for this, Mom."

"Ready for what?" she asked. "Becoming a woman or for people finding out about what you're doing?"

"I want to be a woman."

"That's good," my mother said, "Because you sure look like one. I don't know if you noticed it back there at the salon, but you and I could pass for sisters."

"I did notice and it made me very happy," I said.

"Then start acting like you're happy," my mother said. "We can't change what's happened so lets make the best of it. We're going shopping and your father told me to buy as much as you need. If we don't get everything, we can go back. And I assure you that we're going to have to go back. A woman never has everything she needs, if she did, she'd be a man. So cheer up!"

I looked at the cigarette between my fingers and then down at my lap. I was sporting an erection again. I wasn't surprised because that always happened to me when I thought about or saw attractive older women smoking. I reached up and tilted the rearview mirror so that I could see my face. I was pretending to look at my new femininely arched eyebrows and wrinkles. I was doing that, but I also wanted to see an attractive older woman smoking a cigarette. And now I was that woman.

My penis grew bolder at that thought. "Mom. I think we better get that gaffe you were talking about," I said.

Mom pulled into a well known adult book store called Planet 69. "I'm not positive, but I think we might be able to find a gaffe for you here," she said as she parked the car.

"Have you ever been here before?" I asked as we got out of the car.

"Certainly not," my mother said with an air of distaste. "I've just heard that it has more than books."

Books, I thought. Yeah. How many times had I used a book to cover up an unintended erection in school. I thought of myself walking around in public holding an adult book in front of my skirt.

"If nothing else, we can tape it back," my mother said as walked inside.

It only took a quick glance around the store for us both to realize we looked out of place. Two attractive housewife types tend to stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.

A scraggly looking pervert with glasses came from around the counter and asked if he could help us.

"I hope you can," my mother said. "Do you sell gaffes?"

The pervert squinted behind his glasses and grinned. "I suppose we do," he said, "But what would a nice woman like you need with a gaffe?"

My mother blushed. "It's not for me," she said as she put her hand on my shoulder. "It's for my son, Darren. But you can call him Nancy. He wants to be a woman, but his penis is getting in the way."

I looked at my mom in disbelief. What was she doing? I thought as I blushed furiously beneath my makeup.

The pervert's eyes flew open. "You're a man?" he asked.

"No. He's a boy," my mother said confidently, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. "He's 16. His makeup just makes him look a lot older than he is. This is who he wants to look like, and I'm trying to help him."

The guy just smirked, thinking Mom was messing with him. "Yeah, right, lady. Maybe this a guy, but no way he's a kid."

My mother's reassurance emboldened me, and I became quite annoyed at this little man for mocking her. I hadn't worked out a decent female voice yet, so I spoke in my own. "She's not kidding. I really am 16," I said, trying to sound as confident as I could.

The pervert's jaw dropped, but he couldn't take his eyes off me. I stood up a little straighter, more ladylike, and met his gaze.

The guy shook his head in disbelief. "You have to be over 18 to come inside the store, but you sure look a lot older, kid. I won't tell anybody if you won't." He pointed past a display of blow-up dolls and said, "The gaffes are in the corner."

My mother thanked the pervert and escorted me to the other side of the store where we picked out five gaffes for me. After paying for them, my mother asked if the pervert if he had a place where I could put one on.

"You can use the bathroom," he said, still trying to figure out if we were telling the truth about my real identity.