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What lengths would you go to, to help a pretty girl struggling with her past? Especially, if you knew there was the potential to be more than ‘just friends’?

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Barbie’s Doll
The Cotton Candy Wars

Copyright© 2017 Shauna
All Rights Reserved.
(All image originals sourced from Creative Commons)

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Part Three
Her whispered encouragement is still ringing in my ears when she plants a soft kiss on my cheek, before pushing back from the hug and winking at me.

I blush.

Then I start shaking like a leaf. I don’t know what does it, but all of a sudden, it really hits me what I am doing.

No, not trying to get a hot girl to be my girlfriend—one that has huge issues with guys. Yes, that’s bad enough.

No, it hits me that I am standing in the mall, on a Friday afternoon, in a Victoria’s Secret, dressed as a girl!

Now, you might think that as a guy, that would be a blessing—otherwise I might be considered a pervert. Being in a VS, I mean.

But, no. It’s no blessing. Trust me.

Barbie notices me turn pale and start shaking. She gives me a concerned look and pulls me towards the back and into a changing room. She sits me down on the little bench and kneels in front of me. “Chrissy, are you OK. Was it what I said? I thought you wanted…”

I shake my head—hard.

I sigh and feel my shaking subside a little. “No! It has nothing to do with what you said—although, I am shocked at it. I just…it just… Well, it just hit me… You know…”

I shrug.

She smiles and pulls me into a hug. Then she pushes back from it and looks me in the eye, “What do you mean you’re shocked?”

I blush, “Well, you’re hot and, well, I’m not and…”

She squeezes my hands and cuts me off, “Stop right there, Chrissy! Let’s take this slowly for all the obvious reasons. You not being ‘hot’…or somehow ‘worthy’ of my attention—or whatever else you’re telling yourself—is not a reason, OK?”

She surprises me with a kiss—on the lips. More of a peck than a real kiss. But, it stops my heart none-the-less.

She says, “Now come on, girlfriend! Let’s get you situated so that we have the opportunity to get me past my…issues. I really do want to get to know you—the real you. It doesn’t matter how you’re dressed, right?”

I sigh and let her pull me back out into the store. Mom gives me a searching look. I know she wants to know if I’m OK, so I just nod. My eyes are downcast and I am still shaking a little, but I think about what Barbie had just said—and the kiss—and I feel really warm in the really soft sweater.

Pink or not.

Mom holds up a handful of bras and another of panties—they seem to match the bras. She says, “While you were talking to Barbie, Jill and I picked out some bras and panty sets. Some are like the one you have on and some are T-shirt bras, but they all will achieve the same effect. Would you like to look at them before I pay for them? Maybe pick out your own?”

I shake my head, no. The sooner I can get out of here, the better!

Mom pays and Chloe puts everything into a large, pink ‘Pink’ bag and hands it to me. I sigh and add it to the Macon’s bag in my hand and we go back out into the mall.

I hoped it would help me breathe—but, no… I am still here as a girl and it is beginning to crush down on me again.

Barbie grabs my hand and squeezes it.

Mom looks at me, concern in her eyes, “Chrissy? Are you OK? Do you want to go home? You have enough to get by—for now. I still had planned on getting you more while we were here, though.”

I shake my head. Mostly to clear out the quickly mounting piles of cobwebs—but, also to let Mom know that I will make it.

Somehow.

Barbie squeezes my hand again and I sigh. “No, Mom, you took off special to do this. It’s just… I mean… I keep waiting for someone to start pointing fingers…or to recognize me. I mean there are kids here from school!”

Mom nods and gets an impish grin. She says in a conspiratorial tone, “And Jimmy had no desire to come to the mall with his Mom and cousin, Chrissy, who has a week off from school and is in town visiting her Aunt. Jill and Barbie were really nice to come along and keep her company.”

I look at Mom as she gives me a sweet smile.

I don’t think I even know her!

Jill giggles and whispers in my ear, “Mommas are always different when it is just the girls!”

I feel another layer of cobwebs descend on my brain. I shake my head and Mom just looks at me. I sigh, “Well, OK, what’s next, I guess? It can’t be worse than…bras. Right?

They all just giggle and I feel the cobwebs in my head start to turn to cotton candy--pink cotton candy. All of this girliness is starting to get to me!

The next hour-and-a-half is one of the strangest times of my young life. I am dragged from girl’s clothing store to the next. ‘We’ just look and look and look.

In case, you didn’t get that, by ‘we’, I mean I stand there like an idiot while the girls—and Mom—hold up dresses and skirts and ‘tops’ and ‘bottoms’ to me. Then I am sent time after time after time again to the changing rooms to try on things.

‘We’ must look at thousands of pieces of clothing. Well, I am sure it is close to that anyway! And I must have tried at least a quarter of them on—no, really!

When Mom declares it is time to look for shoes and ‘other accessories’, I am now carrying five bags. After all of that, I wind up with several ‘leggings’, two more pair of jeans, some other ‘bottoms’, of some sort, a skirt, a dress--every girl needs an LBD, I am told—and several blouses, ‘tops’, more sweaters, and a winter coat. All-in-all, after the effort put into finding these few things (compared to what I tried on), I don’t get it.

Mom and the girls are in heaven, though—and they haven’t bought a thing for themselves!

Mom pulls us into the mall’s mainstream shoe store and it’s a mini repeat of the clothing thing. After half-an-hour of painstakingly scrutinizing every shoe on the racks, I have to try on ten pair. A clerk measures my foot and confirms that I am a (woman’s) six-and-a-half, narrow.

Twenty minutes later, Jill is carrying my bag of shoes—a pair of boots, a pair of sports shoes and appropriate socks, and a pair of three-inch ‘pumps’ to practice in.

Heels? The cotton candy in my head is starting to get all knotted up!

I am beyond numb by this point, though. I sort of let it all happen to me. Once I have ‘the cutest purse—Jill’s words, not mine—that ‘will go with just everything, several belts, and a couple of scarf-thingies, Mom suggests we go unload everything into the car.

“Come on, girls. I’m hungry! Let’s drop this stuff off in the car, then I have one more place I want to take Chrissy before we go eat—is Emerald Wednesday’s OK with everyone?”

Jill and Barbie both nod. I just nod along, not really processing anything, anymore—it’s just easier that way.

On the way out to the car, Jill pulls me aside and says in a low voice, “I’ve been meaning to say something for a while now. You need to walk less like a lumberjack and more like a girl, Chrissy. Being with us in a crowded mall with your hands full of bags has helped, but if you don’t want to stand out, take shorter, quicker steps. Watch your Mom and Barbs. Try and walk more like them.”

I sigh and shrug. I do however watch them walking ahead of us. I don’t see the big deal, but try and take shorter steps, like she says.

I nearly trip over my own feet and Jill giggles, “You’ll get the hang of it. You’re really brave for doing this, you know.”

I roll my eyes and we hurry to catch up to Mom and Barbie. At least I don’t trip this time.

After all the bags are in the car and we are hurrying back into the mall out of the cold. I am wearing my new winter coat—of course it’s pink. It was on sale and my size. At least it’s warm. I also have the small cross-body purse situated over my shoulder—Jill’s doing. It’s empty, but she insists I need to get used to carrying—and keeping up with—it.

We all blow in our hands and Mom says, “We need to look for some gloves or mittens, too!”

I roll my eyes and open and close my fists, trying to get feeling back in my fingers—it is dark and below freezing out, by now.

Mom leads the way again and makes a quick turn into ‘Frostings’—you know that girly-girl store full of trendy jewelry and stuff.

I give her a questioning look and she says, “I was thinking some clip-on earrings and necklace…” Her eyes are already roaming the store.

A cute girl—are they all cute here today—or are they only cute in the girl’s areas? Anyway, a cute girl comes over and asks, “Can I help you find anything?”

Mom nods and says, “I’m looking for some clip-on earrings for my daughter, since she doesn’t have pierced ears.”

The girl says, “We have some on that stand over there. The selection isn’t great, though. We do have a sale going on for piercings, though. It wouldn’t take but a minute to pierce her ears.”

I feel the blood drain from my face.

She must mistake my reaction for fear. Well, in a way, I guess it is!

She gently takes my hand and says, “It really doesn’t hurt, I promise! See I have mine pierced several times—and your girlfriends, too.”

I look at Jill and Barbie and notice she is right. I had never paid any attention, but they both have their ears pierced in multiple places.

Barbie says, “I think that would be a great idea, Chrissy! The options are so much better when your ears are pierced and it doesn’t hurt!”

Jill jumps in, “She’s right, Chrissy!”

I shake my head—stunned.

Mom looks at the girl and says, “Why don’t you let us think about it for a minute, OK?”

She nods, “Oh, sure! I’ll be right over there if you decide to have it done.”

She goes over to her register and Mom pulls me over to the stand of clip-ons. She says, “I really had no intention of bringing you in here to get your ears pierced, Hon. I don’t have anything against you doing it, though—if you want.”

I am shaking my head in a daze. This is all getting to be too much for my cotton-candy-filled brain.

Barbie speaks up and says in a soft voice, “Chrissy, a lot of guys get their ears pierced. I have noticed a whole bunch at school—it wouldn’t be a big deal; even for Jimmy.”

I look up and she seems sincere.

I sigh and shake my head, “I don’t think so. This is all…enough…to come to grips with as it is. There are girls without pierced ears, right? I mean, why else would there be these clip-on thingies?”

Mom giggles and says, “OK. Let’s pick out a couple pair. Just remember that these will actually hurt more than the piercing itself!”

I give her a double-take, but Jill and Barbie are already picking through the available options on the stand. They find a pair of magnetic ‘studs’, a pair of screw-on dangly thingies, and some hoops that I’m sure I don’t want to know how they go on.

I find out, though. Jill puts them on my ears, first thing. They are about an inch in diameter and springy. She gently pries them apart and lets the little flat discs on the ends close down on my earlobe.

“Ouch! That pinches!” I whisper it, but it is none-the-less urgent in tone.

Barbie giggles and says, “Your Momma warned you. It’s not too late to rethink the piercing!”

I shake my head and the hoops moving around on my ears feel funny.

They then pick out this ‘darling’—their word, not mine—necklace with a little heart-shaped pendant on it. Barbie clasps it around my neck and lets it dangle down over my sweater. Mom pays and I breathe a sigh of relief as we leave the store.

I asserted myself. Yes! I have to keep putting my foot down.

I feel a layer of cotton candy disappear from my brain.

When I slide behind the table on the bench at the restaurant fifteen minutes later—safely tucked between Mom and Jill—with Barbie on the other side of Jill—I feel a sense of relief. At least I am more-or-less hidden from view.

I am only a little sad that Barbie still won’t sit next to me—even though she made the effort to comfort me at Victoria’s Secret and was alone with me in back. It seems she still gets nervous knowing when she has time to think about it.

I know the feeling!

Supper goes well—well, as well as a salad can go—until I have to suddenly pee. Three Diet Pepsis will do that to you!

What? I was thirsty!

Now, I know how this works with girls—I do watch movies and things. I am not about to go to the girl’s bathroom—especially not in a pack!

I hold it.

I think my eyeballs are yellow by the time we get home—especially since we had to drop Barbie off at her house, so it takes even longer!

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“Jimmy,“ I startle at Mom’s yell, “come here, please!”

I finish pulling on my jeans—over the last pair of panties in the three-pack; the pink ones. I just can’t help myself—it’s Saturday. Who’s going to know?”

I take a final look at all the girl’s stuff neatly hung in my closet and shake my head as I close the door. I go into the hall and down the stairs to the laundry room—that’s where I hear Mom busy sorting through clothes.

I poke my head in, “What’s up, Mom?”

She just holds up the green and the yellow panties. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I quickly say, “What? I wore the green ones on Thursday when we studied and the yellow ones last night when we went to the mall.” I mentally congratulate myself for getting out of the situation. I start to turn and hurry to my room to change out of the pink ones before they somehow get dirty, when she says, “Not so fast, mister!”

I inwardly groan.

“There are only six pairs of underwear here—so, either you didn’t wear clean ones one day this past week—or… There is only one right answer, here. Want to try again?”

I feel my face turn red. I shake my head trying to buy time while I come up with something plausible.

“Undo your jeans, Jimmy.”

“Mo...o…..o….ommmm!” I whine.

She gives me the look. I check to see if I put on a red shirt by mistake—blue. I’m safe!

She is still looking at me. I unbutton and unzip my jeans and let them open up.

She smiles and asks, “Why didn’t you just say so?”

I look at her—my eyes out of their sockets. I am sure she is going to grow a second head any minute. This is some alien--not my mother!

“Honey, it’s OK. I understand why you would prefer them over…these.” She holds up my tighty-whiteys. “Do you want me to put these in the donation bag for church?”

I shake my head—really hard.

“So you’re going to stop wearing those comfortable ones and wear these instead? You realize no one will know, right? I certainly don’t care. There is nothing wrong with being comfortable.”

Now I know this is an alien talking to me. “I…I…”

My eyes drop the floor, quickly followed by my head.

Mom just smiles at me and quietly says, “You know where the bag is…”

I pull up my jeans and go to get breakfast. I need some time to think.

Mom comes into the kitchen and doesn’t say another word about the panty issue. She starts unloading the dishwasher and I finish my cereal, then help her finish unloading it. I place my dirty bowl in and she smiles at me, “Thank you, Sweetie.”

I shake my head and say, “I’m sorry, Mom. I just like…the feel.”

She pulls me into a hug, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. We may want to ease your father into the secret, though.”

She winks at me and I blush, “See? It is wrong.”

She makes me sit at the kitchen counter, “Jimmy, it is not wrong, if it is right for you. I think this whole thing is going to be good for you. You can’t let social norms dictate everything you do. I also think you might be surprised how many men wear women’s panties. They are more comfortable.”

I sigh. I look at her and say, “I…I…I’ll put my old ones in the bag.”

She just smiles and nods. She wipes the counter and says, “I am going to Sally’s in a bit. I texted her and she said she has an opening right after me. I think we need to tame that hair a bit if you’re going to be keeping it long after the Christmas Pageant.”

I look at her—once again bug-eyed. I think they are either going to fall out—or stay this way—if they keep popping out like this.

“S…S…Sally’s. That’s a beauty salon!”

Mom nods, “Yes. I know you and your dad still have been using Bob’s. I am surprised that old barber can still stand, let alone cut hair. Anyway, I don’t think Bob would know what to do with your hair, right now—other than take clippers to it and buzzing it down.”

I look down at my light-blonde hair. It is barely touching my shoulder at this point—and kind of a mess.

She says, “You can go as Chrissy, if that would make you feel more comfortable—although, I can tell you that Sally has as many men customers, as women.”

I sigh and say, “I think I had enough ‘Chrissy’ time last night. She won’t make it look ‘girly’, though—will she?”

Mom smiles and says, “Just trust her, Hon. She knows what she is doing.”

I groan and go brush my teeth.

Once we get to the salon, Mom introduces me to Sally—Miss Sally to me—and she hands me a book with a lot of pictures of different styles in it. She says, “Why don’t you look through here and see if there is anything you like while I do your Momma?”

I nod and sigh as I open the book. I leaf through it—it is for ‘medium-length styles’—and notice that there really isn’t a lot of difference in some of the styles between the guys and the girls. There are some that are wild and I wouldn’t dream of having—and they are on the guys!

I don’t pay any attention to the chatter going on between Mom and Miss Sally while I am looking and am surprised when Mom comes over and says it’s my turn. I look at the clock and can’t believe it’s been over half-an-hour!

Miss Sally sits me down in the chair and starts brushing out my hair—like Jill had done. She says, “Hon, you have really beautiful hair. Just like your Momma. You really should take better care of it.” She looks at a small handful and continues, “You have some minor split ends, but we can easily take care of those. I will talk to your Momma about appropriate products when we’re done—not that you really need anything different from her. Now, did you see anything in the book that you like? I understand that you need something versatile?”

I look at her in the mirror, not understanding a word she is saying.

Mom comes over and quietly whispers in my ear, “I told her you need something that will work both for Jimmy and for Chrissy.”

I feel the blood drain from my face and see it rush right back in the brightest of reds when I look in the mirror. I want to die.

Miss Sally says, “Don’t worry, Hon. I do it all the time. We just need a nice androgynous cut—that way you can style it either way. I would suggest a slight shag. Now, do you want bangs?”

Mom says, “Those would look darling.”

Miss Sally says, “If so, I would suggest asymmetrical ones. They are quite popular, again.”

They both look at me. I am still getting over the fact that Mom told her. I just look at them with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Mom just says, “Sally, go with your best judgement. It’s just hair, right? It will grow again.”

She smiles and leads me, still in shock, to a sink where she washes my hair.

Now, that is a new experience for me, laying back in a chair and having someone else wash it.

She leads me back to the other chair, my wet hair wrapped in a towel like a turban, and starts coming through it after she towels it off some more. I watch in horrified fascination as she clips some up and takes her scissors—and starts cutting.

I notice that what comes off is very small amounts. I start to feel better—she is not taking much off. It will be OK!

Then she takes a straight-edge razor and starts stripping it through my hair. This time more comes off in what seems like random lengths.

I start to get a bad feeling again.

Finally, she combs the hair straight down over my face and makes a ‘window’ in my view—starting high on the right side of my face and ending up low on the left. Suddenly, I have bangs.

I don’t have time to react before she is leading me back to the sink to ‘rinse me out’. She washes my hair again and puts in some sort of conditioner stuff. She is chatting away with Mom—I guess I am too quiet for her. I am too shocked to talk!

When she has rinsed the conditioner stuff out and put something else in that she leaves in, she takes me back to the chair and gets out her blow dryer and big round brush.

At first, she just dries it using her fingers as a ‘comb’. When she is done, she snips something here and something there. Then she steps back and says, “So, Jimmy, this is how it will naturally dry. It’s designed to be neither overtly masculine—or feminine.”

I look at myself—still in shock. I don’t know about overtly anything. I see a tomboy looking back at me.

She takes a spray bottle and wets my hair back down. Then she takes the hairdryer and the round brush and dries it while continuing to turn the ends under with the brush. When she steps back this time, I don’t see a tomboy—I see a girl!

She smiles and says, “But it is versatile enough that it can be styled in a variety of feminine styles. This is the easiest one.”

She then brushes my hair back into a tight ponytail, like Jill had done. The difference now, are the bangs. The longer left side is hanging down over my eye and is annoying.

She says, “You’ll get used to the bangs, but they are long enough to tuck behind your ear.” She demonstrates by pulling the hair behind my left ear. It stays—sort of. She takes out this sparkly clip thing and clips the hair back with it, “Or, you can clip it back like this to keep it out of your eye. These are just a few of the things you can do.”

She turns back to Mom and says, “I’ll put you both down for four weeks from today?”

Mom nods and pays. I reach up and take the clip thing out of my hair and start to take out the hairband thingy that is holding my ponytail in. She says, “Keep the clip, Hon. Here!” She picks up this thing that I think I have heard Jill call a scrunchie and puts it on over the little rubber band. It is pink and ugly. She says, “There! Much better. I’ll see you both in four weeks. Let me know me know if you need anything else.”

She hands Mom a bag of ‘products’ and we go to the car.

“I feel like an idiot, Mom!” I take out the ponytail and my hair falls into the feminine, curled under style. I shake my head and pull it back into a ponytail. Of course, it is sloppy without a brush, but I put it lower and try to salvage as much masculinity as I can.

Mom says, “It’s cute, Hon. You just have to get used to it. We can wet it down when we get home and you can let it dry normally. We just have to make a quick stop at Wally-World on the way home.”

I roll my eyes, “Can I stay in the car?”

She shakes her head, “No, it’s way too cold for that and I’m not going to waste gas to keep it warm. You look fine!”

I shake my head, “I look girly, Mom! You said she wouldn’t do that!”

She sighs as she pulls into the Wally-World parking lot, “Hon, it’s androgynous. By definition, it’s going to look ‘girly’ to you—if you use ‘manly’ as the bar. It would look just as boyish to a girl that is using ‘girly’ as the bar. The thing is, that mop you had wasn’t manly, either. It was just a mess!”

She makes me get out with her and we hurry into the store. At least I don’t have to worry about how I walk, this time!

She goes straight to the makeup section and walks through all the aisles, picking up tubes and pencils and things.

She pays and we go back to the car. As we walk out, she hands me the bag and says, “You can’t keep using Jill’s stuff. It’s just age-appropriate makeup—mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss. We can expand on that, if you need more—later.”

I roll my eyes, “That’s never going to happen, Mom!”

She just smiles and we get into the car.

I don’t know what to do with that and am quiet the rest of the way home. I have no idea what I am going to do with the rest of the day, but I do know it is going to be ‘Chrissy’-free!

So, I can only groan when we pull into our driveway and Jill comes hurrying over before we can even get out of the car. She lets out a little scream when she sees my hair, “Wow! Nice! Let it down!”

I shake my head, but she just reaches back and pulls the hairband out of my hair. I didn’t have it in really tight, which is a good thing, I guess. My hair falls down into the turned-under, girly style that Miss Sally had left it in.

Jill just hugs me and says, “Great! Chrissy needs to come over. Barbs’s Mom is dropping her off in a few minutes. Greg is with his brutes and they are watching football all weekend. Barbs and I are just going to hang for a while. Get changed into something more comfortable and come over. I can do your makeup when you get there!”

Mom just smiles and says, “That sounds like fun, don’t you think, Chrissy? The girls can show you other hairstyles—and you can practice doing your own makeup, now that you have some.”

Jill looks at me in surprise and then sees the plastic bag in my hand. She peeks in and giggles, “Yes! We’ll have you doing it like a pro before the day is out!”

I sigh. I decide to put my foot down, now! I am going to be Jimmy today! No one is going to stop me!

Right then, Mrs. Greeley pulls into the Holiday’s driveway and Barbie hops out with a bag. She waves and yells over, “Is Chrissy coming?”

I start to put my foot down, I really do.

I say, “I’ll be right over.”

I sure showed them!

I sigh and go to my room. I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head. I can’t do this—not like this.

I wet my hair and towel it vigorously. I comb through it to get the tangles out and go to my closet. I take out a pair of the girl’s jeans—although, they don’t necessarily look like girl’s jeans. I put them on.

I take out a regular sweatshirt. It’s a generic Star Wars one; not cut for a girl—but not masculine in that sense either. I grimace as I realize it’s not as soft as the ones I could put on. I do not even contemplate a bra.

I put on a pair of socks that we got at the mall last night. They are thinner and softer than my normal ones, but I follow them up with the sports shoes we got last night.

I look at myself in the mirror and see a tomboy. I am constantly moving the hair from in front of my left eye. I look more girl than boy—but I finally get what Mom and Miss Sally were talking about when they said my hair is ‘androgynous’. I think I look somewhere in between boy and girl, right now—but more on the girl side.

As a concession to Barbie’s need for me to look girl, I take out the little magnetic ‘studs’, they are cubic zirconia I read on the carboard they are stuck to, and position them on my earlobes. After I get them even, I am a little mesmerized by the sparkle on my ears when I move my head. I shake it again and go downstairs. I say to Mom, “I hope Barbie can accept me like this. It’s the best I can do, for now. This was all going down the rabbit hole way too fast for me.”

Mom hugs me and says, “I think it will be fine, Hon. You certainly look innocent enough—and, while it’s a tomboy, I am seeing, right now—it is just enough to be ‘girl’.”

I nod and hug her, then run across our yards to the Holiday’s front door. I let myself in, like always and find the girls giggling in the kitchen.

They look up at me and surprise flashes on their faces. At least I don’t see fear on Barbie’s face.

I say, “I think we need to talk…”

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