Tux

 

 

Note to readers. This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… We will circle back to it…

 

 

Kirk and I were friends.  Best friends and the only friends the two of us had.  We had no other friends at school.  In our neighborhood, we were the only two of similar age.  Kirk was one year older than me.  And twice as big.  Ok, kidding, exaggerating.  He was six inches taller than me and much, much stronger.

All the other kids in the neighborhood were babies and toddlers.  Or those who were already parents of those babies and toddlers.  There was also a bunch of older folk from forty and up.  Like our parents, grandparents, and others.

Ah… There was Liz, my sis, the same age as Kirk.  And there was her BFF Ashley from the other side of the street.  But hey, they're girls.  Can you be friends with girls who recognize cars only by their color?  No, you can't.  So I was with Kirk and Liz was with Ashley.

Liz was beautiful.  There's a saying that Slavic girls are beautiful even without makeup.  Liz was exactly like that.  Because we were Slavic – Belarussian.  Liz had a boyfriend.  For every season, she had a different one.  The same as her fashion trends – for every season another trend and another basic color.  Thankfully, it was never pink.  Pink is too girly.  The only good thing about her was that she was a kinda military-type tomboy and I could wear her hand-me-downs.  Like tees, shorts, hoodies, and sweatpants.

Liz and Ashley were babysitting babies all around our neighborhood.  She earned some money.  It was important because dad couldn't find a job and mom was the only one working in the family.  Mom's dad and mom, my grandparents, lived with us.  Oh, and I had a baby brother named Dmitry who was still in Elementary school.  I shared a room with him.  I think that his purpose in life was to be a pain in my ass.

Kirk and I were restoring vintage campers, partly as a hobby and as a way to make money.  You won't believe how much some folks are ready to pay for old-looking yet perfectly working things.  My granny loaned us the funds for our first project.  Later we had our own money.

As I'd mentioned before, Kirk was big.  Like Lurch big.  Some kids at school teased him about it.  He had no girlfriend though he was already seventeen and a Junior in High School.  I was sixteen and a sophomore and had no girlfriend because I was short and tiny.  That meant that I didn't look like dating material for any girl.  Those were my sister's words.

Kirk's mom decided Kirk was too asocial and he needed some social skills.  She said Kirk had to attend Junior Prom.  It was now April and the Prom was planned for June.

Kirk's mom's friend owned a bridal shop.  It's not only about bridal dresses.  It's also about makeup, hairstyling, grooming, tuxedos, shirts, and flowers.  They had even offer posture training courses.

I guess Kirk needed to go there, because the only formal thing he had was a hoodie without a slogan on it.  All of his other things had slogans that were just on the verge to be tolerated in school.

So he had an appointment and his mom asked me to come with them.  I guess I hoped that maybe I would find something for myself.  But I didn't need it because I didn't plan on going to Junior Prom.  My reasoning was that I was a sophomore and I had no girlfriend.

So we three got into Kirk's mom's Solara and drove over to the East side of town.  It's near the Port and downtown.  It's not so posh like downtown itself but it wasn't a dirty industrial Port either.  The salon was named “Marsha's Bridal Shop”.  Because Kirk's mom's friend was Marsha.

The receptionist was a cute blonde girl just a few years older than Kirk and I.  She greeted us with a smile and confirmed that we had an appointment.  She suggested that we have a seat, telling us that Marsha would be out to get us in a few minutes.  

Marsha turned out to be a pretty, black-haired woman who looked to be the same age as Kirk's mom.  She ushered us into a measurement room in back.  Kirk had to undress up to his boxers.  It was the first time I saw Kirk blushing.  Marsha measured Kirk in all possible ways and directions.

“You are kinda a little crooked,” Marsha said after all measurements were taken.  I didn't know what to make of her comment.  Unless she meant that Kirk did not stand straight, but that was something that most of us teenagers did these days.

She had a man employee come in who took Kirk to another room to adjust the tux and other clothing to Kirk's body and make him look presentable.

After Kirk and the man left Marsha turned to me, “You are Kirk's friend?”

“Yeah…”, I replied.

She looked me up and down.  I thought she was about to measure me.

“I don't need a tux,” I tried to preempt her.  I did not need to have her poking and prodding me like she had Kirk.

She looked me up and down again.

“It wouldn't suit you anyway,” she said and I sighed with relief.

“Have you already got what you are wearing to the Prom?” Marsha asked then.

“Why? No,” I replied, “Why would I need it?”

“You said that you are Kirk's girlfriend so I assumed…” Marsha reasoned.

“What?”  Her statement was so outlandish that I just did not know how to respond.

This was going a very wrong direction.  I turned to Kirk's mom and I could see some gear literally working in her head.

“D, please,” she said to me.

D is kinda my nickname because my name is Denys but I prefer D because others pronounced my name Deneez and I don't like it.

“What?”  My brain seemed to be stuck.

“You are his best and only friend.  Just pretend that you are his girlfriend for him to learn manners,” Kirk's mom asked.

“What? No…”  If this got known at school, whatever reputation I hoped to have would be ruined forever.

“D, please…”  She did not appear to want to let this go.

“D like Diane?” Marsha asked as she rejoined the conversation.  I now had both of them very focused upon me.

“D like Deneez,” Kirk's mom replied.

“Strange name,” Marsha said, “unusual.”

“Belarussian,” Kirk's mom explained.

“Ah… Another Slavic girl.  I see you are pretty even in those rags,” Marsha kinda complimented me.  Though I didn't feel like that because I wasn't a girl and then Liz had paid a fortune for those “rags” half a year ago.  My voice had changed from kids' soprano into male soprano and I was mistaken for a girl relatively often lately.

“Undress please,” Marsh asked.

“NO…!” I couldn't.  I had Liz's panties on.  Plain white cotton but they were girls' panties anyway.

“If you are shy, undress behind the screen,” she motioned her head to the unfolded screen in the corner of the room.  “I don't need you nude, just to your underwear.”

I thought about trying to escape out the front of the salon, but Kirk's mom was literally begging me with her eyes to help.  So I gave in.  I went behind the screen and undressed down to my panties.  I tucked my thingy down and back.  Then I pressed on my balls and they popped in.  It hurt a little but the pain passed away fairly quickly.  I now looked flat where I shouldn't.

I came back into the middle of the room and Kirk's mom gasped, “Oh!”  I could tell that me not looking manly surprised her.

“How old are you?” Marsha asked while looking me up and down again and commenting, “hairy and flat.”

“Sixteen.”  I knew that she was talking about my hairy legs.  It was about the only thing about me that was hairy.  I was still waiting for hair to start growing on the rest of my body.

“Not a junior yet?”

“Sophomore,” I replied.

“I see,” Marsha said handing me a robe, “put this on and we'll be over with you in no time.”

I put the robe on and we left to another room and then to another room with a big padded table in the middle of it.

Marsha took the robe from me and I was laid down on the table on my belly.

She smeared some goo over my legs.  Then she pressed stripes of some material over smeared parts.

“It may hurt a little,” Marsha warned and tore with sudden movement the first stripe away.

It wasn't a little.  I squeaked in pain.  Then again and again.  The pain of having the hair on my legs being ripped out wholesale was sharp and quick, but the sting it left behind lasted a lot longer.

“First time?” Marsha inquired.  Her tone was sympathetic, but not apologetic.  I could tell that she was not being mean in doing this, it was just a task that needed to be done.  But did it need to be done to me?

“Yes,” Kirk's mom said.  I'm glad that she was speaking for me, because I don't know how I would have explained that it was something that I would never have planned on doing.

“I see,” Marsha said and cleaned the back of my legs with a wet warm cloth.  Then she ordered me to lie on my back.

“Flat-chested girls pay special attention to their bikini area.  It's their strong point.  What do you think?” Marsha asked.

“My head is my strong point,” I replied.  I had a good idea by this time what she meant and I wanted her to stay away from my privates as much as possible.  For many reasons.

“Uh-huh…” Marsha chuckled.

She again smeared my legs and up near my groin, after wedging my panties around my groin.  She got closer to my privates than I liked, but not close enough to discover my secret.  Again, stripes of material and tearing it off.

“Keep her head still,” Marsha asked Kirk's mom after a while.

Kirk's mom sat at the table and held my head tight in her hands.

I felt something smeared on my chest and gritted my teeth expecting another sharp pain.  Some cold thing was pressed against my chest instead.  Then Marsha proceeded to tear off the remaining stripes from my legs.  It appeared that the tearing was over and I was cleaned with a warm wet cloth again.

“You may stand up and put the robe on,” Marsha said.

I stood up and felt a weight on my chest.  I looked down and there were boobs on my chest.  Not like big boobs but kinda tiny boobies.  Like a girl.  Almost the same as my sister's.

“What's this?” I inquired indicating them with my finger.

“They are called breasts,” Marsha replied with a chuckle.

It wasn't funny.  What I will do now?

“Don't they fall away?” I asked hoping they fall off when I got home.

“Nah… It's a high-grade prosthetic breathing glue and it holds three to five months.”

“Oh my…” I gasped.  “What will kids at school say?”

“They will envy you,” Marsha said.

It was already too late to explain to her I was a boy.  Who will envy the boy with boobies?

“Let's see what dress I've planned for you,” Marsha offered, “or maybe you have some preferences?”

“I hope that it's gorgeous after all that torture…”

“That's the spirit,” Kirk's mom said.

The dress was a cherry color.  Sleeveless.  The skirt part had a few layers and it looked like I had hips and a narrow waist.  And the skirt was well above my knees.

“Isn't it too short?” I asked.

“You are petite and with a long dress, you would look even shorter.  So no, its length is perfect for you,” Marsha explained.

That was the prom dress.  Another dress was for every day.  Kind of Kirk's everyday practice to be around the girl me.  So the dress was a skater dress.  If you don't know, the skater dress is shamelessly short.  This one was in maroon.  Then there was a denim skirt and a black tee.

“I don't have money to pay for this,” I complained.  I didn't know the price, but a salon, two dresses, a skirt, tee, underwear, shoes, and boobies had to cost a fortune.

“Don't worry,” Kirk's mom said, “I will pay for everything.”

“Oh… You can take them to your house and I will come to you and change for Kirk to practice…” I mused.

“No, no,” Kirk's mom explained.  “Everything is yours now.”

Then I changed back into the Prom dress and Kirk came back at last in his new tux.  When he came in, my brain kinda locked up again.  He was… He was the most handsome boy, no – man, I had ever seen.  The suit was rather classic.  Not like nowadays were narrow something shortened pants and coat that looked like it was too small.  No.  It was like my dad in old photos of his and mom's wedding.  And he looked good.  Not like a Lurch.  Just a tall handsome young man.

Kirk stared at me.  Then he blushed for some unknown reason.  It made my cheeks burn.  Something turned inside me and it was something good.

“You are gorgeous,” Kirk said.

“It's just a dress,” I said, “you are handsome.”

“It's just a tux,” Kirk replied.

“Do you dance?” Marsha asked Kirk.

“I?  No!”

“And you?” she turned to me.

“A little,” I said.  Grandfather had taught me to dance the Waltz a couple of years ago when he was still walking.  Now his knee and hip joints were worn out and his body rejected artificial joints.  He was in a wheelchair now.

“A little what?” Marsha asked.

“Waltz.”

“Let's see,” she turned the CD player on and some waltz music was playing.

“May I?” The man who adjusted Kirk's tux was in front of me offering his hand.

I felt funny but I took his hand in mine and my other hand on his shoulder.  The same as my grandfather had taught me.  The man was a good dancer.  Almost as good as my grandfather.  The music stopped and the man bowed a little to me while I curtsied in response.

“Your turn,” the man said to Kirk.

He adjusted Kirk's hand on my waist and was counting one-two-three while showing Kirk how to dance.  Kirk was stiff.  He had never done such a thing before.

“I see progress already,” the man said.  “You'll be a perfect dancer a month from now.”

Then we changed into our regular clothes.  New regular clothes.  I into a skirt with a tee and Kirk changed into jeans and a flannel button-down shirt.

We put bags with other new clothes and with our old clothes into the car and went home.

Kirk's mom stopped at my home first and Kirk helped me with all my bags to the front door.  After I entered, I found dad in the kitchen.  He usually did all the kitchen work because mom was at work and granny's sight was really bad and she was no help.  So dad just glanced at me and continued doing what he was doing.

“I can explain,” I said.  I didn't know what he was going to say, but I thought that I would try to head off any explosions.

“What?”  Dad just looked at me.  There was no anger in his eyes, just a sort of casual acceptance of how I looked.

“What what?”  Things were not going the way I expected.  I thought that he would be yelling and angry at seeing his son looking like a girl.

“There is nothing to explain,” dad said.

“How?  I am a boy and…” I started.

“Are you?” dad interrupted me.

“But…”

“Look in the mirror and tell me what you see,” he said.

“A girl…”  It was me, but it did not look like me at the same time.

“So what is there to explain here?  Just put your things away and come here to help me in the kitchen.”

I came and helped.  Then Liz came home.  Then Dmitry.  Then mom.  Then grandfather and granny came from their room and we all sat at the table for dinner.  Nobody said anything as if all my life I was a girl wearing skirts every day.

Only after dinner when Liz and I were washing dishes she asked, “Are those real?” pointing at my boobies.

“Of course they're not,” I retorted.

I didn't notice when dad moved all Dmitry's things to the study.  When I asked what had happened, his response was, "You know girls and boys don't sleep in the same room."

The next morning when I went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast, dad looked at me disapprovingly and shook his head.

“Go to your room and change.  No daughter of me will get out without a bra!”  I had heard him use the same tone with Liz.

“Kids will laugh,” I said.

“Why would they?”

“Cuz I'm a boy.”  I thought that it was an obvious reason.

“Are you?”

I sighed and returned to my room to put a bra on.  Then, after a while, I sighed and changed from jeans to my new denim skirt.

“Much better,” dad complimented me when I came to the kitchen.

At school, nobody noticed.  Or rather, nobody laughed and pointed their fingers at me.

Only my homeroom teacher Mr. Clark glanced at me and sighed, “Deneez? Long overdue…”

Wait…  What?  I thought that everyone knew I was a boy, but everyone seemed to think that I was a girl who had just been acting like a boy.  What was going on?