The New Tradition

--by Nina Adams

Author's note: Most of my stories have been about gifted teens that found their calling after after getting the proverbial push. While I have received occasional criticism (mostly warranted) by readers that felt my reluctant heroines had been cruelly forced, I always found myself fantasizing that this lad/lass had been me. Unfortunately, these stories have been 100% fiction. The dribble that begins below is also mostly fiction, however it is to a small degree 'based' upon my childhood. I will leave it to your imagination to know where fact and fiction leave off. If I haven't already lost you, I hope you enjoy "The New Tradition."

Please, please, please comment or let me know if you like it.

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Part 1:

If you look up the word Tradition you will find many different definitions, but all of them at their core will say that it is the passing down of an element of culture from one generation to the next generation. In my family we have always taken a more simplified description. In my family if you do something two years in a row it is a tradition.

I was raised in a loving family in the suburbs of Chicago. I have happily married parents and two brothers that are each much older than me. The oldest brother recently finished law school and works for a bank, my other brother is currently in medical school at The University of Chicago. I am a freshman in high school and not yet ready to make my own grand plans for future. I know I want to go off to college, but academically I have always been a little intimidated by my brother’s success. They both did their undergraduate at the University of Illinois, which my father also attended years before. I guess traditions say that it is where I should study if I can get in.

I came into this world after a long time gap, because my parents decided they wanted one last chance for a daughter. I can honestly say, I never sensed any disappointment in them, when I turned out to be an Ashton instead of an Ashley.

In many respects my life had been easier for me than for my brothers. They were very competitive with each other, and that never carried over to me. Ma Dad worked long hours in the advertising business and my mother worked part-time as an interior designer. She was the only family member that did not go to college, but in most respects no one would suspect that. Almost every major decision made by our family went through her and ultimately she had the final say on most of the major family issues.

I was close with all of my siblings, but my bond with my mother was exceptionally tight. She was a naturally beautiful woman even as she moved into her mid 40s. All of my friends and relatives knew she was the matriarch of our family and this even extended to my cousin’s family

I always had typical boy hobbies and social relationships, but I always maintained a special connection with my mother. I was not an effeminate child, but I always considered her a role model. She was a friend to all who knew her and she never put pressure on me to be like my brothers. She was always a busy person, yet she always made time for me and could read me like a book.

As I mentioned before our family was loaded with traditions. We always made my Grandmothers chocolate cake recipe for birthday celebrations. New Year's Eve always meant lobsters. Memorial Day was always at my Aunt’s house and Thanksgiving was at our house. We always sat in the same spot for the 4th of July fireworks. It wasn't the big things that made us tradition crazy it with the little things. Unless someone was extremely sick we all went to a movie together on Christmas Day. The list of so-called traditions included activities, foods, responsibilities, spanning holidays and everyday activities. The traditions even included the outfits that my Mother and Aunt would wear for the major of important family gatherings.

This is where my story begins.

Probably my favorite holiday had always been Thanksgiving. We had cousins on both sides of the family all gathered at our house for a Culinary Festival that would make the pilgrims blush. It was extremely rare when the gathering was less than 25 -30 people. Everyone brought their same specialty dish and we made more than a dozen appetizer and sides as a family. Each year the food list got bigger as more and more dishes became new traditions. The dessert course alone would be enough food to feed us all and would make any bakery jealous

After preparing a majority of her numerous dishes, but before the cousins arrived she would slip into the same lovely dress that she wore every Thanksgiving. That was the only time each year that she wore it, but I could not remember a Turkey day without it. I was always mesmerized by her beauty in that dress and had grown strangely fascinated by that subtle detail of our holiday tradition.

I could visualize every aspect of that dress with my eyes closed. I remember my mother once calling it a vintage empire style. It was not an old looking dress, but rather shimmered like new every holiday. The light berry coloring draped my mothers still shapely body like it was custom made for her and it might have been. On the shelf in our guest-room/library was a framed photograph of my mother about 20 years ago wearing that dress. It was a professional quality photo and looks like it was taken in a studio. My mother looked so stunning down to every detail of her styling and makeup. She still looks wonderful in the dress, but the sheer beauty of that image always fascinates me every time I pass that framed photo.

My Mother in her Holiday dress

Growing up I never recalled being particularly observant about fashion and I had never before fixated on women's clothing. I vaguely remember trying to walk in my mother’s shoes when I was much younger, but otherwise my fascination with her wardrobe was pretty much non-existent.

I enjoy playing baseball and tennis while growing up, though I was not an exceptional athlete. At 14 I was still only about 5'6" with shoes on. I was built more for long-distance running than for physical sports. While neither my brothers were very tall they both had grown into their more muscular frames. I always assumed I would be a late bloomer.

One of the many traditions my family had cultivated including the day after Thanksgiving. On Black Friday my female cousins along with my Mother and Aunt went to lunch at the Walnut room located inside the original Marshall Fields store on State Street in Chicago. The store is now part of the renamed as Macy chain. It was a girl thing and they would all get dressed up, have lunch, and shop. It was something my brothers and I were never included in.

It was while they were gone that I did something completely un-planned. I was alone in our house with my brothers and father over at my cousins across town watching football. I had just showered and while throwing my towel into the laundry room I spotted “The Thanksgiving Dress” lying across the hamper. It was obviously waiting to be taken to the dry cleaners and it immediately commanded my attention.

Dressed only in my jockeys, I approached it like it was some priceless artifact. I ran my hands across its soft surface and was sucked into its mysterious pull, with each lingering second. I finally let my impulse release and picked up the dress and held it up against my body. I felt a shiver down my legs and became sensually and physically aroused. Knowing that I was alone in the house I took the dress into my parents room so I could see it visually against my body in the full-length mirror.

I found myself absorbed in the fantasy as I gazed at the mirror. In my mind I knew that my actions were a little bizarre for a 14-year-old boy, but I couldn't un-focus on the dress. A few minutes of holding the dress against my body removed my last inhibitions. I finally succumbed to the spell of the dress and carefully pulled it over my head. I was obviously not built like my mother, but other than being about an inch taller than her, my thin body easily allowed me to pull the dress down into place. I was in heaven.

I'm sure anyone who would have seen me then would have laughed, but I felt for those few minutes to be a lovely girl, much like my mother. I felt like I had ever felt in my life. I was concerned that I was going to explode in the dress so after a few minutes in front of the mirror I reluctantly slipped the dress off. I carefully try to position it on the hamper exactly as I remembered it positioned.

Back in my room I tried to calm myself down. I had no idea why I felt the need to do what I had just done and had no clue what to make of it. I was just glad no one was home and that my strange secret was safe.

Chapter 2

My middle brother Paul was sleeping in Sunday morning and my older brother David was already back at his apartment in the city. I was sitting in the family room surfing on my iPad when my mother joined me on the couch.

"Honey can we talk for a few minutes?"

"Sure mom, what's up?"

"I am not sure how to ask you about this, but I want to know if everything is okay?"

"Yeah of course. Schools fine. Nothing special going on."

"How about with your friends. Anything new in your life? You know you can tell me anything and I will not be mad or get upset.”

"Now you're freaking me out. Did I do something wrong?"

"No, it's just…. I am not sure what to make of something and I just want to talk about it with you."

I was beginning to get queasy, feeling that my secret was out. "Mom, spit it out, please."

"Well dear, I took my Thanksgiving dressed into the cleaners yesterday it had a distinctive smell of your bath soap throughout the inside of the dress."

"Mom it's not what you think. I took a shower yesterday and must have put my towel right under it."

"I am not upset by anything you may have done, but honey look at me in the eye and tell me that you didn't put the dress on. It's okay, I just want to talk about it."

I was not a good liar, "I'm sorry, I won't do it again. I was really bored Friday at home alone. And I knocked it over and on a lark I slipped it on. It was a one-time thing. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's fine. I wish I could have seen you in it."

"What?"

"I think it's cute that you tried it on. How did it fit?”

"Uhh, I guess it fit okay. Why do you think that's cute?”

"I just think it's terrific that you were able to experience some special new feelings. I am sure that it couldn't have done you any harm.”

"I don't know why I did it, but as long as you are not mad."

"Absolutely not. Like I said, if I had known you wanted to do that I would've helped you."

“It just happened Mom. I didn't plan anything."

"Do you want to try something else on? It will be our secret."

“No Mom. It was just that dress. I think it’s something about the holiday tradition. I don't know what came over me."

"I'm not trying to push you. I guess I am a little sad that I was not here to see you in it."

"Well if I ever try it on again, I will make sure you are with me."

“Do you really mean that?"

"Mom! Like, why would I do that again?"

"What about next year? If you don't sprout into a big tree would you try it on before Thanksgiving for me?"

"Are you serious? You want me to put it on again next year?"

"Was it such a bad experience? I bet it was at least a little fun."

"That's not really the point. I am just not sure it's such a great idea."

“It's okay if we both say it is. Don't fret over it. Next year is a long way off. If next year comes and you are sure you want to do it again then we won't. But if you are still a little curious, we will have a little mother-daughter fun."

"That sounds crazy, but we will see. I’m not promising anything. Lets call it a maybe.”

We didn't discuss another word of that day for months. I had a hard time mentally putting it behind me. I often thought about that day and the discussion with my mother. I almost wished that we had talked about it more. I never touched any of her stuff after that, but often wondered why that desire to do so had not gone away. I was oddly excited about the opportunity to try it on again the following Thanksgiving. The impulse seemed to grow stronger.

Chapter 3

The lack of conversation on the subject did not result in the memory fading away. We certainly had many opportunities for the two of us to talk about it again. Rather than hide from her, I found that over the coming weeks and months we managed to do even more together. I found myself helping my mother more in the kitchen and around the house. She insisted that as part of my maturation that I need to be more responsible and capable of taking care of myself. I didn't really mind and we did most of the new household activities together.

It was the weekend before spring break that my mother made the first conscious effort to see if I still might have been thinking about our Thanksgiving discussion. The probing began with my hair. I had not gotten my haircut since before school started in the fall and even then I wore it pretty long. Where as my brothers kept their hair nice and short, I went in for more the Johnny Depp look. Mom didn't really care much but my dad was bugging me about my hair covering my eyes.

We were leaving for a drive down to Siesta Key, Florida in a couple of days and my dad suggested I get a haircut.

"Ash, you might want to consider seeing the barber before we go. On the beach your hair is going to get so sandy and besides the beaches down there are not ‘TOPLESS’.”

"Dad!"

My mother quickly came to my defenses.

“Frank, don't pick on Ash. I think his hair looks fine. We are going on vacation and the surfer look is perfectly acceptable."

"I'm just saying his hair has gotten so long. He probably will be more comfortable with a cut."

“He probably could use a trim and conditioning, but I think he looks nice with the long hair. What do you think honey?"

"I had not really thought that much about my hair. I sort of like my hair long. At least I don't look like a clone of every other kid in school."

"Okay, if your mother does not think it is too long, you can keep it long, but don't say I didn't warn you. Then that settles it."

"I think I will take Ash with me tomorrow when I see Lulu and maybe she can trim it a little."

"You want me to go to the salon with you?"

"It's no big deal. Lots of boys get their haircut there. Besides, I think it would be a fun thing for us to go together. Lulu is much more fun than a boring barber. You'll see."

The next day after school I accompanied her into the small salon. I had to wait quite a while before Lulu had made enough progress with my mother before she began to turn her attention to me. During my waiting time I flipped through all of the fashion and hair magazines that were stacked up. There were not any of the auto or sports magazines that usually littered the barbershops.

When Lulu walked up to me she caught me off-guard flipping through a Sophisticate Haircut Guide.

"Did anything catch your eye?"

"I was just killing time. It was the only thing to read."

"Not many words in there, but some very beautiful styles. I am sorry if I embarrassed you."

"No, no it's okay. My mom just brought me in for a trim."

"Yes. She says you want to let it grow, but you have to keep it from looking sloppy."

"My dad thinks it's too long so I came here as a compromise. Mom says you can cut it, but leave it fairly long."

"Your hair is quite beautiful and will stay that way if you take care of it."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Lulu started me off with a wash and condition. She used a very strong professional conditioning cream and that had to stay in my hair for 15 minutes before being washed out. While I sat there with the purple satin cape over wrapped over me I watch Lulu put highlights into my mother's hair. Finally when it was time for my cut, it was very anti-climatic.

Lulu brushed my hair out and gave me a part slightly off-center. And she neatly evened out the tips of my wet hair. In most areas she cut virtually nothing. She took a little more off on the side with off-center part, but otherwise my hair length had not been altered. I expect my hair would remain long, but I would hardly call what she did a haircut.

"Lulu, are you really done? You hardly did anything."

Even with only a trim my hair looked more feminine

“Ash, I think moving your part gives you a little more style, but until it grows a little more the options are somewhat limited. You hair should grow at least an inch every couple of months, so by summer we can probably try a few things."

"Like what?"

"I'm not sure yet. Longer hair can be fun if you want to experiment. Your hair already is falling onto your shoulders, so by summer you can pick one of those styles that caught your eye.”

"Lulu those were mostly girl styles in the magazine. Don't be silly."

“If you read most of the captions you know many of the styles are gender-neutral cuts. In fact, they call some of them boy cuts or pageboys. Even with no elaborate style your hair will look even more wonderful as it grows in."

When Lulu started talking about fancy hairstyles I began to think about the Thanksgiving dress again. I begin to visualize myself encased in the dress again, but now framed with long curly hair. I was glad the purple cape was still covering me as the thought quickly got me excited again.

When my mother was finally finished and retrieved me I was anxious for a change of scenery. It had been another new experience going to the salon with my mother, but it was stirring up the strange sensations I had experience back in November. Other than telling me I looked much nicer, my mother did not push me on how I was feeling.

My dad made an obvious forehead scrunch when he saw that my hair was still nearly as long as before. Later in the evening we spent most of our time packing our summer clothes for our pending drive down to Florida for break

Along with some of my old jeans and T-shirts my mother helped me pack some new shorts, tops, and sandals.