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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 Four
I take off the pink coat that I had thrown on before running over here, simply because it was closest in the closet, and turn around to hang it in the Holiday’s coat closet.

I had not seen fear on Barbie’s face, but she suddenly looked nervous. I think both were disappointed, as well.

I steel my resolve and go back into the kitchen. Both girls are still quietly sitting there—and looking expectantly at me. I sigh and sit down opposite both of them—on the other side of the island. I take a deep breath and let it out, “Look, if you don’t want me here, I get it—I’ll leave. But, only after I’ve had my say.”

They both just sit there, still not uttering a sound.

I forge on, “Barbie, I know you have been through something unimaginably terrible.”

I almost croak out my next words when she suddenly starts tearing up, “And I can only apologize for all the decent guys out there. I consider myself a decent guy and I would never dream of forcing myself onto any girl, but, especially not you.”

She wipes her tears with a shaking hand. She looks like she is going to bolt and Jill reaches around and gives her the hug that I wish I could.

I say, “I can’t be this Barbie Doll, though. I have never had any interest in girl’s clothes before, so yesterday was just too much for my brain to handle. Mom took me to get my hair cut today and it was all I could do to leave the salon looking like I did—I am told this is ‘androgynous’; neither boy, nor girl. It still looks very ‘girl’ to me. This is the best I could bring myself to do. I know it’s not Barbie Doll—more like transvestite, pre-teen Ken, but…”

I shrug and my voice cracks a little, “It’s the best I can do. I just wanted you to know that I am trying…trying my best to meet you in as far into your safe territory as I can safely go.”

They are still just sitting there, Jill’s arms around a trembling Barbie. She is rocking her back and forth and looking at me with a thoughtful look on her face. Barbie’s face is buried in her shoulder. I’m not sure, but Jill may look a little mad.

I sigh and turn around to leave the kitchen. I barely make it back to the hall closet when Jill grabs my shoulders from behind and spins me around. She looks me square in the eye and I cringe as she says, “James Christine Alexander, don’t you just walk away! You had your say, now you get to hear us out. That’s how friendships work—especially among girls. Now get your tail back in the kitchen and give Barbs a chance to compose herself!”

Did I mention that I’m afraid my eyes are going to get stuck in ‘bug-out’ mode, one of these times?

She surprises me, though, when her eyes soften and she takes a hand and gently says, “Come back in, please?”

I nod and let her lead me back into the kitchen. I sit back on my stool and Jill takes one on the end—between Barbie and me. The island is still between Barbie and me and she still looks shaken up.

I feel all kinds of terrible. I had no intentions of dredging up her nightmarish memories, but my emotions have gotten the best of me since my brain was choked up with cotton candy last night.

I sit there, my eyes downcast.

Jill takes my right hand in her left. She, then takes Barbie’s left hand in her right. She squeezes both our hands lightly, then tugs on our arms and place Barbie’s and my hands together.

She looks at Barbie and says, “Barbs, I think it’s your turn.” She looks at me and her look says it all. ”Shut up and listen.”

Barbie takes a quivering breath and looks at me. She is not pulling her hand back, so that must be a good sign, right?

She surprises me when she reaches her other hand over the island in a clear invitation for me to take hold of it. I do and she gently squeezes both hands in a heartwarming way.

She sighs and says, “Look, Chrissy? Should I even call you that?”

I simply nod.

She smiles wanly and continues, “OK, Chrissy. You don’t know how much I appreciate what you have done for me the past couple of days—especially last night. I have something good to talk to my shrink about this week!”

She giggles at the look on my face. I, of course, am wondering just what she intends to tell her shrink?

She continues, “Don’t worry—it’s all confidential!”

I feel my heart sink, but she just squeezes my hands. I am not sure, but I feel comforted. I don’t think I will ever understand girls!

She looks me in the eye and says, “Chrissy, I have to work on this. It’s on me, not you. The way you are is just girl enough that I’m not running from this room—one that is not under direct supervision of an adult woman—in a neurotic, terrified, screeching frenzy. It is pushing the limits, though.”

She laughs self-depreciatingly and lets go of one hand to wipe her eyes, “Can you imagine being scared of even tomboys? I’m a real mess!”

She lets go of my other hand and leans back, fanning her eyes. There are long black streams running down from them. I look over and see the same on Jill’s face.

I shake my head, not sure if it’s my turn to say anything. Even if it is, I have no idea what to say.

I’m saved from my internal controversy, though, when Jill takes my hands this time. She looks at me and I have to force myself not to focus on her eyes—she looks like a raccoon! I have the sudden urge to call her ‘Rocket’ after her last outburst.

She smiles gently at me and asks, “Chrissy. No, Jimmy. Why didn’t you tell us we were going too far? We’ve been best friends for far too long! I…got caught up in the moment of picturing you in my ‘posse’ as you call it—of you fitting into my whole circle of friends. It was selfish and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to torture you!”

I sigh. I look at her and it’s clear that it’s my turn again, now.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I look at Barbie. She’s finally calming down. I reach out my left hand—across the island—and she hesitantly takes it. I reach out my right hand and take Jill’s.

I have no idea why. It just felt right. So, sue me!

I say, “There’s no need for either of you to apologize. I let you. I could have stopped it at any time. I was scared of losing my best—my only—friend if I didn’t go along, though. Jill, you have no idea what it’s like to be a loner, since you have such an active social life.”

She starts to say something and I give her the same look she gave me earlier. “My turn.”

“I don’t blame you or hold it against you in any way. I envy you. I also was afraid of coming between you and Barbie, who needs good friends, right now. But, mostly—I was being selfish. I just wanted to keep my one friend and hopefully make another. Either way, I let myself get pulled under water so quickly, I didn’t realize I was drowning until my lungs were already full of water.”

I let go of their hands and sort of slump back in my stool.

Jill speaks up, “I can’t believe you’d even think that! We will always be best friends. I just know that you’d be really uncomfortable with my ‘social life’, as you call it. Without the proper reference, that is. And you’d never come between me and Barbs—even if… I mean, we’d work it out. You and I have too much history to just throw it away like that, OK?”

I quietly nod.

Barbie speaks up now, “Chrissy, what did you mean by ‘before’?”

I look at her, confused.

She says, “I have an eidetic memory—perfect recall. It’s one of my…problems.” She takes a shaky breath and composes herself before going on, “I can remember every aspect in excruciating detail. Anyway, you said, “I have never had any interest in girl’s clothes before, so yesterday was just too much for my brain to handle.” What did you mean by before?”

I blush and try and think of a way out of my blunder.

Jill says, “You like it, don’t you? Your blush is worth a thousand words!”

I shake my head and look at both of them. “You have to promise not to tell! I…ummm…I ….wore a pair of the panties to school yesterday. Mom…caught me wearing another pair this morning…”

My face is red enough, it has to be coloring my shirt red—close enough to die, I’m sure.

Jill and Barbie are looking at each other, confused. Barbie finally asks, “So?”

OK, now I am sure my eyes are in permanent bug-out mode.

“So? I just told you I wore panties—as in girl’s underwear to school. And all you say is, “So?”?!?! I’m a pervert! If you tell anyone, I’m dead!”

I want to really die when they both start giggling!

Jill looks at me with a huge smile, but says in a serious tone, “Chrissy…Jimmy…whoever! We get it! Who wouldn’t pick girl’s panties over guy’s itchy, scratch, course, uncomfortable underwear? It’s a no-brainer—If you’re brave enough to do it. Is that all?”

I check my lap to make sure my eyes aren’t in it.

Finally, I shrug and don’t say anything else. Pleading the fifth seems the best course, right now. Besides, I don’t know the answer to her question. Not really. I contemplate the jeans I’m wearing and can’t deny they are much more comfortable than my normal ones. I think about the sweatshirt I have on—my warmest and softest one. It’s like sandpaper compared to the sweater I had on last night at the mall.

Do I like the feel of girl’s clothes? Heck yeah! Does that mean I want to wear them? No! I am a guy, dammit!

Jill doesn’t let it drop, “So, you’re going to let all those clothes your Momma bought you just go to waste? Return them? What?”

I just sit there with a blank stare.

She continues, “Chrissy! Sit up straight and get those knees together! You’re such a tomboy, I swear!”

I turn red and sit up straight and pull my knees together. Of course, I didn’t tuck and it’s not as comfortable as it could be.

Jill looks at Barbie and asks, “What were his words, Hon? Something about ‘safe territory’ and ‘going there’?”

Barbie parrots back my words without even thinking, “I am trying my best to meet you in as far into your safe territory as I can safely go.”

I can see how that ability could be immensely useful—but, in her case, also immensely damning.

Jill looks back at me and says, “That’s better!”

I assume she is referring to my posture.

She continues, “Well, Chrissy, now is your chance to go ‘where no man has gone before’. Technically, I know that’s not an accurate statement, but fitting none-the-less.”

Barbie is giggling.

I sit there stunned and all I can think of is another quote, albeit one never actually spoken in the series, “Beam me up, Scotty!”

I sigh, “What are you saying, Jill?”

She smiles and says, “Nothing, really. I am just asking questions—that’s what girlfriends do. Explore each other’s emotions and feelings. How does it make you feel to wear the panties? Do you really feel like a pervert?”

I blush again, “No… They just feel…good.”

“OK, then,” she pushes on. “How about the other things? If you didn’t have to worry about what other people thought, would you discount wearing them?”

I shake my head, “But, I do have to worry about what people think!”

Barbie gently asks, “Why?”

I look at her. What she has in terms of memory power, she obviously makes up for with lack of common sense! “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

She shrugs, “I mean just that. Why? Chrissy, right now you look like a tomboy and you didn’t make a huge effort to look like a girl. If you take off those obviously girly ‘studs’ and change your shoes to your ‘normal’ ones, you would be seen as a boy by most girls. I would certainly be shaking in my pants. My point is that it’s up to you how you’re perceived.”

I shake my head, confused.

Jill says, “Just think about it. Right now, Barbs and I have to fix our makeup. Do you still want to learn how to do yours?”

I hesitate—on the fence. I mean I am so conflicted right now. I want to do this—for Barbie—but…

Barbie quietly says, “Please? It would be a little more comfortable for me to see you that way. It’s not like anyone is going to see you that way—but us.”

She smiles, her lips trembling a bit.

Any resolve I have to resist melts and I sigh.

I nod and Jill comes over and gives me one of her girly-hugs. There is no over-stated excitement or feeling of pressure—only…heartfelt thanks.

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Mom looks at me with a concerned look when I come through the front door after only a little over half-an-hour. She asks, “Honey, is everything OK?”

I give her an unsure nod, “I think so, Mom. I’m…just getting that makeup you bought. I left it here earlier.”

She looks at me hard, then smiles, “OK, so I take it Chrissy is still going to be around a while and I don’t need to dig the receipts out of the box of stuff to be shredded?”

I sigh, “I…guess. I mean you went to all of that trouble and…”

She comes over and gives me a hug. Still hugging me, my face buried in her…chest…, she says, “Honey, I just want you to be happy. I don’t have any illusions that you want to be my daughter, but I also don’t care if you find that you like to dress in girl’s clothes. I know you would have probably never considered it before this, but sometimes things can’t be put back into Pandora’s box, once they are out.”

I sigh and nod into her…chest. She pushes me back and looks into my eyes, “Now, go learn to do your makeup properly. If you’re going to be wearing it around here, I won’t have it done sloppily! Got that, young lady?”

She gives me that impish grin from the mall and I know that she is—half—kidding and I salute her, “Yes, Ma’am!”

She squeezes me in another hug and I go up the stairs to my room.

I find the Wally-World bag on my desk, right where I had thrown it before I left in a confused huff. I am still confused, but at least not in a huff, anymore.

I look at my dresser and open the drawer that Mom had helped my put my new…underwear…away in last night. I take out my tighty-whiteys and put them in the donations bag, along with the neatly folded stack that Mom had put on my bed from the laundry.

I feel better, somehow. Right or wrong—it’s a decision. It feels right, though. Yes, I’m a guy—a guy that likes to wear women’s panties.

So, sue me!

I start to close the drawer. I think in a million years I won’t be able to tell you what makes me do it, but I take out a matching pair of panties and bra. I slowly close the drawer. I don’t slam it in a hurry. I deliberately give myself time to change my mind. For some reason, I don’t.

I go to my bathroom and take off my jeans. I take off my pink panties and sigh. Mom had just done the laundry and here I am making more. I guess I need to learn how to help her with it if I am going to be changing clothes a lot…

I tuck my little package and pull the lacy panties up tight to my crotch. I have not tried any of them, yet, and they sort of tickle. The lace feels funny—not as nice as the ones without, but are still tons better than the stuff I had just put in the donations bag.

I am still not sure why I need lacy ones, though. I’m going to have to talk to Mom about that—later.

I do as Chloe had instructed and wrap the bra around me from the back and latch it in front of me. I fumble a little because I’m nervous. I still hear voices in my head calling me a pervert. The thing is, I’m not getting any arousal out of it. I’m not doing this for those reasons.

When I get the little hooks into the last clasps, I spin the bra around and put my arms through the straps. It doesn’t fit like the other one for some reason. I shrug and put the little silicone thingies in, breast forms, Chloe had called them. I feel my nipples harden as the cold, jiggly things settle up against them.

The bra is still not right. Then I remember that Chloe had messed with the straps. I sigh and go to my door. I crack it open and call out, “Mom? Can you help me a minute?”

She yells out, “Just a sec, Hon!” I hear her coming up the stairs and step back.

She comes in and sees me standing there in just a bra and panties—well, and girly socks—and smiles. She doesn’t make a fuss or a scene, just asks, “What is it, Hon?”

I say, “I don’t know. Chloe did something with the straps on the other bra…”

She nods and comes over behind me. She pulls on the straps and then adjusts the little buckles, tightening them up. She says, “It’s a bit of a balancing act. Does that feel too tight?”

I shrug, “It all feels too tight.”

She actually giggles and says, “This feels about right. You’ll get used to the tightness. It’s another paradox women deal with—it’s comforting, but restrictive at the same time. A well-fitting bra shouldn’t be uncomfortable, though—even after hours of wear.”

I just shake my head, “TMI, Mom! Maybe I should take it back off. It was a dumb idea, anyways.”

She sits down on the bed and pats it next to her. I sit down and she puts her arm around me and squeezes. I don’t think I’ve been hugged as much my whole life as I have in the last few days.

It’s weird—I…kind of like it.

She says, “Do what you think is best, Hon. I certainly had no intention of putting any kind of pressure on you yesterday. I guess I kind of got carried away. But, I thought it’s what you wanted.”

I shake my head and put it on her shoulder, “No. That’s pretty much the same thing Jill and Barbie said. I could have stopped it. I don’t blame you, at all, Mom. I am just confused. I want to help Barbie. She’s really messed up! Did you know she has perfect recall?”

Mom gasps, “That poor darling!”

I nod on her shoulder. “I just can’t get over the feeling that this is somehow…wrong…”

She squeezes me and reiterates, “Like I said, Love. It’s only wrong if it’s wrong for you. Don’t worry about others. If you want to know what I think, Pandora has cracked open her box. It’s up to you to slam it closed, or see what comes out.”

I nod, “Thanks, Mom. I guess I need to get back over there. They probably think I have decided not to come back.”

She squeezes me again and leaves me to finish dressing.

I put the jeans back on, then I put one of the soft, warm, form-fitting sweaters on. I look in the mirror and sigh. Jimmy is nowhere to be seen—even without makeup or hair in ‘girl’ mode—at least in my mind.

I put the sports shoes back on and pull the pink coat on over the sweater. It feels completely different than before—and not just because of the bra.

I grab the Wally-World bag and hurry down the stairs. I hug Mom and she just smiles in an encouraging way. As I open the front door to leave, she says, “Bye, Chrissy. Let me know if you need me, OK?”

I look back and smile at her. I nod and close the door before running back across the yards—marveling at the weird bouncy feeling on my chest. I also have to run, well, funny, because the…bumps…are in the way of my arms.

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When Jill and Barbie see me this time, they just smile. No word is said, other than, “Hi, Chrissy!”

I am given a tight hug by both girls and it feels funny to have their…chest…squeeze up against…mine.

I am surprised that their faces are flawless again, in just the time it took me to…change. Of course, I was gone nearly half-an-hour, I guess.

I hand the Wally-World bag to Jill and hang up my coat in the hall closet for the second time today. It feels distinctly different this time, though. Jill is looking through the bag and giggles, “Your Momma got you the awesome mascara! Every girl wants it, right now. This is really good eyeliner, too—great for beginners.”

Barbie is looking in the bag, too, and nodding.

I shrug. I wouldn’t have a clue about the stuff if it is was tattooed on my forehead. What? The clue, not the makeup! Duh!

Jill reaches out a hand and I take it. She leads me to her room and to her vanity. I still feel weird being in here—especially with two girls. But, I know Mrs. Holiday is just downstairs, so I also know it’s not ‘forbidden’—at least not as ‘Chrissy’.

Barbie pops open the packages and takes out the makeup. Jill looks at me and seems to be looking for some courage to ask me something. Suddenly, I’m worried.

Finally, I just ask, “What is it?”

She giggles and says, “You do know me too well! I was wondering if you would let me…fix your eyebrows? They are not terrible, but a little tidying up would make them look so much better!”

I start to just say no, then look at both of them. Neither have McMac’s arches—those aren’t ‘in’ anymore, I guess. They are definitely girly, though. Shaped and tapered. I look at mine in the mirror. They are light, like my hair—and not all that visible, anyway.

I ask, “What do you mean by ‘tidy up’? I don’t want girly eyebrows to push this hair anymore into ‘girl’ territory.”

I decide to see what she has planned before shutting Pandora’s box on this.

She smiles. I guess she expected me to just shut it down, right off.

She shows me some stray hairs, here and there and says, “I would clean those up and take, at most, a row out from the bottom. Later, if you want, we can shape them a bit. Guys do it, too—I promise.”

I sigh and say, “OK, Jill. I trust you.”

She gives me a smile and quick squeeze. Again, it seems like she is genuine and not just excited to girly me up, like I had gotten the impression last night. Thinking back, I can see how there were misinterpretations and misunderstandings abound last night.

I flinch as she plucks the first eyebrow. I wasn’t expecting it and sneeze. They both giggle and I give them a cross look.

Jill just smirks and shrugs—and pulls another.

After a few minutes, I can see what she was talking about. It looks much less…messy. It also goes better with my now-groomed hair.

She says, “Taking out the bottom row opens your eyes up more. I would prefer to take out some more and taper them, but I know you’re not ready for that. We can take it slow…”

I give her another cross look. She finishes her sentence, “…or not at all. This is tons better, already!”

Barbie just genuinely says, “O!M!G! Yes!”

Jill then looks at me and asks, “Ready to learn how to make those pretty blue eyes pop?”

I sigh and say, “Ready as ever, I guess.”

Over the next hour, Jill shows me how to ‘tightline’ my eyes with liner, then how to apply the mascara—which is this mega-lengthening stuff with a super-special wand. When she is done, she wipes it all off with this special disposable cloth—one like Mom had me use in her bathroom the last two nights—and hands me the stuff to do it myself. After the third time, I do an adequate job. I don’t poke my eye—well, hard anyway—and I don’t paint my eyelid black.

Barbie smiles and says, “Nice job, Chrissy. Now, wipe it off and let me show another look…”

I look at her and she’s just smiling. I get the feeling this is ‘normal’ for ‘girls’—like the shopping deal—and shrug. I wipe it off, again.

She takes the eyeliner and tightlines my eyes like before—only she is much faster than me and it is perfect. She says, “Now, this is called a ‘flick’ and is really popular, right now. Taylor Quick has a lot to do with that.”

She takes the pencil and draws these…wings…out from my eyes. I don’t know a better way to describe them—although ‘flick’ does make sense. She then puts three heavy coats of mascara on my lashes and says, “This isn’t a look you wear to school, by any means…”

I give her a look and she smiles, “It is how you start more of a weekend or evening look. A little eyeshadow and you would be gorgeous. Not that you aren’t now!”

I blush and look at myself in the mirror. I see why she said what she did about Taylor Quick. With my blond hair and my eyes like this, I looked a little like her. It shocks me.

Jill hands me the tube of lip gloss from the bag and says, “It’s not rocket science putting this on…”

I shake my head, still staring at myself in the mirror and open the tube. I use the little sponge-tipped wand to apply a heavy coat of the sticky, strawberry-flavored, pinkish goop to my lips. Just like she had shown me before.

Suddenly, I seem even more like Taylor Quick. I also know what Barbie meant by the eyeshadow when I picture the ‘complete’ look that TQ usually sports.

I shudder.

Barbie looks at me in concern, “Are you OK, Chrissy?”

I sigh and nod, “Just a random thought. So, what now?”

Barbie giggles and Jill says, “Well, Barbs and I are giving each other a mani-pedi. You get to watch, unless…?”

I shake my head with a smile. “Go ahead. This should be…interesting.”

I am not all that interested in the mechanics of what they are getting ready to do—there has been this subtle…shift…in our interactions, since our ‘talk’. It’s more…intimate…is not the word. But it is somehow closer, more personal—even more so than Jill and I have been over the years. Almost more like before we were…banned…from each other’s rooms. I want some time to explore that more.

I shake my head and they start working on each other’s nails. In short order, I find myself fascinated, in spite of myself. They pull me further into their snare when they ask me my opinion on things, like length and colors. I give it to them, but, of course, it’s Jimmy’s opinion and they just give me good-natured gagging sounds and proceed to educate me on how it should properly be done.

I guess dark red, inch-long nails aren’t proper. So, sue me! I am a guy, after all!

Of course, they do wear me down and I let them do my fingernails—just file them, use their nasty stuff to ‘clean up’ my cuticles, and buff them. I put a stop to polish, though!

Until…they do my toes. I don’t have a good argument to stop them when they ‘remind’ me that no one would know that my toes were painted anymore than they would know I had panties on.

It doesn’t matter that I wear panties for an entirely different reason. They gently push me to accept the white color on them—just to experience the feel.

I have to admit that it does feel different when I pull my socks back on and my nails just glide in, rather than get hung on the material. When I think about wearing this to school for the next two weeks—they tell me that’s how long it will last, since it was cured with this little UV-light-thingy—‘pervert’ doesn’t come to mind, at all. I just feel…naughty.

I sigh and tie my shoes before putting on my coat. I have been over here for over four hours and it’s time to get home for supper—it feels like it’s only been a few minutes. I smile and wave to Mrs. Greeley as she pulls into the Holiday’s drive on my way out the door.

When I go in our front door, Mom calls from the kitchen, “Is that you, Hon? Supper’s ready! Wash up!”

I hang up my coat and peek in the kitchen. Mom is putting a roast on the table and Dad gives me a double-take when he sees me. He had missed the post-mall look and hasn’t seen my hair, in any instance. He shakes his head as I ask, “Do I have time to change?”

Mom looks at me and smiles, “If it’s OK with you, we would love to have supper with Chrissy. Isn’t that right, George? It would be a shame to waste that beautiful makeup!”

I blush and say, “Ummm…OK… If you’re sure…?”

Mom just winks and shoos me towards the little bathroom to wash my hands.

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