Barbie's Doll ~ Part 5

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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

By Shauna

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


Part Five

I check myself in the mirror, again–it’s at least the fifth time. I can’t see any signs of the panties. I am wearing a pair of the VS ones—in all their pink and lacy glory. If anyone catches me wearing them at school today—well, outside of Jill or Barbie, I guess—I’m dead meat.

I had talked to Mom about the lace yesterday and she explained to me that girls wear it under their clothes to ‘feel pretty’—and a little naughty, knowing they have a secret.

Now, I have no desire to feel ‘pretty’—I don’t even really want to feel naughty. But when I had gotten out of bed and my stark-white, very shiny toenails planted themselves on the floor… Well, I was already feeling naughty about that. I decide to go for broke.

I check once more and still don’t see anything.

The reason I am so paranoid is the rest of the discussion I had had with Mom. It had been a ‘Chrissy’-free day, since Jill was out with Greg all day and Barbie had to be home for ‘family day’. That was just fine with me, let me tell you!

Well, it was Chrissy-free—except for that ‘discussion’ I had with Mom. It lasted over an hour as she explained some things to me—things she would have told me if I had been her daughter—and, no, before you even start—I’m not!

Yes, it felt good to just be me. But I did complain to Mom as we were talking about how itchy my shirts now felt to me—even the ‘soft’ sweatshirts.

That is when she let me in on the secret of ‘camisoles’—basically girl’s undershirts. I hadn’t even realized that I have several that were included in the ‘mall purchases’. Her warning, though, was clearly etched into my brain, “If your outer shirt is too thin, the camisole will be visible—either the color through the shirt, which is sometimes desired for a sexy look, or, at a minimum the straps can be seen—especially by girls that know what they are seeing.”

I don’t have a camisole on—not that I didn’t think about it when I put this itchy shirt on—but it just has me paranoid about the panties now, too.

I bend over and squat—nothing. I sigh. Well, I guess there is something to be said about them being cut so low on my waist. The lace still tickles, though. Of course, being cut the way they are, I have no choice but to tuck my package up and out of the way—nothing you can notice in these pants, but I do wonder how I will get along all day this way. Especially on the hard school chairs.

I notice my face—it’s, well, sort of…glowing… I guess that has to do with the fact that I have washed it a thousand times over the weekend. Oh, and Mom has insisted that I keep using her creams and potions…err…lotions if I am going to keep on using the makeup. There is also something called ‘serum’. I have to use different stuff in the morning than in the evening—I even had to use it all yesterday; no matter that I didn’t use any makeup. It seems that skincare is important.

Huh! Who knew? I’m just a guy. No, really!

I look at my hair next and sigh. I washed it this morning and used the products that Miss Sally gave me. It has never been so…light and feathery—it almost floats. It has also never been so shiny. Mom has insisted that I start taking care of it—including brushing it out at night.

I blow at the bangs over my left eye and know they are going to drive me crazy all day long.

I check my eyebrows again and they look…normal. Mom had noticed the difference, but Dad was clueless, so that is encouraging.

Mom calls up, “Jimmy, come on, Love—you’ll miss the bus! Breakfast is ready!”

I go down and give Mom a hug. It surprises her as much as me! “Well good morning to you, too, Hon! Your oatmeal is ready. Hurry up! The bus will be here in twenty minutes.”

I start downing my oatmeal to Mom’s dismay, “Jimmy! Slow down! We talked about smaller bites!”

I groan. How am I supposed to ‘hurry’ and ‘take smaller bites’? I do as she says and am surprised that it only takes me a couple minutes more to eat it—and I feel fuller.

I run upstairs and brush my teeth with minutes to spare. I hug Mom again and grab my books, then almost grab the pink coat on my way out the door.

That would have been a disaster!

Jill is already waiting at the bus stop and whispers, “Morning, Chrissy!”

I blush and look around. We’re alone. I give her a cross look, but don’t have time to say anything, since the bus pulls up, right then.

She goes to her ‘peeps’ and I sit in my usual spot.

And so, another boring week at school begins.


I get on the bus at the end of the day and let out a sigh. It was blissfully boring in that no one pointed any fingers at me and yelled, “Pervert!”

No one said anything about my hair—even if they did notice. I thought I caught some of Jill’s posse looking my way a time or two at lunch—but I tell myself I’m just being paranoid.

I was conscious of my panties all day long. If I move just right, I can feel the lace tickle my inner thigh under my baggy boy’s uniform pants. I am happy to say that being tucked didn’t cause me any real issues, either—other than I had to go into a stall to pee, so that I could ‘re-tuck’. It is awkward trying to do that standing in the stall, though.

No, I did not sit to pee! I am a guy! No, really!

I wiggle my toes inside my shoes and feel my smooth nails rub up against my itchy boy socks and sigh.

That gets me wondering if…

I shake my head to clear it and smile at Jill and Barbie as they walk past me on the bus with a wink. Our new study routine is to begin today. I will change as soon as I get home—so will Jill and Barbie at Jill’s. Today, study group is at our house, though.

We all get off at our stop and I hurry inside. It doesn’t take me long to get out of the uniform and stand there in only the lacy panties. I shrug at the flat front staring back at me in the mirror, grab a bra out of my drawer, and put it on. Mom had adjusted all the straps for me during our ‘conversation’, yesterday, so it fit perfectly—and I was a little faster getting it on.

No, that’s not something I’m proud of—I am just stating a fact. No, really!

I put in the breast forms—I don’t even notice that I know refer to them as ‘breast forms’ in my mind—and shiver as my nipples stiffen. I’m going to have to learn to warm them up before putting them in!

I put on a pair of the leggings. Mom had explained those to me, as well—that they are supposed to be skin-tight and a little short. These are the winter version, I guess—at least according to her—since, they have a fleece lining and feel luxuriously soft and warm.

I take out a long-sleeved t-shirt—form-fitting for my enhanced…chest…and pull it on. I shake my head again at how much I now look like a girl.

I put the pink flats on my bare feet and go to my bathroom, where there is more light—and a mirror. I go through the motions of applying the makeup in my mind that Jill had drilled into me. I take a deep breath—and the plunge. Ten minutes and only one mistake later, I figure it is as good as it’s going to get.

I brush my hair back into a tight ponytail—something that Mom had made me practice yesterday, and wrap the special little rubber hairband around it, pulling it even tighter. Of course, I put it up high, since I’m in ‘Chrissy’ mode and I’m told that’s where it’s ‘supposed’ to be. I use the little clip that Miss Sally gave me and sigh in relief when I banish the stupid bangs out of my eye.

I had gotten to the point during the day that I didn’t notice them as much--just like Miss Sally said I would—and I only tucked them behind my ear ten times a minute instead of twenty; but they were annoying me now, again.


I’m in the kitchen laying out my stuff when Jill and Barbie come in the front door. They take off their coats, hang them in the closet, and give me a big girly-hug before starting to take out their own stuff.

We study for an hour-and-a-half and easily finish our homework in that time. Mom comes in about thirty minutes before we’re done and asks, “Would you girls like Chinese takeout? Mr. Alexander has to work late and I don’t feel like cooking. Barbie, I’ve already cleared it with your Momma to stay, if you want. Jill has a standing invitation, as always.”

I nod and say, “That sounds fine to me, Mom.”

I notice Barbie give me a strange look, then refocus on Mom and say, “That would be lovely, Mrs. Alexander.” Jill also agrees and Mom pulls out the menu. We all pick out something—with the plan of sharing.

When she goes to place the order and we’re putting our stuff away, I look at Barbie and ask, “Why did you give me that look a bit ago?”

She shakes her head and mumbles, “It’s nothing,…Chrissy.”

I shake my head and give her a bit of a glare, “Spill! What did I do?”

She sighs and says, “Girls usually don’t call their mothers, ‘Mom’. Sometimes it’s, ‘Mother’, more often it’s, ‘Mama’, ‘Momma’, ‘Mumma’, or even ‘Mummy’. I just get so used to seeing you as Chrissy and then you do something that…jars me. It’s nothing, though. I’m not criticizing you—not for that. Now, if you don’t sit up straight, keep your legs together, and eat in a civilized manner, you’re in trouble!”

She giggles—Jill right along with her. Mom comes in right than and looks at us, “What’s so funny, girls?”

I sigh and say, “Nothing…Mummy!”

Now, that gets me a look, let me tell you! But Jill and Barbie just giggle. Mom rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “Girls!” She looks at me and says, “Chrissy, can you get things set up while I go get the takeout? Who wants to come with me?”

I nod and Barbie says, “I’ll come help, Mrs. Alexander.”

Jill says, “I can stay and help Chrissy—unless you need me Mrs. A.?”

I give Jill a funny look. Setting the table is not rocket science. Mom doesn’t seem to catch on to anything and just says, “Thanks, Hon. Sounds good—I have the TT today, anyway and there isn’t much room. Come along then, Barbie, I hate cold rice!”

Once they have both left for the garage, I start pulling out plates and setting the island. Jill starts grabbing silverware and grabs my hand when I set down the last plate, “Are you OK, Jimmy? I mean, really? I know you want a chance with Barbs—but I…could tell you had lacy panties on today by the way you were squirming. You were tucked, too—weren’t you?”

I sigh and nod—very pale, “Yeah. You mean you could see the panties?” The terror is clear in my voice.

She shakes her head, “No, like I said, if I didn’t know things, I would have never guessed. But, knowing things let me process your squirming and…errr…lack of anything up front…for what it was.”

I sigh again and help finish laying out the silverware and the napkins. “I don’t really know why I put on those panties. I mean, if I’m going to wear them—and now I have to, since Dad made me drop of the full donation bag at church yesterday and my old undies are in it—I knew I was going to have to at some point. Wearing them forces me to…tuck.” I blush and she smiles.

She nods, “OK. I just want to make sure my oldest and bestest friend is OK.”

I wiggle my shoulders and say, “I will be, as soon as I get out of this bra!”

She giggles and says, “Hey! Now you know what it’s like for us real girls!”

I shake my head, “It’s not that, Jill. I am only wearing this for Barbie’s sake. It’s not the same as with the panties—there isn’t any need for me to wear a bra like there is for panties…of some sort.”

She nods and says, “Well, you will get used to it. But I doubt she would notice—or care—if you take it off.”

I sigh and hear them already pulling into the garage. The restaurant is only about three minutes away. I say, “I’ll think about that for another study day. I wasn’t really expecting to have to wear it this long.” I turn red, “Not that I’m not happy to have you over for dinner!”

She gives me a razzberry and Mom and Barbie come in with the food.


The rest of the week goes about the same—without the meals every night. A couple of days, I wear the ‘original’ panties and don’t have to tuck—I notice on the days that I do, though, that I am more prone to keep my legs together and sit up straighter in school. First, there is ‘nothing there’ to ‘get in the way’ of holding them closer together. Second, as the week goes on and I do tuck after school, I am just getting used to sitting that way because of the constant reminders from Jill. Barbie never says a word and I know Jill is only doing it to ensure that I don’t trigger something within her.

Being a loner in school—an invisible one, at that—has certain advantages when you’re doing something like this. No one says a word about my hair all week. Well, if you don’t count Sara Gibson—one of Jill’s posse—who just says it looks nice in a walk-by at lunch one day. I am stunned when she does and see Jill wink at me from her table.

I shrug it off and go back to my Spidey graphic novel.

I take great pains not to squirm or otherwise act funny because of the panties, though. Jill’s warning stays in the front of my mind—not that she meant it as a warning. I certainly take it as one, though—invisible, or not.

As for the bra… I don’t wear it a couple of days and Jill is right. Barbie either doesn’t notice—or doesn’t care. I guess being flat-chested is only an issue when you’re out and can be seen? It’s not a question I feel comfortable asking—not even Mom, so I let it drop. I decide to occasionally wear one—just to get more used to it for whatever reason—but it doesn’t become a part of my daily after-school routine.

Speaking of routine—by the end of the week, I am able to put the makeup on pretty fast and without major mistakes.

No, I am still not proud of that! Well, maybe a little—but only because I worked hard at it. I’m still a guy! No, really!

The problem is—as the week goes on—I find my face looking, well…plain when I’m not wearing it. I find that when I go into the bathroom and see myself in the mirror, I am more prone to being shocked when I’m not wearing than when I am.

Now, that bothers me a bit. Well, that and the fact that I am now wearing panties full-time. I am still convinced that’s not normal.

As for the whole reason for this? Well, studying is going great! All three of us are getting straight A’s.

What? Oh…yeah… Barbie and I. Well, to be honest, I don’t know. She is treating me like one of the girls, which, on the one hand is good, I guess. But…

Jill just tells me to give it time—that she can guarantee me that ‘Barbs is interested—but just needs some more time’.


When Saturday rolls around and they want me to ‘Chrissy’ up and go to the mall with them, I am genuinely thankful to have an actual, valid excuse. I text back in the group-text, Sorry, the Christmas Pageant is in two weeks and we have rehearsal today.

I get back a variety of sad emojis and text back, See you guys on Monday.

Now, I don’t have a huge roll in the pageant—I am just a lone shepherd—but I still have to attend practice. I am just as much invisible at church as at school, given that many of the kids at church are at school. The church is on the school district boundary line, though, and there are a lot of kids from the neighboring school district—they don’t pay me any more attention than the ones from mine, though.

I stand there, my staff in hand, by the fake rock and ‘peer’ out into the painted ‘valley’ where my ‘sheep’ are grazing. That’s my whole role—the whole reason I grew out my hair.

Yeah, I know—pathetic, right?

When it’s all over for the day—three hours of practice for an hour-long play and ten minutes of me ‘peering’—Mom drives me home. I’m surprised to see Mrs. Greeley’s car in the drive. I look at Mom and ask, “Is Barbie here? What’s going on?”

Mom shakes her head and drives the QS5 into the garage.

What? Oh! The Audis? No, we’re not rich, or anything. Dad is the sales manager at the local Audi dealership and we get ‘free’ cars to drive around for advertisement purposes. That’s why he works such long hours.

Anyway, Mom says, “No, Hon. Mrs. Greeley asked if it was OK to talk to you. I told her it is OK with me—but, it’s ultimately up to you.”

I look at her, confused, “What does she want to talk about?”

She just shakes her head and says “That’s for her to say—if you’re up to it.”

OK, now I am pretty sure I should be worried—but, I’m more curious.

What? You wouldn’t be?

I shrug and say, “Sure—but I’m not in Chrissy mode.”

Mom surprises me when she says, “No, she wants to talk to Jimmy.”

I give her a look that I’m sure conveys my mounting terror. Now I am sure she’s here to tell me that it’s all over.

Mom just gives me a hug and says, “She’s in the living room.”

I sigh and grab a Diet Pepsi from the fridge on my way to the living room. I see Mrs. Greeley sitting on the couch and start to ask her if she wants something to drink when I notice she already has coffee and an insulated carafe on the sofa table.

“Hi, Mrs. Greeley,” I say with a nervous tremble in my voice.

She smiles and says, “Hi, Jimmy. It certainly is different to see you like this after the past week.”

I nod, still very nervous, and she smiles wider, “Sit down, Hon. You’re not in trouble, or anything. I just want to talk—well, and ask a big favor of you.”

Now, maybe an adult thinks that’s comforting. My heart is really beating hard now. I swallow hard and sit down in the love seat. I unconsciously sit up straighter and have my legs closer together than normal. I take a nervous sip of Diet and nod for her to continue.

She completely surprises me when she says, “Jimmy, Barbara had her weekly meeting with her psychologist this morning. It’s not something she likes doing on Saturday mornings, but it is necessary. It wasn’t easy getting those Saturday appointments, let me tell you!”

She closes her eyes and gathers herself. At that moment, I realize she’s as nervous as I am. I don’t know what to make of that.

She continues, “The thing is, Dr. Myers, her psychologist, has noticed a marked improvement in Barbara’s overall demeanor. No, she’s not over her trauma—it’s like PTSD, you’ve heard of that? Post-traumatic Stress Disorder—although, now they tend to call it PTSS. ‘Syndrome’ instead of ‘Disorder’.”

She shakes her head and apologizes, “I’m sorry, Jimmy. This is still very hard for me to deal with—even after a year. Harder still, of course, for Barbara. I tend to digress as a coping mechanism. What I am trying to say is that Barbara has made progress since we moved here. Dr. Myers would like to know if that is just the move—or if you somehow have something to do with that. She would like to meet with you—both alone and with Barbara on Wednesday after school. If you are willing.”

I sit there, shocked. I shake my head to clear it and see her face fall. I realize she misunderstood what I was doing—thinking I was refusing. I quickly say, “I will do whatever I can for her, Mrs. Greeley! In case you haven’t noticed, I really like your daughter.”

She smiles and says, “Yes. That’s apparent by what you’re doing. I just hope it’s not for nothing. Dr. Myers knows about Chrissy…and that is who she would like to meet. Are you still willing?”

I feel the blood drain from my face and my palms get sweaty. I look at her in shock, “You mean go out in public as Chrissy?”

She nods, “You’ve already been to the mall. How would this be any different?”

I sigh and say, “You don’t understand. I was in some sort of numbed shock that day. I…don’t know that I could do it…again. Barbie and Jill wanted me to go with them to the mall today. You don’t know how thankful I was to have a legitimate excuse not to.”

She looks at me in surprise, “Jimmy! You don’t ever need to feel like you have to have a ‘legitimate’ excuse. You have to be honest with the girls. I know this is asking a lot. Just think about it, OK? I need to know by Monday morning, though. I can’t block the appointment slot longer than that if we’re not going to use it.”

I slowly nod and ask, “How…would I become Chrissy, if I decide to do it. I certainly wouldn’t go to school that way!”

She shakes her head with a smile, “No, Hon. Of course not. I would pick you both up a little early at school instead of you taking the bus home. You could change at our house and then we would drive over. The whole thing should be over in plenty of time for your normal study session with Jill, which would be at our house, for once. Jill’s Mom said she would bring her over. I can take you both home.”

I sigh. So, Mrs. Holiday knows about this, too, then.

I take a sip of Diet and say, “OK, Mrs. Greeley. I will think about it—I promise. I can’t promise that I can do it, though. She won’t see me as Jimmy?”

She sadly shakes her head, “Well, she could meet one-on-one with Jimmy, but that wouldn’t work for a joint session with Barbara. She really needs both sessions to research whatever it is she is trying to find out.”

I nod. I have no idea what to do.

Mrs. Greeley comes over to me and takes me in a hug, “Thank you, again, Jimmy—Chrissy. No matter what you decide, I know you are making a difference in my daughter’s life just by being in it—not like that…monster…from before. Give her time. You are just such a doll for doing this!”

Surprised by the hug and the statement, I hug her back and nod in her…chest.


I look at myself in the mirror. Like over the weekend, I am…disappointed? That’s not the right word… I don’t know what is. My face just looks…undone. I had even worn some mascara yesterday as Jimmy—after church. I think Mom noticed, but didn’t say anything. I’m pretty sure Dad was clueless.

I sigh, then pinch myself when I catch myself wondering if I could get away with it at school. My eyelashes are already stained much darker than normal from the mascara—even when I am not using it. I shrug, I guess that…helps?

I groan. Helps? That my eyelashes are permanently stained by the mascara that I willingly put on?

I’m a guy, dammit! Right?

I check and make sure everything looks OK. I had secretly tried on a ‘cami’, as Barbie calls them, under one of my school uniform shirts. Even a white one under my white shirt was visible—and not like a boy’s undershirt. I know that with the jacket, it would be much less noticeable, but we are allowed to take off our jackets in class—and even being invisible in school, it would be weird if I didn’t. So, no ‘cami’.

The tie is chaffing at my neck—the stiff, itchy collar, nothing like on my ‘after-school study uniforms’. That’s what I have started calling what I wear when in ‘Chrissy’ mode.

I sigh and take one more look—no signs of my panties. I can see what Jill meant by ‘lack’ of ‘anything’ up front—I’m in lacy panties and have to tuck—but, I also get that no one should ever be able to tell. Now, if I could just figure out how to better situate things when going to the bathroom at school. The stalls are small and getting everything back is difficult. I read on the internet that if you sit and hold things, it stays ‘tucked’—as long as you don’t drop your panties and pants to your ankles like normal guys do.

I am not ready to even think about sitting to pee, though! I am a guy, dammit!

Right?

Besides, have you ever looked at the toilets in guy’s stalls? Gross!

I shake my head and go downstairs for breakfast. I actually get down before Mom has to call up to me that I’m going to be late. She smiles when I come in the kitchen and give her my now-usual hug, “Good morning, Hon! My! Down before I have to call you? What’s up with that?”

I sigh as I pour my cereal, “I was having a little trouble sleeping. I don’t know what to tell Mrs. Greeley and she needs to know this morning.”

Mom nods and says, “Yes, I need to call her after you leave. I do need an answer, Sweetie.”

I sigh and take a bite of cereal. Mom looks at me and asks, “What is that bothers you about it, Hon?”

I shrug and swallow my cereal. “I don’t really know, Mom. It’s silly, I guess. I just…I mean… She’s a shrink! And I’m wearing girl’s panties and…stuff. She’s going to think I’m nuts!”

Mom hugs me from behind and says, “She knows why you’re doing it, overall, Hon—the after-school activities. It’s up to you whether you tell her about the ‘panties and stuff’.”

I sigh and stare at my bowl. I nod as she squeezes my shoulders, “OK. I’ll do it. I think I’m going to regret it! But, I’ll do it.”

She gives my shoulders another squeeze and asks, “Are you sure? If you commit, you can’t back out—that would cost the Greeleys a lot of money if they have to cancel without a legitimate reason. You getting cold feet isn’t one.”

I take a deep breath and let it out—watching the little ripples form in my milk—and slowly nod. “Yeah. I’m sure, Mom. I just hope it actually helps Barbie. I don’t feel like we are making any sort of progress.”

I blush, “I mean… Oh, you know what I mean!”

She giggles and says, “I hope that’s not the only reason you’re doing this. But, yes, I know what you are saying. Give it time, Hon. This meeting with her psychiatrist may turn out to be a good thing for both of you.”

I give her a double-take.

I have no idea how to take that.

She just smiles and pats me on the butt, “Finish up. Bus comes in fifteen minutes.”

I finish my cereal with a feeling of impending doom and walk out to the bus stop after brushing my teeth.

Jill is already waiting and sees the look on my face.

She just asks, “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

I nod and am surprised by the hug I get. It’s the first one I can remember ever getting from her in public. I blush at the giggles I hear coming from her posse as we get on the bus and she moves towards the back to sit with them.

Of course, the bus had pulled up while she was still hugging me—and they had seen.

I bury my nose in my Avengers graphic novel and try and ignore the whispers I hear coming from them.


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Comments

Thanks

If it turns out OK in the end, I will consider it! :)

I appreciate the support and the endorsement!

HUGS!
S

Is Chrissy on

her way to joining the posse? Only Shauna knows!

barbie fun

Thanks Shauna
I read the first chapter and couldn't stop. Now I'm waiting for the next instalment
This is a really good story

Hopefully tomorrow

Like I said in my blog, posting will go to--at best--weekly. I hope to get another posted tomorrow before going to the new schedule, though.

I'm glad you like it--thanks for the support!

HUGS!
S

Plenty of girls call their mother "Mom"

I'm guessing this is yet another TG story trope: that becoming a girl means you have to start calling your parents "mommy" and "daddy" (or whatever.) And like most of these tropes, they aren't what I observe in Real Life.

What I do notice is that "mommy" and "daddy" are more childish names that "mom" and "dad", and it's more acceptable for girls to relate to people on a childish level than it is for boys.

But I have a really hard time imagining that in real life a trans girl would be "outing" herself by calling her mother "Mom" (or "Mum", if you're in the UK.)

Not 'Mommy'

For sure--that is childish. Most of the girls I know, however, do use 'Momma' or 'Mumma'. More so than 'Mom'--although, I did figure I would hear about those that do. I didn't say 'never'. ;) You will notice that Chrissy is not changing the term, 'Mom', though--not really...

HUGS!
S

Hard to see where this is going

but I sense a few major plot twists going up. Keep up the great work and thanks.

Wouldn't be any fun

If you could guess where it's going, then why write it? What fun would that be? :)

HUGS!
S

Great story

Looking forward to rest of story.

Thanks

I'm trying to get another ready for tomorrow...

HUGS!
S

Won't be long now

Samantha Heart's picture

Before Chrissy actually does start wearing makeup to school or slips up.and wears a camI to school not really realizing what she is doing. She's coming along, but so is Barbie. Maybe not in the way of a girl friend but maybe that will wind up.being Jill.

Love Samantha Renée Heart.

All possibilities

For sure! :)

HUGS!
S

Love your title Shauna. Mom

Love your title Shauna. Mom is getting cryptic, careful

Yeah, it just came to me

As the idea for the story formed in my head! :)

HUGS!
S

Whose helping whom?

Jamie Lee's picture

When Barbie told Jimmy what happened to her, and he saw how nervous she was because he was near her, he felt it best for Barbie if he went home. This showed how concerned he was for Barbie.

Jill springs the idea of him wearing one of her uniforms, causing the need to clean up sprayed diet Pepsi in the kitchen. But because he cared for Barbie and wanted to help her, he reluctantly agreed.

And when he went home still wearing Jill's school uniform his mom said they have to go shopping for Chrissy. No one asked if that was what Jimmy wanted, the three ladies just took Jimmy shopping. But again, because he like Barbie and wanted to help her he reluctantly went along.

Then seeing Chrissy start to have a melt down in VS Barbie took her into a dressing room and spoke with her. She was alone with Jimmy dressed as Chrissy in a dressing room and didn't have a panic attack. She was able to calm Jimmy/Chrissy down to the point where they could continue shopping. Whose helping whom?

Now Chrissy is wearing makeup, being taught by Jill how it's properly applied. And after wearing it each time for study group Jimmy isn't happy how he looks without makeup. Chrissy, after much practice, now puts on her own makeup.

Jimmy has starting wearing panties to school because they are more comfortable. But he risks wrath if caught by any other boy. If girls beside Jill and Barbie found out they might react either thinking he's brave or a pervert. But it started because he wanted to help Barbie.

He's again been asked to step out of his comfortable zone by going to speak with Barbie's psychiatrist, separately and together with Barbie. But as Chrissy.

Then mom says something which gives Jimmy pause when he told her he's only being Chrissy to help Barbie. But mom said she hopes it's not the only reason. So has mom seen something in Jimmy she was hoping would eventually come out in the open? Chrissy is out, sort of, and maybe what mom has wanted?

Jimmy has also told himself that he is a guy, a guy who is dressing as a girl to help a girl he likes overcome a traumatic experience. And yet, in his helping Barbie by becoming Chrissy has he actually helped himself with an aspect of himself which he's been hiding?

So, whose helping whom?

Others have feelings too.