Mom's Favorite

by Ami Lamida
AmiLamida@hotmail.com

 

Chapter 2

"Well, where should we start? You really could use some new clothes. You must dig these ratty old things out of the garbage or something. I don't know where you got the wig, but it really needs to be brushed and cared for. And you definitely need some lessons on applying makeup. But first things first – you need to take a bath and clean up."

I sat up, feeling a little dizzy from the morning's emotional tides, and giddy from the euphoria of knowing what wonderful things lie ahead. I gave my mother a long, hard squeeze, and literally dashed into the bathroom. I used some cream to remove my makeup, undressed, and started the bath. Just then I heard a timid tapping on the bathroom door. "Yes?"

"Honey, do you need some help with…um…things?" She asked.

"Mo-omm!" I whined. "I think I know how to take a bath."

"Yes, honey, but I'm not sure you know how to bathe like a girl. I could teach you. Don't worry; I've seen you naked enough times to handle it."

I considered her offer. She did seem genuinely interested in helping me fulfill my desires. Though it would be awkward to have my mom help me bathe at fifteen, I didn't want to tread on this new relationship that seemed to be forming between us. I went to the door and unlocked it, then I quickly slid into the filling tub.

The door opened quietly and my mother popped her head in. "I was hoping you would agree," she teased. "There are things you should know about being a girl. First and foremost is that a girl should smell like a girl."

She reached in the cabinet under the sink and searched until she found some lilac-scented bath oil. She poured a generous amount into the nearly-full tub and then shut off the water. The heady scent of flowers filled my nostrils. The aroma and the warm water soon had me relaxing in spite of my mother's presence. She returned to the sink and pulled out a prettily-decorated canister of shaving foam.

"Have you ever shaved your body hair before?" she asked me.

"I've always wanted to, but I thought it would be a dead giveaway," I confessed. I didn't have exorbitant amounts of body hair to begin with, and having inherited my mother's fine hair and fiery red hair color, it wasn't particularly obvious anyway.

"Well, you don't have much body hair, but you need to learn should you ever want to go out bare-legged. You start by spraying some of the shaving foam into your hand like this. Now lift your leg."

I lifted the leg nearest her, and she showed me how to apply the foam to my legs. "The razor goes this direction," she instructed, as she shaved all around my lower leg. When she was finished, she handed me the razor, "Now you try on the other leg."

I did as she taught, and after several attempts, finally got my other leg to feel as smooth and silky as the one she had done. "Now you have the hang of it. Keep going until every bit of body hair is gone. I will get your backside if you like."

There was some maneuvering to do to get every place where I had hair, but we finally managed to get it all. By that time, the water was full of hair, so I finished cleaning myself in the shower. When I was all done, I asked my mother for a towel, but she responded that I wasn't quite done.

"Girls have a little more cleaning to do before they are finished in the shower. If you will get on your hands and knees, I will show you how to do it."

I meekly complied, but when I saw the large, liquid-filled bottle with the tube sticking out of the top that my mother produced next, I almost had a change of heart. "Females need a little extra cleaning up inside of them, especially when they are on their periods. I think today we can assume you are on your period."

She filled the sink with hot water and swirled the bottle around in it to warm up the contents. I shook with nervous anticipation. This didn't seem necessary to me, but I wanted to be as female as I could, so I stayed put. After a few minutes warming, she stepped behind me and ran some of the contents over my rectum. She gently stretched the opening as she poured until I felt the thin tube enter.

Getting filled with the lukewarm liquid was not as unpleasant as I thought it would be. In fact, I rather enjoyed it and resolved to try it again on my own when I wasn't so nervous. Some of the liquid started leaking back out, so Mom squeezed the sides of my butt together with her other hand to slow the leak. When the bottle ran out, I felt pleasantly bloated but ready to release the fluid.

Mom removed the tube and released her grip on my cheeks and I felt the liquid flow out of me. I looked down between my legs and noticed that this had indeed cleaned me out. Mom turned on the shower to rinse me off and told me to squat. I squatted and more of the pressure was relieved as the liquid continued to drain.

When I was all drained and cleaned up, mom handed me a towel and produced several more bottles. This one was a foul-smelling lotion that she instructed me to apply liberally to my entire body. It would supposedly keep my body hair from growing back too fast. Then she sprayed me all over with a rose-scented body spray, and put some powder in my delicate areas.

There were times during this process when I became aroused and thought my mother would get upset, but she pretended not to notice. She just treated me like her darling little girl, carefully avoiding the protruding indication of my maleness. I felt a tingle all over my silky smooth skin and couldn't wait to feel my feminine clothing on my body.

But that would have to wait, even though mom finished her ministrations. "I think we need to go clothes shopping next," she announced. "Since you don't have anything proper to wear outside, you will just have to go in your boy clothes. But don't worry, when we get back we will pack all of your boy things into a trunk and stuff it in the attic."

Now, the divorce hadn't exactly left Mom wealthy. We lived like your average middle-classed citizens, but we didn't have much in the way of fancy things. So it wasn't much of a surprise when Mom drove us to all the local thrift stores. Shopping at thrift stores requires some time as things aren't always arranged by fashion or size, but there were great outfits here and there.

Trying them on was the hard part. I was constantly paranoid of someone I knew seeing me go into the dressing rooms with female clothes, but Mom kept reassuring me that she would keep an eye out and it would be okay.

But the hardest part of the day was trying on shoes. I couldn't walk out of the dressing room wearing them, so I would walk around in circles. The higher heels had me stumbling about like a drunk and banging into the dressing-room walls. I'm sure a few strange looks were directed my way.

By mid-afternoon, Mom had bought me six dresses, some of them very fancy, some of them pretty but plain, an assortment of skirts and blouses, a dozen bras, assorted panties, ten pairs of shoes, and a bundle of tights and pantyhose. She also picked up an assortment of pretty jewelry and some makeup that was on sale at one store. I'm glad she was there because I hadn't even considered jewelry before.

There was only one store we visited that wasn't a thrift store. It was a store that catered to the transgender community. I had never seen it before, but my mother must have driven by it on her way to work each day. The people that worked there were the nicest people I'd met all day. They asked me all sorts of questions and told me I must look very pretty as a girl. They were very helpful, and they managed to dig up some decent breast forms and a few wigs for less than two-hundred dollars. I thought it was a bit much, but they assured us that we weren't likely to find such a good deal anywhere else. I found out much later in life that they had indeed given us a great deal, since the breast forms alone often cost more than three hundred dollars.

Overall, my mother spent just under five-hundred dollars on me that day. I was very touched that she would run up her credit for me simply to help me be happy. We held hands as we walked out of that last shop. I beamed at her and she beamed back. She seemed as happy to be helping her favorite child as I was to be helped.

When we got home we did as planned and packed up all of my boy things and stored them in the attic. The effort was well worth it because while we were there, Mom discovered an old vanity and stool she had forgotten about years ago and we set it up in my room.

It was a pretty wooden table with a mirror and several small drawers. Little hooks adorned the side panels of the mirror for hanging jewelry from. We sorted out all of the jewelry and makeup into their proper places in the vanity, and we both giggled as we worked.

"What should we call you now that you will be a girl full-time?" Mom asked.

"What would you have named me if I had been born a girl?"

Mom got an amused look on her face, and then became thoughtful. "Hmm… if you had been a girl, I would have named you Melissa. That was my mother's name."

"I love it. Mom, meet your daughter, Melissa."

She got that loving look back again – the loving look reserved just for me. I was glad to see it return to my beautiful mother. "I love you, Melissa," she told me. "Now let's get you out of those boy clothes and into something pretty."

She went to my newly stocked dresser and returned with some pretty, white silk panties and a matching bra, which she laid out on my bed while I proceeded to discard my male things. I couldn't help but caress my smooth, shaved body while I watched her retrieve my new breast forms, wig, and some soft, white tights.

"Put these on while I pick out something for you to wear," she directed. I did as she asked and began dressing. The panties, I found out, were thong panties. It was a good thing I had been thoroughly cleaned in all the right places for such things. It was a queer feeling having that thin elastic band between my cheeks.

By the time I got my bra and tights on, my mother had already picked out a dress for me. It was one of my favorites – a shimmering white, satin dress with built-in petticoat, and rows of lace ruffles below the waistline. The bodice was of transparent lace and there were tiny rows of lace ruffles from below the ballooned shoulders to just above the elbow. It had taken some time and attention to try the dress on without tearing any of its delicate fabric, but the result was worth it. It was my prettiest dress.

I guess that's why Mom picked it. I think she wanted to immerse me in my new feminine role so I would know that there was no going back. I never wanted to go back anyway.

She carefully laid the dress out on my bed, and helped me position and adhere my modest-sized breast forms. Mom held the dress out low so I could step into it, which I carefully did. She pulled the dress up carefully and zipped it up the back. It was tighter than I remember it being when I tried it on, but then I hadn't been able to zip it all the way up by myself. Now I noticed that it gave me a very feminine figure.

I admired myself in the mirror. The dress nearly sparkled as much as my eyes. My white tights seemed to have a soft glow about them. My mom patiently waited while I admired myself before reminding me that we needed to do my makeup.

"Sit there on the stool in front of the mirror and turn towards me," Mom instructed. I sat down in my best feminine pose, ankles crossed, legs tightly together, and knees tilted to the side – just as I'd admired so many women doing on TV. This brought a pleased grin to Mom's lips. "Very ladylike, Melissa. I'm proud of you."

I again beamed at the compliment. The events of this day were beyond what I had dared to dream. My mom pulled up a chair and opened the top drawer of the vanity, removing a bottle of light-colored base that closely matched my skin color. "Now, we don't want to cover those pretty freckles of yours, so I've selected a very light base that only subdues your freckles."

She applied the base to my entire face, though very sparingly in some places. "We will have to add back a little blush to your face, but just a little," she said as she very carefully added some color back to my cheeks. "We'll have to tweeze your eyebrows some. This might be a little painful, but it is necessary. Girls do not have bushy brows."

It wasn't so painful. When she was done, she had shaped my eyebrows into a thin, tapered arch. She then went to work on my eyes, which was the hard part for me. It wasn't like when I tried it because it wasn't me applying the eye makeup. I was jumpy at first, but she was careful, and I eventually learned to trust her gentle attention to detail.

She finished my makeup and began to shape and polish my nails. She chose a pearly white nail polish and applied several coats. The process must have taken an hour, but by the time she applied the sealer, I had beautiful short nails. I looked in the mirror to see a lovely short-haired girl had replaced the boy in the mirror. I was so happy I clapped my hands with girlish glee and almost squealed with delight.

Mom fitted and pinned my new red-haired wig to my head and brushed out the plentiful curls. She then tied the long hair back with a wide, white satin ribbon in a bow at the top of my head. I was there. I was one of the prettiest girls I'd ever seen.

I jumped up and wrapped my arms tightly around my mom. "Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome dear," she replied and gently patted my back. "I guess I was wrong about something – you CAN become a girl. In fact, you are one of the prettiest girls around. I'm proud to have you as my daughter."

We hugged for a while longer, and finally stepped back. "Oh!" Mom exclaimed. "We almost forgot your shoes!" She ran to the closet and came back with a pair of low-heeled patent leather Mary Jane's. They were much more comfortable than the high-heeled shoes we had bought, and I decided I would stay in my formal dress for the entire evening if I could.

"You know what we need to do?" Mom asked. I couldn't imagine how my day could get any better, and I just looked at her quizzically. "We need to go out to dinner and a movie. How would you feel about a girl's night on the town?"

My heart fluttered just a bit at the possibility of being identified by someone I knew, but I swallowed my apprehension and agreed. "Well, let's go!"

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Ami Lamida. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.