Daddy's Girl -- Part Four

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Chapter Four: One of the Girls

A strange thing happened after they got back to Stacy’s condo. They were all giggling, and prancing about that the girls began getting out of their wet bathing suits with Lawrence in the room. Althea, as a matter of fact, was having trouble untying her top, and asked Lawrence to assist her in removing it.

“Let me help you, Heather,” the girl said after Lawrence untied the strap to her top.

“Oh, I better leave you girls,” Lawrence said, realizing he had never before seen a girl without clothes on.

“No, you won’t,” Althea said, holding onto his skinny, soft upper arm. “You’re one of us now, girl.”

“Yes you are Heather,” Wendy echoed.

Lawrence realized he couldn’t have broken out of Althea’s tight hold even if he wanted to. She was far stronger that he was. Besides, he knew his puny body looked exactly like most of the others in the room: that of a still developing “tween” girl.

The girls took turns drying their hair; most stood around in panties, no longer wearing tops. Only Stacy and Melanie, the chubby girl, had developed breasts of any size. Lawrence, in spite of the fact that the girls seemed to pay him no mind, felt self-conscious, folding his arms across his chest, not realizing that in doing so he had pushed the tiny mounds of soft flesh that featured his breasts into a hint of a cleavage.

It was Wendy who first said noticed, and she was never one to hold back speaking out her thoughts. “Oh Heather, you have cute breasts, too.”

“She does,” commented one of the others, as Lawrence tried vainly to cover them up with his folded arms, an act that even increased the illusion of a cleavage and feminine breasts.

“Let us see, Heather.” Althea added.

The tall girl easily pried Lawrence’s arms down from his chest, leaving him standing there exposed, the nipples on his breasts now hard and dark brown with surrounding pink areolas.

“Oooh,” said Wendy, lightly pinching his left nipple, and action that made his penis grow erect.

Lawrence knew his penis was small, and unlikely to burst out of the jock strap Stacy’s mother had him wear, but he was uneasy with the prospect. The girls, however, soon turned their attentions to each other, pinching each other’s nipples in a giddy scene; they all pleaded with Melanie to take off her swimsuit top and expose her more matronly breasts, but the girl refused.

The scene eventually gained some order, as the hair drying was completed; the girls fixed each other’s hair for the night, brushing first, then tying some into ponytails or pigtails, leaving others to band their free-flowing hair across the top.

There was a seeming uniformity to the nighties the girls wore; they were pink or light blue in a gauzy cloth, mid thigh length with peasant bodices and straps across the shoulders. Mrs. Kwiatkowski produced a similar one for Lawrence, except that it seemed to be covered with more lace than the others.

“You look so dainty in that, Heather,” Stacy’s mother said, after he put it on.

He realized, as he looked in the mirror, that he did indeed look like a girl of about 10 years old. Althea had tied his hair in pigtails, making the illusion that much more convincing. Lawrence didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you like the nightie?” she asked.

“I do, ma’am,” he stuttered. “It’s just that . . . ah . . . I look so . . . ah . . . like a little . . . ah . . .”

“Girl,” Mrs. Kwiatkowski supplied the answer.

He nodded in the affirmative, realizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Here he was a boy anatomically, enjoying a PJ party with seven girls, and he found himself enjoying himself being “one of the girls,” and, more importantly, being accepted by the girls as one of them. The feeling of belonging to a group of other kids was so satisfying; never before had a group of boys accepted him, instead belittling him for being a sissy, having a voice “like a girl,” crying too easily and being so terribly weak and inept at sports.

*****
Later the group gathered in the living room to watch a Hannah Montana movie; pizza was delivered, along with lemonade and some fruit. The girls gathered on the couch, on the floor and in both of the easy chairs in the room. Lawrence found himself next to Wendy, both propping themselves against the couch, between the legs of the girls sitting on the couch.

At one point, Lawrence, feeling his leg going to sleep, moved to adjust his position. “Here lean against me,” suggested Wendy, whispering into his ear. She moved tightly against Lawrence, their bare arms touching.

Soon, Lawrence felt the girl put an arm around his shoulder, and draw him more tightly against her. Wendy’s hand began massaging his upper arm.

“I envy you, Heather,” Wendy said softly, under the sound of the movie. “Such pretty arms and shoulders.”

“Oh,” was all he could mutter.

“I’m built like construction worker,” she explained.

Lawrence nodded, feeling the firm, muscular arms of the girl around his shoulders; he had noticed earlier the sinews of the young girl, marveling at her strength. Stacy told him Wendy placed first base on the softball team and was the best hitter. “She’s a tough player,” Stacy said.

At one point, Lawrence dosed off, awaking during a loud scene in the movie, to find himself totally in the embrace of Wendy, who was holding him so closely that their faces were nearly touching. He felt totally at ease and in full comfort.

The boy mused: this was strange. Here he was in the arms of a pretty young girl, and even though he had begun to get hard at times, he did not desire her as he felt a boy should. He had heard other boys talking about “getting pussy,” “planking a girl,” or “getting their cherry,” but such talk had always discomfited him as crude. He still wasn’t quite sure what “getting their cherry” truly meant, but he had an idea.

“Come on, girls,” announced Mrs. Kwiatkowski, when the movie ended. “Let’s figure out where we’ll all sleep.”

All of the girls and Lawrence brought sleeping bags, adding to the prospect that there’d be no shenanigans going on between these 12 and 13 year old girls. Lawrence chose a spot in the living room, and as he was laying his bag out, he noticed Wendy putting hers down next to his.

“We can talk now,” Wendy said, as she opened her sleeping bag roll.

“Yes,” Lawrence agreed, though he wondered if that was all Wendy wanted. He liked the attention she was giving him, but he was a bit wary as to where it was heading, and whether he could handle it.

It was well past midnight when the talking and giggling ended among the girls, who were spread out in the living room and a dining area. There were snippets of low-level talking going on between several pairs of girls; Wendy and Lawrence were busily engaged in talk, too.

“I wanted to bring my bunny, but I thought I’d get teased,” Wendy said, in an almost whisper.

“Your bunny?” Lawrence questioned.

“I never go to sleep without my bunny,” the girl added. “He’s a brown bunny, but so cute. I call him ‘Bouncy.’”

“You should have. I see Melanie has hers, and so does Misty,” Lawrence said.

“I know. Do you have a bunny, Heather?”

Lawrence hesitated, and then said: “Yes. I call her Daisy. She’s like a poodle dog.”

“Do you sleep with her at night?”

“Every night, except now.”

“Oh that’s so cute,” she said. “I miss Bouncy so much.”

“And I miss Daisy.”

There was silence for a while; finally Wendy said, “Tonight, you can be Bouncy, and I’ll be your Daisy.”

Somehow, their sleeping bags had come closer together, and soon they were both lying on their stomachs, faces close together, facing each other, whispering. As such, they were doing no different than the others.

“I’ve never had a sister, or even a real girl friend,” Wendy said.

Earlier, she explained her mother had died when she was ten, leaving her to be raised, along with her seven-year-old brother by her father and his live-in girl friend. Her father was an executive with one of the airlines serving the city, and traveled most of the time. His girl friend, a flight attendant was often gone, and the two kids were often cared for by their grandmother, who had emphysema and had trouble walking. Consequently, Wendy found herself in charge of the household, assuring her brother got up for school and was washed and fed; she also was ordered to keep the house clean.

“We had to do everything, Jack and I,” she said referring to her little brother. “We miss mommy so much.”

In the darkness, Lawrence sensed that Wendy was sobbing lightly. He reached over and put a hand to her shoulder.

She grabbed it in her firm, calloused hands, and drew it to her mouth, where she gently kissed it, and then held it firm in her grasp, as if afraid to let go.

“Would you be my girl friend?” Wendy finally whispered.

Lawrence could sense the pleading in the girl’s voice, could feel her sadness and emptiness; yet, he was still a boy. How could he agree to be her “girl friend?” But she was so insistent.

“Yes, Wendy. Let’s be girl friends,” he said.

“Heather and Wendy. It sounds so cool.”

She kissed his fingers one-by-one, still holding his hand tightly.

“You have the prettiest hands, Heather,” she said quietly. “”Every part of you is so pretty.”

Lawrence felt total contentment, finding sweetness in the growing love between two 13-year-old girls.

*****
In the morning, Lawrence returned to his boy clothes, although he did continue to wear a pair of cotton panties with pink and yellow flowers printed upon them. They were dainty, just the type a girl of 8 or 9 might like. The girls had undone the pigtails and brushed his hair vigorously so that it flowed loosely about his head. He wore the nighties until just a few minutes before his mother was due to arrive to pick him up.

As the girls lounged about, reluctant to rise from their sleeping bags after their short night of sleep, Lawrence realized they had accepted him as just another girl. After their initial amazement, they had treated him as Heather. He smiled at that realization.

Wendy continued to attach herself to Lawrence’s side, whispering questions about when Lawrence would appear again as Heather, wondering if they could be together again soon.

“My dad wouldn’t want me to have a boy sleep over,” she said. “But you could come as Heather.”

As she said this, her fingers wound around his spender wrists and one finger began caressing the underside of his forearm, feeling its smooth and soft flesh.

“Okay, Heather,” Mrs. Kwiatkowski said, still using his girl’s name. “I see you’re mom’s here.”

“Thank you,” he said, gathering up his bag, and beginning to leave the house.

“Oh, you didn’t get all your makeup off, Heather,” Stacy’s mother said. “Here’s let’s clean off that eye shadow and lipstick.”

“Oh, that’s OK, mommy can see my like this,” and Lawrence pranced out the door to greet his mother. He ran gleefully to the car, waving back at the girls who watched him in wonder: how could a boy be so pretty?

He opened the door, sitting down as a girl would, placing his bottom on the seat and then bringing his feet in, placing them squarely on the floor, his hands folded in his lap after he fastened the seat belt.

“How did it go, Lawrence?” she asked as they begin driving home.

“Oh mommy,” he said, using a term he hadn’t used in years; usually it was “mom.” “It was fun, mommy. We girls had a ball.”

“We girls?”

“Yes, mommy, I was Heather all the time, and they all liked me as Heather. I was a girl, just like them. Isn’t that just so … ah … so nice.”

“I guess.”

“And they all said I was the prettiest, mommy. Do you think they’re right about that?”

She snuck a glance at him as she drove.

“Well, with that makeup still on, honey, you do look quite pretty.”

“You know, mommy, I could have brought Daisy,” he said. “Some of the other girls brought their bunnies and stuff.”

He grew silent; finally his mother said: “What is, dear?”

“Mommy, I’m not a girl.” His eyes began to fill with tears. “Why is it, mommy, that I’m happy when I’m a girl, playing with the girls?

They were silent as his mother entered the driveway, and Lawrence began crying. His one night as a girl was over, and he felt so bad. What was to happen now?

As she stopped the car, she took his hands in hers, and held them for a minute. She looked at her son, smiled, removed one hand and brushed a few strands of light brown hair from his face.

“I know, honey, I know,” she said, finally, and he knew she understood. He forced a smile and the two left the car and entered the house. He was, for that moment, his mother’s daughter.

*****
By the time his father got home that night, Lawrence, with his mother’s help, removed any sign of Heather. He had taken a long shower, washed his hair and removed the nail polish from his toes and fingers. He put on a tee shirt with a Green Bay Packer logo and a pair of shorts, plus his running shoes.

“I don’t know what we’ll do with your hair, honey,” his mother said. “You really should get it cut, if you’re going to continue to keep your father happy.”

“I know, mom,” he said, lightly running his fingers through his hair. He admitted to himself, as he looked in the mirror, that with his long, flowing hair, his fairly high cheekbones and full lips that he looked very much like a girl.

“You like how that looks, right, Lawrence?” his mother asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Pretty,” he said, giving out with a tiny giggle.

“Oh you’re a tease, Lawrence,” she said. “Now, let’s tie that hair in a ponytail, since lots of boys wear their hair that way.”

He agreed, and when they finished, his mother said, “I don’t know. You still look so girly.”

“I guess.”

“I just noticed, Lawrence, you had your eyebrows trimmed last night, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Don’t you like it?”

“God, I hope you father doesn’t notice.”

*****
Fortunately for Lawrence, his father was working many overtime hours that summer, the travel season having gone into full swing. Also his union work was becoming more intense, as the negotiations with the airlines struggled along. He returned many nights after eight, and was content to have Lawrence prepare his supper, swig a few beers, watch some baseball on television and fall asleep.

Strangely, he said nothing about Lawrence doing “girl’s work,” and seemed appreciative to the boy’s attention and efforts at making supper.

“This is terrific, honey,” his father said one night, using the term “honey” for Lawrence.

The boy nodded, wondering how his father came to call him “honey.” Perhaps, it just slipped out of his mouth without thinking. His father didn’t say it sarcastically as his did in the past, but just in a matter-of-fact way.

“Did your mom make it?”

“No, daddy,” he said, using the “daddy” for the first time in years to address his father. “I did. It’s a Creole recipe I found, and I added a few things. You really like it? I was so afraid you wouldn’t.”

“Lawrence, I do. It’s marvelous.”

His father smiled at him.

“Thank you daddy,” he said, again blushing as he realized his used a term of endearment usually reserved for young children or girls.

“Well, son, your father’s got to make some calls for the union,” he said, getting up from the table. “Your father appreciates all you are doing to fix his supper and all. I’m sure you’re not having much fun. I’ll be in my office.”

His father retreated to his basement office, which he set up after he was elected President of his local union. Along with the overtime hours, his father spent many hours in his office, making phone calls. It seems there was a strike possible, and his father was busy calling members and other officers developing strategies and winning support for the union’s cause.

As his father left, Lawrence was tempted to say: “Daddy I’m having the best time, fixing your supper and cleaning up and pretending I’m a housewife.”

Instead he was smiled, put on a frilly apron, brushed his hair and tended to the dishes, singing softly in a high, sweet voice. He knew the house would be spic-and-span by the time his mother returned from her summer school evening teaching duties.

*****
Most afternoons that summer, Lawrence biked over to Stacy’s house, where the two merely hung out in her room, or took side bike trips. It was also time when Lawrence was able to dress as Heather since Mrs. Kwiatkowski — apparently with the agreement of Lawrence’s mother — had set aside girl’s clothes for the boy to wear.

During those few hours, he was Heather. Sometimes, Wendy joined them as well. On several occasions, Mrs. Kwiatkowski took the three of them to the mall, where Lawrence skipped and pranced along as Heather, usually wearing shorts and a tank top, with hair flowing freely. They giggled, flirted with the boys and ogled fashions on display.

“Hey, Heather, hi,” a voice sounded urgently as the three were shopping one Saturday in mid-July. They were on the second level of the Brookside Mall, having just left the food court.

At first Lawrence ignored the call, but Stacy poked him, saying: “Heather, that’s you he’s yelling at.”

Lawrence turned to see Will, the boy he’d met at the pool a few weeks earlier. He was approaching with his friend, Jonathan, who had also hailed Stacy.

The five teenagers stood around awkwardly for a minute, before Stacy broke the silence, pointing to Wendy to ask: “Did you boys know Wendy?”

They nodded in the girl’s direction, and Wendy responded with a scowl, moving closer to Lawrence, as if to block Will’s pending move to Lawrence’s side.

“Hi Will,” Lawrence responded shyly, permitting Wendy to come between the two of them.

“I was hoping to see you again, Heather,” the boy said, trying to maneuver so he could speak more directly to Lawrence. Wendy moved each time to block the attempt.

The threesome soon engaged in small talk, while Stacy and Jonathan began a more earnest conversation, moving to a vacant bench in the passageway.

Abruptly, Wendy said in a firm tone. “Come on, we gotta go.”

Her insistence finally paid off, and the girls left the two boys standing rather sadly in the mall’s hallway, with Will pleading: “Heather, can I call you?”

Lawrence waved back, an excited girlish wave, as if to show his (Heather’s) continued interest in the boy. Finally, he blew a kiss in the boy’s direction, as Wendy angrily grabbed his arm.

It was not the first time Wendy got testy with Lawrence. It happened when he flirted with some boys, or when some boy seemed to take extra interest in Heather.

“Nice girls don’t do that, Heather,” she said, still holding his upper arm hard.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” he said.

“You shouldn’t flirt like that,” she said. “You’re supposed to be a nice girl.”

Lawrence was puzzled by the girl’s reactions. All three of them had been flirting, and he couldn’t figure out why she was questioning him about it. He noticed that she also was staying close to him in the mall, often touching him, even holding his hands. He liked the feeling he had to admit.

Later, after Wendy was gone, Stacy asked: “What’s this with you and Wendy?”

“What’s what?”

“It’s like she’s your girl friend,” Stacy said, her face a bit red.

“I don’t know. We’re just friends,” he said. “I don’t know why she got so mad at me earlier.”

“She’s probably jealous,” Stacy finally said. “You were getting all the looks from boys.”

“I guess.”

Lawrence thought back to the pajama party, and the close attention Wendy paid to him that night, the urging that the two become “girl friends.” It dawned on him, that Wendy was seriously in love with him, or rather in love with Heather. Was it possible that Wendy was lesbian? He had recently learned about girls being lesbian, and Wendy’s insistence that she liked him “as a girl” might be explained by her sexual orientation.

*****
With his father’s time after supper being spent mainly on his union work, Lawrence found the after-supper time to be bleak. A few times, he did bike over to Stacy’s, particularly in June and early July when the sun didn’t set until well after 9 p.m. He had to get home before dark, according to his father’s stern warning; many nights, however, Stacy was not home, usually playing softball somewhere.

Lawrence had yet to find another boy with whom to chum around with; he hated going to the playground, knowing full well he’d be asked to do some “boy” stuff, like play ball or shoot baskets, both of which he performed dismally, and usually to the taunts of “pussy boy,” “faggot” or even “girl.”

Instead, he often found a book and curled up on the backyard outdoor lounge (the family had a modest barbecue area marked out with two chairs and a lounge). He currently was reading another “Traveling Pants” series book, following the adventures of the girls intensively. Often, his mind would wander, and he’d be dreaming he was one of the girls, reliving their fictional lives. He was glad his mother was not home yet from her waitressing job since he knew she’d yell at him for sitting “like a girl.” He had yet to tell her that when he sat like that, he was most comfortable, and it felt most natural.

Also, he noticed that when he fancied himself as a girl, with his thighs tucked under him, his penis grew hard. He wondered as he read romantic parts of books what it would feel like to be hugged and kissed by a boy; that was when his penis grew even harder.

It wasn’t much of a penis, as he knew from his awful experiences in locker rooms for gym class. Other boys not only had muscular bodies, but they had huge (in his mind) male parts, totally unlike his own. Lawrence felt he was the most pathetic example of boyhood in the school, although if he’d taken time to look around a bit more, he’d find there were others very much like him.

“Why do I have to be a boy?” he wondered so often to himself. “I’m no good as a boy.”

So he dreamed of being a girl. Maybe a girl, like Mary in Pride and Prejudice.

*****
“Lawrence, there’s a girl on the phone for you,” his father yelled from the house.

Lawrence looked up from his reading, a bit shocked, and he noticed a smile on his father’s face, realizing that his father may be feeling “there’s hope for the boy yet,” since he was getting a call from a girl.

“Hi Heather,” said the voice. It was Wendy.

“Hi, Wendy.”

“I was wondering. My dad is taking me on a camping trip for a few days, along with his girl friend.”

“Yes?”

“He said I could bring another girl along.”

“Oh?”

“And . . . ah . . . I wonder if you’d come as Heather? Would you? It’d be fun.”

Wendy gushed out the last few words, obviously somewhat embarrassed to inviting him as a girl.

“I don’t know, Wendy. They’ll find out.”

“No, Heather. They won’t. I told them all about you.”

“All?”

“No, not that you’re a boy. Just how cute your are and smart and all that.”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my parents.”

“I know.”

The two continued talking for another 30 minutes; it was mainly small talk with a little bit of gossip added. Lawrence realized it was “girl talk,” and he found it so easy and natural. He found himself giggling, his voice growing more and more high-pitched, until his mother yelled: “Lawrence, who are you talking too? That’s gone on long enough.”

“Mom wants me to hang up, Wendy.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “I love to talk to you . . . ah . . . Heather.”

Lawrence let out a quiet giggle, smothering it into the phone. He loved being called “Heather.”

“You’re like my best girl friend,” she said.

“I guess,” Lawrence said, half embarrassed by the statement, and half pleased.

He loved the idea of the camping trip, but it scared him. And, he realized, he was growing more and more wary of Wendy’s strong affection for him as a girl.

“Who were you talking to, honey?” his mother asked.

“Oh,” he said, faking a nonchalance that he didn’t feel. “That was Wendy, just a girl.”

“A girl, calling you?” his father asked.

“Yes, Larry,” his mother interjected. “What’s so strange?”

“Nothing, I guess,” his father said. “It’s nice he has friends.”

His father’s face reddened and Lawrence Jr. realized his father was feeling some pride in the fact that his son may have manly appeal that a girl might like. The boy was pleased his father enjoyed the idea, but he realized he was living on false pretenses. What would he do if he found out Lawrence was being invited to camping trip as a girl?

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(To be continued)