Scott Taylor Miller is tired of being known as Snotty. On New years Day he resolves to take control of his life and make himself into Taylor. However, Scott is unaware that his new asthma medicine will change him in ways he cannot foresee. Forces both within and without will try to define him. If he doesn't want to be Snotty any longer,
The Taylor Project
Copyright© 2012 Tracey Willows
All Rights Reserved.
Image Credit: Gender Symbol.
The Taylor Project
Hailey’s secret shocked me. I’d suggested sharing our secrets, but I hadn’t expected hers to be so dark. I knew some men beat their wives, but I would never have pegged Julie as a victim. She was a strong, confident, and professional woman. Although I knew it wasn’t likely it would be wonderful if she was my stepmom someday. I couldn’t imagine her allowing herself to be a punching bag.
Hailey didn’t pause for my confusion. Once she started it, she seemed almost compelled to continue. “My dad wasn’t that bad when he was sober, but he got mean when he drank. I used to hear him and Mom yelling. Sometime he’d hit her. I couldn’t hear the blows, but I’d hear her cry out and I see the tears after and the bruises. Usually I hid up in my room when Dad was drunk, but it started happening more and more. Sometimes he’d yell at me, too and there were a couple of he got violent. He didn't hit me, but he grabbed me and shook me once and squeezed me hard enough to leave bruises. I did what I saw Mom do. I hid them. We were happy most of the time and if I said something the cops would take him away.
“Then I dropped my cellphone in the toilet. It was an accident and it was my cellphone.”
I nodded in understanding. I didn’t have a cellphone, but I was a boy. I understood that having a cellphone as a girl wasn’t just a convenience. Not having a cellphone marked you as one of the not connected: no texting, no calls, and no shared photos. Girls treated their cellphones like Gollum treated the one ring of power. Hailey had lost her precious.
“I left my cellphone outside and it got rained on once.” Cathy was trying to sympathize. “Not as bad as a toilet, but I know other girls who dropped them in the toilet.”
“I ran to Daddy. I knew he’d been drinking and I knew he was in one of his moods. I should have gone to Mom. I started telling him about my cellphone and he roared at me. ‘Do you know how much those things cost?’ Then he backhanded me across the face.”
Cathy slid an arm around Hailey and hugged. After a moment of hesitation I did the same. Hailey didn’t stop talking. Maybe she couldn’t stop. Now that the dam had sprung a leak the words just kept spilling out of her along with her tears. “It wasn’t the physical hurt really, as much as it was the shame. It would ache for days, but it was being hit that hurt and it was selfish why. I knew Mom was hiding bruises, but I’d never thought he’d hit me.”
She took a few deep shuddering breaths. “And then Momma rushed in and got in his face. ‘Not her! Never her! I told you. I warned you. We’re leaving.’ You’ve heard the phrase mamma grizzly? It was like that. Momma was smaller than Daddy, but it was like she reared up on her hind legs and let him have it. Not physically, just verbally. Then we left. Momma had me throw a few things in a suitcase. Daddy was following us around. He said that he was sorry and it was just the booze. Momma wouldn’t budge. I’ve never seen her like that before or since. I didn’t deserve it. I knew that Dad was hitting her and I looked the other way. She told me to, but I did nothing. I didn’t think he’d ever turn on me either, I was the princess. Yet, she saved me when I didn’t say a word to save her.”
Cathy rubbed away tears from her eyes. “That’s what moms do. It doesn’t matter how badly you screw-up your mom is always there for you.”
Even in the middle of Hailey’s pain Cathy’s comment hurt me. My mom wasn’t like that. She’d left and not looked back, but that was a teardrop of pain in Hailey’s ocean of tears. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up. Instead I comforted Hailey as best she could. “You don’t have to continue.”
Hailey shook her head. “That’s pretty much the end of the story. We stayed with Grandma for three days and when we moved back Dad had packed all his things and left. Momma went to CPS and the cops. He got probation and community service, but she put him under a restraining order. Momma has full custody. I only see my father every few months under supervision. He looks older every time I see hm. It's scary.”
We held her tightly now and we were one big group hug. My tears were flowing and I didn’t care. Only a beast with a heart of wouldn’t be moved by Hailey’s story. Cathy was stroking her hair. “You’re mother did the right thing, Hailey. There are some lines you can’t cross. Remember what you told Scott. If someone is hitting you have to speak up.”
“I know that in my head, but in my heart there is a part of me that knows it is also partly my fault. I know he crossed the line, but I knew Daddy had too much to drink. I knew his temper. If I had gone to Momma about my cellphone maybe we’d still be a family. Everyone says it’s not my fault: Momma, my therapist, Gramma. I know it’s mostly true, but if you poke a bear do you blame the bear for lashing out?”
“Bullshit.” When people are angry or teasing me, I often stand there like an idiot while they punch me with their words. This time it wasn’t at all hard to find the words. “So he’d still be hitting your mom? So he could be hitting you as well? You didn’t break up your family. Your father did that. Not when he hit you, but the first time he raised his hand against your mother in anger. If you had stayed it might have been her in the hospital or you. Worse you could have been one of those stories in the paper. Mother and daughter found dead in home. Abusers don’t stop unless someone makes them stop. Your mother drew the line.”
If anything her mother should have drawn the line sooner. She should have drawn the line the first time he hit her. Although I couldn’t blame her. I knew just how hard it was to speak up when bullied and how good the bullies were at not leaving proof. I bet the first few times he hit her didn’t leave a mark. Just like when they tripped and shoved me at school. A part of me wondered if I should draw the line, but I pushed that aside. This was about Hailey’s pain, not mine.
“He’s right,” said Cathy. “Was it my fault that I got molested because I was wearing a dress?”
“No, of course not,” said Hailey immediately.
“I feel like it was my fault sometimes. That I encouraged him somehow, but it wasn’t my fault then and it wasn’t your fault. Is it Scott’s fault he’s growing boobs?”
“No, that’s a medical condition.”
“But I feel like it is my fault sometimes, Hailey. I feel ashamed and embarrassed. I didn’t even want to tell you two, my best friends.” I was running with Cathy’s theme that we all feel guilty even though it isn’t our fault, but the part about my two best friends clicked an idea. Something that might help Hailey. “We already promised not to share my secret. We all just shared our worst secrets. We cried together. We need to make a pact.”
That got through Hailey’s funk and a smile cross her face. “Yeah, we should pledge to be sisters.”
“Hey! I’m still not a girl.” I wasn’t offended. She was teasing me and that was so good that she could do that again.
“You have boobs, today you can be our honorary sister, our boob sister.” Hailey rubbed away tears and there was a smile on her face.
“Boob sister?” Cathy giggled. “Now you’re milking it.”
“No she’s not. I may have boobs, but I’m not lactating. Even if I was, no way I’d let her milk ‘em.” With a set-up like milking and boobs the pun had to be said. Even at my own expense.
Hailey started laughing. “You gotta have a baby first, silly and you don’t have the right equipment for that.”
Cathy giggled. “Seriously, Scott isn’t a girl and he might be your brother before long. So we can’t swear sisterhood.”
“We swear friendship,” I clarified. That had been my intention from the start although a part of me wished I could swear sisterhood. “Like the three musketeers. One for all and all for one. In fact, hang on.” I hadn’t used it in a year or two but I still had my pocketknife from boy scouts. I released my hug on Hailey and searched through my junk draw in my dresser. I found my pocketknife and popped open the blade. I tested the edge, still sharp. “We swear in blood. Just a prick on the finger.”
Hailey looked skeptical. “Isn’t that unsanitary?”
Cathy overrode her. “It’s just a few drops and we’re not drug dealers. The only one of us who has a disease is Scotty and if his blood makes my boobs grow a little, I won’t complain.”
I laughed at that. “I’ll be glad to send all the growth your way, but it’s not contagious.”
Hailey giggled at that. “All right, I’ll risk it. What do we swear?”
I sterilized the blade with some mouth wash and pricked my finger. “First prick your finger.” I was stalling for time trying to come up with words. One for all and all for one had been used too much. I passed my knife to Cathy.
Cathy gave herself more of a little cut than prick, but she didn’t cry out. She just passed the knife to Hailey and pressed her bloody finger to mine. “What do we swear?”
“Friendship,” I replied. “Friends first. Friends last. Friends forever.” I’m not sure where the words came from. Maybe I’d read them somewhere, but they felt right.
Hailey smiled and pricked her finger, but didn’t bleed. She did it again and drew blood and then pressed her fingers to ours. “OK, let’s do it.”
I started the words, speaking slowly. Cathy and Hailey joined in so we chanted them in unison. “Friends first, friends last, friends forever.”
I sank down low in my tub to submerge my entire body. The hot water felt really good. We’d had a marathon DDR session and I felt sore all over. Even my boobs ached. Why did my boobs ache? It wasn’t like I was flexing my boob muscles while dancing. Yet, they were most certainly complaining all over and especially at my nipples which felt raw. I hated to admit it, but maybe Hailey did have a little bit of a point that I needed support. Perhaps better compression as well. Not that I was about to start wearing a bra. We had plenty of athletic support bandages in the house for wrapping up injuries. Something like that would probably help. I’d have to give it a try tomorrow.
Then there were the comments that Hailey and Cathy had made about me having a waistline. I couldn’t have a waistline could I? I’d read up about female puberty when I was reading about gynecomastia. The waist came later when the pelvis expanded to accommodate giving birth. It was late stage in female puberty. The unwanted estrogen in my body shouldn’t have had time to make changes in my bones. I certainly hadn’t grown any. However, now that the idea was in my head I couldn’t get it out and I couldn’t really tell looking down at myself. Reluctantly I pulled the plug and got out of the tub.
I dried off with a towel and started getting cold immediately, but rather than getting dress I took a good look at myself in the mirror. Did I have a waistline? I certainly didn’t have an hourglass and I have always had a big butt and thighs with manboobs. I wasn’t kidding about being pear shaped. I stood up and turned to look at myself in the mirror. They were right. I was overweight but I didn’t have a belly pouch. With my fat ass and my boobs I looked like a girl – with one obvious exception that wasn’t really that noticeable. It wasn’t much of a figure, still more ass than chest, but except for my penis my body screamed girl. Looking at myself I didn’t know what to think.
I look like a girl. What should I do? I’d swore Hailey and Cathy to secrecy, but I could just go tell my dad. Maybe even I should. This went beyond a little bit of chest growth. Was I wrong about my hips? Were my hormones so off-kilter that my hips were widening like a girl in puberty? That didn’t make sense. That took years. It had to be just fat. Most of the time the fat would reverse itself in six months or less. It had only been a few weeks. Just a few weeks. If I told Dad, then Rick would know and the whole school. Plus they’d put me on male hormones. That scared me as much as it getting out at school.
Not that I didn’t want my boobs to shrink. It was just that I didn’t want to turn into a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal. I love my dad and Rick has his good moments. I just don’t want to be them. All my worst memories are around sports and bullies. I had the best time today with Hailey and Cathy and the day wasn’t even over. Who did I want to be? Taylor, of course, but who was Taylor? I tried to see myself. Taller, yes and better hair that didn’t go all over the place. Not built like Rick or Dad, but fit, wiry or lanky. Yeah, that would be better. Yet I had a hard time making the image work while staring at myself.
I heard a knock on the bathroom door. Hailey called through the door, “Scott, are you still in there? I heard the tub drain. Are we going to watch Megamind or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, almost done. I’ll be right out.” Megamind. That was it. I was more of a Megamind than a Metroman without the evil fascination. So why wasn’t it working in my head. Maybe I was gay. Although that didn’t work. I definitely didn’t like boys. I just liked girls more as friends than anything else. I looked at myself in the mirror. I had a t-shirt on under my pajamas and the pajamas were too big on me, but my chest growths were still too noticeable.
I exited the bathroom starting to yell to Hailey that it was her turn when I almost ran into her exiting the bathroom. I saw her eyes flick down to my chest. “I know. Too visible. I’ll grab a blanket from my room and wrap up in it while we’re watching movies.”
She nodded. “Good idea if you plan to keep on hiding things.” Then she was past me and into the bathroom.
I ducked across the hallway to my bedroom. If I planned to keep on hiding things? Like I had a choice. She was lucky. It was so easy for her. She didn’t have to deal with expectations to man up. She could just be herself. If Dad and Rick found out or this got out at school, I didn’t want to think about it. Only girls were allowed to grow boobs and I wasn’t a girl. I’d be the freak. That’s because I was a freak. I looked like a girl. My friends were girls. Maybe I really was gay. Except it had nothing to do with liking boys. I certainly didn’t like boys. I liked girls much better, but as friends. My Taylor Project was all bullshit. I had no idea who I wanted to be.
Sunday, February 3rd (Superbowl Sunday) – Taylor Project Day 34
Today was Superbowl Sunday which was always a major event at our house. Every year that I can remember I’ve been forced to watch the game. This year Hailey, Cathy and I holed up in my room and we missed the whole thing. That was great as far as I was concerned. We spent a large part of the time playing DDR but we spent more of it just talking. I tried out the athletic wrap around my chest which did help with the jiggle and bounce but it isn’t exactly comfortable. Naturally the girls noticed. Hailey thought it was funny and was all ‘I told you so’ and ‘sports bras would be better’. Then we had a conversation about boobs and I learned way more than I’d ever learned on the internet.
Julie watched the game with Dad and Rick. Dad and Julie are getting gross. They’re acting like a couple of teenagers, cuddling and kissing all the time. According to Hailey her mom didn’t go straight to the sofa bed. She spent an hour or more ‘talking’ to my dad in the bedroom with the door closed. Obviously they were having sex. Hailey is all excited about it. She’s convinced that if they’re having sex then that means they’ll get married eventually. She’s even expecting it to happen on Valentine’s day. I wonder if her mother thinks the same thing, because with my dad sex doesn’t mean marriage. I really like Hailey and she’d make a cool step-sister, but I’m not so optimistic about it happening. Everything else is on track. I’m not looking forward to school tomorrow with hidden boobs, but I’ll deal.
P.S. I don't even remember who was playing in the superbowl let alone who won. Woot!
Hailey> So what are you going to do about Cathy 4 v-day?
Scott> For V-day? Why do I have to do anything 4 her 4 v-day?
Hailey> Because she’s got a big freaking crush on you
I paused and looked at my chat window. What was Hailey smoking? I paused to take a sip of bottled water, no more cola for me. That was nuts. Wasn’t it?
Scott> NFW. We’re friends. BFFs yes. Crush no.
Hailey> Way. She’s into U big time.
Scott> Bad enough UR shipping robulie. Don’t start shipping me.
Hailey> I’m not shipping our parents. They’re dating = relationship
Hailey> That’s the definition
Scott> Fine. Give you that one. UR pushing the ship then
Scott> A needle pulling thread
Hailey> I like happy endings. Sue me
Hailey> Back to U. Cathy crushes on U big time
Scott> How do U know? She tell U?
Hailey> No need. I’m a gurl. I have eyes. Hers melt 4U
Hailey> UR her knight in shining blue jeans.
Hailey> U saved her from big bad scary dude
Was Cathy really crushing on me? If she had been, then wouldn’t she have been more jealous of Hailey? Hadn’t she been a little at first. I tried to remember exactly how their meeting went down. There had been a little tension but it went away almost immediately.
Hailey> Scott? Still there?
Scott> Yeah. So if Cathy has a crush on me, why isn’t she jealous of you?
Hailey> Because I picked up on it in like 5 mins.
Hailey> Told her I liked U, but U were brother-to-be. Didn’t like U that way
Hailey> Gave her clear sailing
Scott> U discussed this? When?
Hailey> When we met. U really have no clue?
Scott> Apparently. So she told U this
Hailey> Neg. I told her
Hailey> But she went from green-eyed ragebeast to my new BFF
Hailey> Clue bat, meet Scotty’s head. Thunk.
Scott> Well OK then.
Scott> I like her, but BFFwise, not hearts and kisses
Hailey> I know.
Scott> Because UR a gurl
Hailey> He can be taught.
Scott> Don’t want to hurt her. Maybe someday more.
Hailey> Do something 4 v-day at least.
Scott> Like what?
Hailey> At least get her a card. It would make her day
Scott> But we’re not in elementary any more. Cards are a bf/gf thing now
Hailey> They don’t have to be. Just sign it as a friend
Scott> What if I got both you and her a card and sign them friends 4ever?
Hailey> Ding Ding Ding that wins the prize
Hailey> Seriously is perfect. Will make her day and not a bf/gf vibe
Scott> OK, will do
Oh, thank god. I was really starting to squirm about this. I could do a BFF card. The idea of having Cathy as a girlfriend wasn’t really a bad one. It felt kinda nice, but strange. My hormones were kicking in. See chest for evidence. So maybe it wouldn’t be strange soon enough. Oops, Hailey
Scott> You know my dad probably won’t propose don’t you?
Hailey> I can hope. My mom is so happy now.
Scott> I’ll hope with you.
Scott> Like U as BFF, but you’d B cool sister
Hailey> Ditto. Crossing all fingers.
Scott> U get Rick as brother too
Hailey> Ugh. Rick play football. Rick smash. Ugh
Hailey> GTG. Night bro-2B
Scott> Knock on wood. Night BFF
Thursday, Feb 7th -Taylor Project – Day 38
I’ve been thinking a lot about what I am inside. Hailey made some comments that I act like a girl. Both Hailey and Cathy pointed out something I hadn’t noticed – I have a girl shape. I have a bit of a waistline. Actually it is more than I have boobs and a fat ass, but still. Maybe it is my hormones being out of whack, but I’ve been wondering a lot since then about whether I really do act like a girl or not. It’s certainly true that I don’t like sports. Thinking about it I’ve always been more at ease around girls than boys. Before we moved to Pine Hill most of my friends were girls. I just never thought about it, because when I was that young we just played, but I remember playing tea party and house. Of course, I remember playing hide and seek and tag, too. Life would be so much easier if I were a girl. Then Dad and Grandma and Rick and everyone else wouldn’t be trying to make me into a jock. Girls didn’t have to be tough. They could cry and stuff. Yet, I wasn’t a girl. I was a boy. Boys didn’t become girls. Except sometimes they do. I’ve heard that before but didn’t have details, so naturally I went to the internet.
The word I was looking for was transgendered, but I found another word that might fit as well, intersexed. Whether it was one or the other depended on if it was mental or physical. After reading the intersexed stuff none of it fits. There are some that sorta fit. Like gynecomastia can be a symptom of being XXY and some others, but none of the symptoms fit me. So it looks like the word for me would be transgendered, but I don’t fit that even that slot.
In the process of reading I found message boards and stories. There is a lot of transgender fiction on the web and I’ve been reading it in the evenings on the computer. There is something about these stories that speak to me so strongly. I love the determination of the protagonists and the almost magical way that becoming their inner gender fixes their life. That isn’t really me. Yeah, things would be easier if I had been born a girl. Then people wouldn’t be trying to make me into another copy of Dad, but what I found in the stories wasn’t just a little lukewarm wouldn’t it be nice. No, someone who is really transgendered knows it in their heart. That came across clear in the stories. You’ve got to be hardcore serious to let doctors cut off your dick, turn it inside out and make a vagina out of it. I’m not that intense. For me it is more that I don’t want to be me than I really want to be a girl. I think the stories appeal to me because I’m trying to do my own transformation from Scotty to Taylor. Plus, it’s reassuring to read about other boys with boobs and that I’m not alone. I’m not serious enough to be transgendered. I’m starting to get used to having boobs, but that doesn’t make me a girl. I know I’m a boy and if I was transgender I wouldn’t feel like that. I’d know in my heart I was a girl. I just think girls have it easy.
Dad and Rick always told me not to be a sissy. I hate that word. A girl who played sports, wore jeans and played rough with the boys was a tomboy and it wasn’t a bad thing. There was no such thing as a tomgirl. A boy like me who liked to dance, talk, hang out with girls and didn’t like playing rough – was called a sissy. Tomboy wasn’t bad. It was just a phase. I’ve heard more than once how Cathy was going through a tomboy phase. Sissy was never just a phase. No one ever said, ‘Oh Scott is just going through a sissy phase’. In the hierarchy of junior high insults sissy wasn’t as bad as queer/gay/fag. It was too childish. Elementary kids could use sissy. Queer, gay and fag were R rated. I wish there was a male equivalent for tomboy. One where you could express a feminine side without being a sissy or gay. Unless you’re Robin Williams playing Mrs. Doubtfire that doesn’t happen in real life. OK, maybe it just doesn’t happen in Pine Hill. There are places we’re people can even be openly gay and be accepted. Pine Hill just isn’t one of those places.
Grandma and Dad both had firm opinions about gays and lesbians. I’ve heard it before during political talk about gay marriage. What did they think of me? I know somewhat about what Dad thinks. He is always trying to push me into sports. What would he do if he found out I was growing boobs? Hailey’s Dad hit her. I don’t think Dad would ever hit me. I hadn’t even gotten a spanking in years, but he wouldn’t be happy.
I was so relieved to make it to the end of the week. School was bad. I’ve always known I didn’t quite fit but now I was more aware of how I didn’t fit. I think it made the bullying worse. I managed to shut down my emotions. I didn’t cry or react outwardly. I sang Taylor’s Mean in my head so many times I’m getting sick of it, but it got me through. I was also looking forward to seeing Hailey. She had some hush-hush super secret surprise for me.
I couldn’t really talk to her as soon as she showed up. Friday night was date night so my Dad and her Mom were all dressed up and in a hurry to go. We had to unload Julie and Hailey’s things stow them away, get the usual lecture to behave. Then Grandma had us eat dinner. It wasn’t until after dinner was over that Hailey and I finally got to slip off to my room and talk.
“So what super secret thing you wanted to talk about? Is it news about Dad and your mom?”
Hailey scooted closer and lowered her voice. “No, I got something for you. I know that you said no, but I brought some of my sports bras. I think we’re about the same size. I’ve read up on gynecomastia and I know you have. Boys with your condition often wear bras. Isn’t that true?”
“Some do. That doesn’t mean I have to. I’ve been doing the wrapping thing this week and it has helped. I think the bandage is less obvious than a bra would be.”
I knew I wasn’t sounding that certain and that was because I wasn’t. What I wasn’t saying was that wrapping myself took time to get right. Too tight was painful and too loose unraveled. I did not need a repeat of Wednesday when the whole thing started to come undone on the bus. Maybe reading transgendered stories all week had helped as well. Not that I was suddenly embracing becoming a girl. It was more that now that I was aware that the estrogen ocean ran deep and wearing a bra was barely sticking my toe in the water. Still I had enough pride left that I didn’t want to appear to be too eager. I was going to pretend to let Hailey convince me.
“How is a bandage less obvious than a bra? Either case they’re going to want to know what’s under there. Besides I think a sports bra would work better. That’s what a sports bra is for. I really think you should try one. Especially since you’re jogging a lot.”
“OK, I’ll try one on.” I gave a sigh trying to look reluctant while cheering on the inside. I didn’t want to put up so much of a fight that she changed her mind.
“Really?” She looked at me puzzled. “I was expecting more of an argument from you.”
I blushed. “Um, let’s put it this way, my sore nipples and bouncy boobs are on your side. I’m not exactly happy about things, but I’ll give it a try. So where are the, um, things?”
“In my bag. Be right back.” Hailey slipped out. I spent a nervous few moments thinking about how I’d almost blown it before she returned with her bag. She opened it up and dug through her clothes and came up with a stack of bras, most of which were pink.
“Why is it always pink with you? Haven’t you outgrown it yet?” Here at least I could try to build up some boy cred. Any boy would object to wearing pink. What was I thinking? Any normal boy would object to wearing a bra.
“Pink is my signature color,” she responded in an exaggerated Southern accent. “You know, ‘Steel Magnolias’?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is that a movie?” Whew, subject change.
“Is that a movie?” Hailey rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’ll have to bring it next time. It’s a perfect Valentine’s Day movie, a real chick flick but a good one. I’ve watched it with my mom lots of times.”
“OK, anyway give me that plain gray one. I’ll try it.” I took the garment and headed to the bathroom. I locked myself in, removed my shirt and unwrapped my boobs. They felt much better without the wrapping but a week of having them wrapped had proved that Hailey was right – I needed some kind of support.
I picked up the gray sports bra by one strap. It looked too small to do the job, but might as well get it over with. I slithered into the bra and it stretched around me and to my considerable surprise it fit. I stared at myself in the mirror and didn’t really like what I saw. I looked more like a girl than ever. However, it fit just fine and felt a lot more comfortable than the bandage wrap except for the straps my shoulders. Those felt weird. I gave an experimental bounce. Hmm, maybe. At least this was proof I wasn’t transgendered. Wearing a bra didn’t feel wonderful. This was more an engineering problem: how to properly strap down breast tissue to reduce jiggle, a science project by Taylor Miller. I’m sure that would go over great at the science fair.
I put my crazy thoughts away and put on shirt on over the bra and studied the result in the mirror. Hmm, about as effective as the bandage at hiding things. I’d still need multiple layers for safety, but for now that could wait. I scooted across the hallway and back to my room and Hailey. “OK, I’ve got it on.”
“Well, what do you think? I can’t really tell. To be honest that baggy shirt hides enough that it just looks like man boobs, but I bet a real bra is more comfortable.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, but is it worth the added risk of being caught? Isn’t the bra just as visible as my boobs?”
“Well, I can’t see it, but you could triple layer. Sports bra under a t-shirt under a baggy shirt.”
“Hmm.” I didn’t want to appear to be too eager, but I’d already reached the same conclusion. “Maybe.”
“Try jumping or jogging in place. Tell me you can’t feel the difference then.”
“I think you’re enjoying this too much.” Still I jumped and jogged in place. “As much as I hate to say it, I think you’re right. I think it will work better than a bandage and is unfortunately necessary. To really put it to a test I think I’d need to go jogging or play some DDR.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?” She gave me a smile that was half play and half serious.
“Bring it on.”
“Oh, I’ll bring it. Let me put away my bag first. So do you want to keep these or not?” She offered me a handful of colorful sports bras.
I did, but most of them I couldn’t get away with wearing because of the coloring. “I don’t know. I’ll take this one and the white one, but I’m afraid the others are too brightly colored. They’ll be visible under my shirt. Besides don’t you need them?”
“Nah, I don’t work out like you do or need to and I’m not trying to flatten my boobs out. Besides, these are my old A-cup bras. It doesn’t matter as much in a sports bra, but I’m into B-cups now. I’ll just get Mom to buy me more. You can keep all of them. If you wear a darker shirt you can get away with the bright colors. I know that’s what I did for gym.”
“Thank you, very much.” I took the bras feeling strangely conflicted about how much I wanted them. They were strictly for jiggle control, nothing pervy. “I’m really grateful, but please don’t mention to this to anyone, like ever.”
“Not even Cathy? Don’t worry. I won’t tell. Your secret is safe with me.” She zipped up her bag. “Just be sure to wash them out after use. You can handwash them in the tub and hang them up in your closet overnight. There is nothing grosser than putting on a sweaty stinky bra.”
I had to laugh at that. “I’ll take your word on that.”
To Be Continued...
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