We were at the mall when mother spotted them – a mother and daughter with matching hair and outfits. “Aren’t they just delightful, dear?”

I glanced at them. The girl was about my age and really cute. “Yes, mommy, very cute!” I know, not many thirteen year old boys say “mommy,” but my mom likes it and I like making her happy.

I didn’t think about it until the following Friday. School summer vacation started at noon, and mom had arranged to pick me up. We went to lunch at a place we like. As we were leaving, she said, “Remember that mother and daughter in matching hair and outfits we saw last week?”

“Yes, mommy.”

“You need a summer hair cut and I decided it’d be delightful if we had matching hair like they do.”

“Your hair is very pretty, mommy, but I don’t want girly hair.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m getting a new do too. We’ll both have androgynous dos.”

“Androgynous?”

“It means that a person of either sex can have it.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, we’re both getting parted bobs.”

“Parted bobs?”

“Yes, it will be parted in the middle and cut blunt around the sides. It’ll be much cooler for summer than your shaggy mop, but still long enough that you’ll like it. I know how you like long hair.”

“Oh.”

“One other thing.”

“Yes?”

“We’re having our hair dyed the same color. I’m tired of being a brunette and you’ll love being a blond. It’ll draw dating material like bees to honey.”

“Boys don’t have their hair dyed!”

“Some do. Anyway, you will. You’ll love it. You said you thought that mother and daughter looked cute. You weren’t lying, were you?”

“No, mommy.”

“So, you’ll let Cindy dye your hair?”

“Yes, mommy,” I said with resignation.

My haircut was odd, but mother was right, if it wasn’t boyish, it wasn’t real girly either. It just made me look, well, “style conscious.” Still, when Cindy spun me around for the big reveal after dying my hair, I was shocked. Having blond hair definitely put me on the feminine side of androgynous (my new word). But, there was nothing to be done. Strangely, I got a funny tingle looking at my new self.

Mom came over, looking in the mirror at the two of us. Her hair was cut and colored the same. “It’s just perfect, Dale. Don’t you think?” she said primping a bit.

For the first time I saw why people said I favored her. My chin, cheek bones and eyes looked just like hers. I wasn’t sure what I thought.

“Well, what do you think, Dale?”

“We almost look like twins, except our clothes are different.” Of course mom had a figure and I didn’t, but I was struck by how alike we were.

“That’s easily changed dear.”

After paying our salon bill, mom drove to the department store anchoring the mall. Mom spent a fair amount at there and had a VIC (Very Important Customer) card. So, she got primo service there. We went by the jewelry and cosmetic counters and up the escalator. Mom looked around for a bit until she spotted Ms. Omer, who managed women’s wear.

“Excuse me, Alice. As you can see, I’ve changed my hair. What clothing colors would go well with my new hair?”

“Hello, Ms. Mavelli. How nice to see you again! What a delightful color you’ve chosen! And, for your daughter too! Generally, blonds should wear pastels, and stay away from black and other dark and dull colors. You’d look wonderful in warm blues and yellows, sage, lavender, khaki and gold. Ivory and warm grays can also work. You have a lot of choices.”

I wasn’t happy at being called a daughter especially as I was still wearing my school clothes. Mom, on the other hand, seemed not to have even noticed.

“I was hoping that Dale and I could find matching outfits.”

“That should be no problem. Perhaps something knee length for you and a mini for her,” she said looking at me. “I’ll have Lindsey help you. She’s young, and very capable.”

“Mom!” I squeaked.

“Don’t worry, Dale, I’ll straighten it out. Just sit here and be patient.” Mom took Ms. Omer’s arm and led her off for a private talk.

I didn’t have my tablet, so there wasn’t much to do. I finally saw a pretty girl shopping with her mother. Eventually she saw me and waved. Maybe mom was right about blond hair being a chick magnet.

About then mom came back with a young associate. “Lindsey is going to help find us some coordinating outfits.”

“She knows I’m a boy, right?”

“Yes, Dale, I know you’re a boy. Your mother has explained everything.”

“Thank goodness!”

Since we were in the women’s wear department, we started by selecting possibilities for mom. As I was gong to wear the same colors, mom wanted me to help choose. I wanted the same kind of dull colors I always wore, but Lindsey reminded me that dull colors didn’t go with my new hair.

At first, I thought it would be boring to help mom, but now that I was helping decide what to buy, it was more interesting. Women and girls have so many more choices than boys – colors, styles, fabrics, even the type of outfit. I mean boys just wear pants and shirts. Women get to wear pants, skirts, dresses, tunics, tights, leggings and who knows what. They get to wear solids and all kinds of plaids and prints. And the colors! Mostly boys wear just a few, but girls can wear any color they like. Anyway, I enjoyed helping mom pick out some outfits.

I’d made a few suggestions and mom had even added one or two to her pile of possibilities, complimenting me on my taste. We were going from one area to another, when I saw this cool rose and lime floral print dress. “Hey, mommy, look at this!” I said, holding it up.

Turning around, she said, “It’s very pretty, Dale. Do you like it?”

“Yes, I love the colors – and the flowers are so cool!”

“Yes, it’s beautiful and the colors compliment our hair and complexions, but remember we’re looking for things we can both wear.”

“Oh … yeah … I forgot.” I was blushing furiously.

Mom came back and hugged me. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Dale. The dress is lovely, and shows you have great taste. There’s nothing wrong with liking it.”

“Really, mommy?”

“Yes, really, dear.”

We went on to the next rack, looking for shorts and coordinating tops. Mom said something to Lindsey, who went off for a bit and came back smiling. By the time Lindsey returned mom had enough possibilities and went to try them on. She came out several times, asking me what I thought. We picked two combinations we both liked. One was a blue skirt with a yellow top, the other sage slacks with a lavender top.

The next job was finding me outfits that matched. Lindsey had selected some possibilities while mom was in the dressing room. So, I was sent to the boy’s changing room to try them. The yellow top she found me was sleeveless and buttoned the wrong way, but went really well with my blond hair (which I was beginning to like more and more). So, I said OK. No one’s going to notice how it buttons anyway.

I was afraid Lindsey would suggest a skirt to go with it, but she handed me shorts instead. They were so short that my boxers showed under them. Mom sent Lindsey to get briefs for me. She returned with red, white and blue pairs. They only came half way up my hips, had narrower elastic, and no fly. I asked mom about them.

She said, “They’re short so you can wear them with low cut slacks and shorts. You can just could pull the front down to pee.”

“Oh.” They were conformable, so I wore the blue ones for the rest of the fitting.

The shorts looked nice and fit well, but they also had no fly – or pockets for that matter. When I questioned Lindsey, she said they were the only shorts in that shade of blue, but they had blue skirts with pockets if I wanted to try them. I wasn’t sure if she was serious, but I didn’t want to find out.

For the second outfit, Lindsey found a lavender tee. The sleeves were a little short and the neck larger than I was used to, but it fit well, so I said OK. I had a choice of sage shorts or slacks. Both had pockets, but neither had flies. I opted for the slacks as that was what mom was buying for herself, but mom said since it’s summer, I might as well get both.

You may think I’m dumb or naive – I mean thinking that I was trying on boys’ clothes. I may not be the brightest bulb, but I know the difference between boys’ and girls’ clothes. Trying them on in the boys’ dressing area didn’t fool me a bit. I figured that shorts are shorts, and I had an androgynous look anyway, so what difference did it make as long as I wasn’t wearing a dress or skirt? Mom wanted us to match, and after all she’d done for me, the least I could do was cooperate.

Our final stop was a shoe store. We each got a pair of white and a pair of sage canvas shoes. I knew we’d match wearing them, but I also knew that wasn’t the look mom really wanted.

“You’d really like it if we wore matching sandals, wouldn’t you?”

Mom looked a little shocked.

“Mommy, I know you really want a mother-daughter look. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, Dale,” she said hanging her head, “I can’t lie. That’s what I’d really like. I’m sorry.”

“Mommy, there is nothing to be sorry about. I love you and want you to have your wish, as long as it isn’t too embarrassing. So, if you can find androgynous sandals for us both, I’ll wear them with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, mommy.”

We each left with a pair of brown wedge sandals with 1/2” straps and a 1” heel.

When I got home, I put my new things away. Afterward, I was very tired. I suppose my transformation from boy to feminine androgyne had been more stressful than I realized. At any rate, I zonked out. Mom woke me about 7:00.

“Get dressed. I’m starving and I want to show off our new outfits.”

“OK, mommy,” I said groggily.

“We’re going to Richardo’s. So, wear the lavender top with sage slacks. That way you won’t have to shave your legs.”

“Shave my legs?”

“Yes. You’re starting to get body hair, and your legs and underarms will spoil our matching look.”

“My underarms too?”

“Yes – just for the summer. You might as well do them now. You can borrow my electric razor.”

Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to grant mom her wish, but she’d already spent so much. I didn’t want to ruin it for her, so I said, “OK, mommy,” as I usually do.

Dressed in my lavender top, sage slacks and wedge sandals, I might still have been androgynous, but 99 out of a 100 people would have thought I was a girl. Maybe a tomboy from how I walked and acted, but still a girl. Even I saw a girl when I looked in the mirror. Luckily, we have an attached garage, so I didn’t have to go outside to get in the car.

Richardo’s is an up-scale Italian place mom and I like. The maître d' there knows us, but made no mention of my feminine appearance. Our waitress didn’t know us, and began by complimenting our mother-daughter look. Later on she quietly suggested that I’d look less like a tomboy if I wore some makeup.

I thanked her and said, “I would, but mommy doesn’t think I’m old enough to wear makeup yet.”

“I wore makeup when I was Dale’s age. So, you may if you want, Dale.”

I looked at mom, like yeah, thanks.

“We can get you some tomorrow.”

“Thanks, mommy,” I said in an uncertain tone.

By the time we’d finished dinner, I’d forgotten the episode.

That night I slept in my jockeys as I usually do and enjoyed being a boy again. Still, when I woke up, I put on a pair of my new briefs because I liked they way they hugged me – and besides, wearing them gave me a tingle. Over them I wore khaki Bermudas (with a fly and pockets) and a light blue tee.

When I came into the kitchen, mom gave me a warm hug. “I just loved going out as mother and daughter. You were so wonderful realizing that sandals would fulfill my dream even more than canvas shoes.”

“I didn’t mind wearing them, mommy,” I said, quite proud of myself. “Besides, they’re cooler than sneakers.”

“Yes, you looked very sweet in them, Dale. Still, I want to apologize.”

“No need to apologize. I was happy to do it.”

“I know, but I was so caught up in my fantasy, I wasn’t thinking of you.”

“Don’t be sorry, mommy. I loved doing it.”

“Of course, sweetie, but I exposed you to embarrassment.”

“I wasn’t embarrassed.”

“But, you could have been. Morgan thought you were a tomboy.”

“Morgan? Who’s Morgan?”

“You know Morgan. She waited on us at Ricardo’s last night.”

“Oh, that Morgan. She didn’t embarrass me.”

“Don’t pretend, Dale. I saw you blushing when she said you were a tomboy. You did blush, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I just want you to know mommy understands. I’m going to try and see that it doesn’t happen again.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I knew it was an expression of her love for me. “Thank you, mommy. I love you.”

“You’re very special, Dale.”

“You are too, mommy.”

The rest of the morning went pretty normally. By 10:00 the grass was dry and I was out cutting it. Billy, who’s been my friend since I was a toddler, came by walking his dog, Lance.

“Love your new hair, Dale!” he said without a shred of sarcasm.

“Really?”

“Yes. You look much … ah, better with your hair like that.”

“Thanks,” I said smiling.

“Better get going before Lance decides to drop one on your lawn.”

“OK, see ya.”

Maybe I should say a bit about Billy. We’re about the same age, but he’s taller and stronger than me. So, he takes care of me at school – you know, keeps the bullies off me. Whenever I’m a little scared I stick close to him. Still, we like different things, so we don’t play together all that much. Like he’s good at baseball and usually hits at least one homer in a game. I really don’t like baseball, but I watch him play and cheer for him. After, his mom usually takes us to get an ice cream.

Anyway, a little after he walked by, I finished the lawn and went in.

“Take a shower, dear, but wear my shower cap. I don’t want your hair getting wet yet.”

“OK, mommy.”

I’d never worn a shower cap before, but then I’d never been a blond before. So, I did as she said. I remembered that she wanted me to shave my legs so I did that too – not that there was much to shave.

When I got out, I put on my last pair of briefs because the earlier pair was sweaty. Brushing out my hair in just my briefs, I realized how much I look like a girl – thin and fragile, with femme hair. Only my bulge made me look like a boy. I decided to see what I’d look like if I put it back between my legs. When I was trying to get it to stay back, my balls popped up inside me – and stayed there when I pulled my panties back up. (Yes, I knew they were panties, but sometimes it’s best to pretend you’re dumb.) My smooth front was kind of Gucci, and not uncomfortable, so I decided to keep it for a while.

As I was walking back to my room, mom came the other way, glanced at my crotch, smiled, and walked on. I was glad she didn’t say anything.

I put my Bermudas back on with a gray rainbow tee mom bought me for a rally once. Then I went to see what was on TV. Mom came in with an iced lemon and cucumber drink for me, and sat down beside me.

“You need to stay hydrated, dear.”

“Thanks, mommy.”

We watched a craft show on PBS for a while. This one was on scrapbooking, something mom started me on a few years back. I always like learning new techniques.

“I noticed you wearing your new briefs coming out of the shower. Do you like them better than your boxers?”

“Yes. They feel nicer.”

“Would you like more?”

“Well, I’m wearing the third pair now. So, I guess a few more.” I felt funny asking for more panties, but my voice sounded normal.

“By the way, a smooth front looks good on you – if you want to dress like that again.”

“Ah … thanks, mommy.” I’d been hoping she wouldn’t mention it, but after a while, I was glad she did.

After the show we had a salad for lunch. I was going to work on my scrapbook, but mom asked me if I’d rather go shopping with her. I needed some craft supplies and I like doing things with mom anyway. So, of course I said yes.

“Wear your sandals, dear.”

As we were driving to Target, mom said, “I was thinking about what Morgan said last night and how you said you’d wear makeup if I let you, so I’m going to get you a little inexpensive makeup to experiment with.”

I would have protested, but I really didn’t know what to say.

“It’s OK. You don’t have to say anything. You can try it in the privacy of your room. Then the next time we go out, no one will mistake you for a boy.”

Mistake me for a boy? But, I am a boy, I thought.

I had no idea how many things were required to have “a little inexpensive make up:” two shades of lipstick, eye shadow, liner, mascara, blush, nail polish and a dozen more items. Lastly, mom got me a book, Your First Makeup Experience: Makeup Basics and Tips for Young Girls.

“Mommy, you really don’t need to get me all this stuff.”

“I know, you think lipstick is all you need, but it really isn’t if you don’t want people thinking your a tomboy. Now just hush, and let me be generous with you.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you mommy.” I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I knew I’d never use this stuff. Maybe after a few days she’d see I wasn’t interested and return it.

When we finished shopping for makeup, she said, “Why don’t you go look for your scrapbooking supplies and I’ll pick up some more briefs for you.”

“I’d rather buy them at Michael’s. They have a better selection. Also, I know my briefs are panties, so you don’t need to hide that from me.”

She started pushing the cart toward girl’s wear. “You don’t mind that I bought you panties?”

“Should I? You taught me that that men and women, boys and girls should be treated equally. So, as long as they fit well, feel nice and no one but you and I see them, why should I care?”

“I suppose I should have expected that, but I’m still surprised – pleasantly so, but surprised.”

By then we’d reached the shelves of girls underwear. I should have been embarrassed, but strangely, looking as ambiguous as I did, with girls sandals, boys shorts and an LGBT tee I wasn’t.

“Want to try a variety?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Shall I choose or you?”

“I’d rather you chose.”

She chose three packs. One was silky full cut panties in black, pink and beige. The second had four pair of pastel hipsters, and the last six assorted prints.

“Since you’re in the mood, lets get you a pair of heels so you can learn not to walk like a tomboy.”

Suddenly, my heart started racing. My sandals could be boys, and no one could see that I was wearing panties, but if I wore heels, It would be clear they were for girls. I mumbled something and gave a little nod.

“I don’t have to wear them out of the house, do I?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“OK, then.”

Mother found an inexpensive pair of white platform sandals with a 2” heel and an ankle strap. As I walked around trying them, I felt like I wanted to keep them on. My hips swayed as I put one foot in front of the other like a model. Suddenly I realized I was a boy sashaying in girls shoes and I just wanted to take them off.

Mother saw the whole performance, but said nothing. Still, the shoes wound up in our cart.

By the time we got home I needed a nap. When I woke up, cosmetics were arrayed on one corner of my desk along with a makeup mirror. On the floor of my closet was my growing shoe collection, which now included a pair of heels. Later I discovered that I now had a panty drawer. Clearly, things were getting out of hand.

I ignored the makeup as I worked on my scrapbook. Still, when I took a bathroom break, I found myself sitting and tucking myself back before I pulled up my panties. Looking in the mirror, I realized I preferred a smooth front.

When I got back to my desk, the makeup was staring at me – almost like an animal sitting on my desk. I opened the pink lipstick, and watched as it flowed onto my lips. It seemed to have a life of its own and wanted to be there – on my lips. Calmly, rationally, I realized I looked better with it than I had before. I closed the tube and put it back in its place. Finally, I stopped looking in the mirror and went back to work on my scrapbook page. After working for a while, I forgot that the lipstick had painted itself on my lips. Eventually, I finished the page. It was one of the best I’d ever done! I brought it to show mom, who was catching up with some work in her office.

“Look, mommy!” I said holding up the page.

“My, don’t you look pretty!”

“Me?” Then I realized I was still wearing the lipstick – my lipstick. I meant to wipe it off, but I hadn’t and now mom knew that I'd tried it and even left it on. Panic filled me. I looked for a place to run, to hide.

“Calm down Dale!” she said as she got up and embraced me. “Don’t be upset, sweetie. Your face was made for make up. Do you think I would have gotten it for you if I thought otherwise?”

“But, I’m a boy.”

“Yes, but a very special and very beautiful boy.”

I stared at her blankly.

“Come along,” she said, taking my hand. “I’ll show you how lovely you can be.” She led me back to my room and sat me on my bed.

For twenty minutes or so, she worked on my face, using all the products she’s bought me. At each step, she explained what she was doing and why. I was in a daze and barely heard a thing. Finally, she led me to the bath, so I could see myself in the mirror. I didn’t look a bit like a boy. I was a gorgeous girl!

“See, Dale, you’re beautiful! Billy’s gong to love how you look!”

“Billy?”

“Yes, Dale, Billy. Don’t you think I've seen him holding you and the two of you kissing? With you made up like this and wearing the rose and lime dress I bought for you, you two can go on proper dates and no one will bother you.”

I started crying. “Thank you, mommy.”