June 30th, 2010 | 
Author: Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
filled him the oddest combination of dread and delight. He couldn't decide how he felt and the agonizing debate his mind waged was terribly bewildering. Absently doodling in the margins of his notebook he found himself drawing possible hairstyles for his prom night adventure. It was during this daydreaming that his mother appeared behind him. "Francesca's mother came by this morning," she said. "Oh," Stephen said, covering the drawings with his arm. "Yes. She had some interesting things to say about you." Her voice was flat. "About me?" "Yes, about you. She said that I might be interested in looking at some photographs she had." "Photographs?" Stephen turned around and looked at her. "They were very interesting pictures but I couldn't believe they were of you until she showed me this one," his mother said, throwing the photo on his desk. It was the picture Carlotta had taken in the bathroom as he applied his blush. There was no point in bluffing. "She said," her voice breaking, "she said that you had broken into their house and were caught trying on Francesca's clothes. She said you need treatment." "But you didn't believe her, did you?" His mother was sobbing now. "I'm glad you're father's dead. It would kill him to see these," she said throwing a handful of pictures on the desk. They were all of Stephen is various states of transvestment. On top was the picture Bonnie had taken as he had fallen to the floor. He looked particularly slutty, staring back at the camera in his bra and heels, his big pantied ass in the air. Not at all the frightened boy he really was, but more a defiant trollop caught in the midst of some disgusting sexual escapade. "But that's not how it was," he protested lamely. "How was it?" she screamed. "How was it when you were caught redhanded in panties and brassiere putting make up on like a teenage whore?" "But . . ." "How was it when your hair is teased like a girl's, when you're wearing high heels and a skirt? Maybe Carlotta could have made up a story but these pictures aren't fake. It's you. You dressed up like a girl. And not just wearing panties but everything. You look like a little slut when you're dressed. I can't believe it," her voice cracked and trailed off. "What are you going to do?" "I don't know. Carlotta had some ideas but . . ." her teary eyes went past her petrified son to the drawings on his notebook, tiny pictures of bouffant coiffures, ponytails and pageboys, bubble cuts and bangs. "Maybe she's right. Maybe she's right," she said as she stormed out.--
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