His Idol Part 6

His Idol Part 6

I’m still so stunned by how much of a difference a face of makeup does to how I see myself in the mirror. Just with some soft eye makeup and mascara, I’m almost transformed.

“See,” mom says, putting her hands on my shoulder as we both stare keenly into the reflection of the mirror. “The foundation I’ve brought for you fits your skin tone perfectly!

“It does,” I answer, exceedingly pleased with how the makeup look came out. “Thanks!”

Mom then runs her fingers dainty fingers through the long hairs of my wig. Playing with the ends, I catch a look from her in the reflection of the mirror

“This wig is so soft,” she says, giving me a wide smile. “Y’know, if you have fun today, we could talk about getting extensions put in.”

“So, I’d have….?” I question, raising an eyebrow.

“Lovely long and very girly hair all the time!” Mom interrupts. “Wouldn’t that be so cute!?”

“Not sure mom,” I reply, swiveling around on the stool to face her. “What would people say if my hair was suddenly long?”

“It wouldn’t be any of their business, sweety,” Mom answers as she moves over to the bed. “Now, for your outfit today. I have a couple of ideas.”

She moves over to the bed and holds up a pretty white blouse and a tight-looking knee-length dress. She gives me an enthusiastic look as she shows me both.

“The blouse,” Mom says, holding it higher. “This will look lovely with a view buttons open. It should look more natural on your wider chest and I think we can get you a nice pretty neckless to wear to draw attention away from your shoulders.”

I nod and listen intently. Seems like she’s given this a lot of thought!

“So, if we go with the blouse…,” she continues. “We’d match it with a black or grey skirt. A knee-length one or a pencil skirt. Then we’d complete the look with some black heels and a vest or blazer.”

I haven’t seen mom looks so happy in such a long time! She’s really enjoying this! I’m really enjoying this.

“This would be a very classic look, sweety,” she says, gently laying the white blouse onto the bed. “It would however be quite a few layers for you to wear. Could be a little uncomfortable even if it is very elegant.”

That’s when she turns her attention to the dress in her other hand. She raises it up and with her free hand, gently wafts the skirt.

“Now this one,” she says, running her hand down the side. “This one will be rather tight around your shoulders. However, the almost fitted cut of this dress will mold around your body and give you an effortless curvy figure.”

Mom is right. The dress does look rather small. I’m wondering if that will even fit around my waist.

“This should be a lot easier to wear during the day though, sweety,” she continues, laying the dress next to the blouse on the bed. “You won’t have to worry about things becoming untucked, or getting through the many layers to use the toilet. I’d probably say if you wanted, you could wear this without tights and have your legs out.”

Standing back up straight, mom puts her hands together and looks at me in expectation. “So what's it to be?” she cheerfully asks.

It’s hard to decide! Still sitting here in my pajamas it’s hard to feel feminine.

“I dunno, mom,” I reply, fiddling with my freshly painted nails. “Part of me wants to wear the dress, but you said the other outfit was elegant. I like the idea of looking like an elegant woman.”

“Take your time baby,” Mom replies, perching herself on the side of the bed. “I’m here if you want my advice. Personally, I’d go with the pencil skirt—I only wear my office dress when I’m on my period."

"Urgh…mom!” I complain, pulling a disturbed face at her comment. “That’s gross!”

“It’s just biology,” mom promptly counters. “If you're going to be a girl—you’ll have to get used to it. It’s a huge part of the female experience and sometimes women talk about it.”

I look at her face to make sure she’s not trying to wind me up. Judging by her serious expression—she’s not.

Uncomfortable at the thought of being privy to such conversations, I get up and reach for the white blouse she’s laid out.

“So,” I say, touching the soft material with my fingertips. “I’d wear this with a pencil skirt? Can I see it?”

“Oh,” mom smiles, getting up from the bed to rummage in her closet. “Here, I thought this would look nice on you.”

Mom holds up the lightish grey skirt. It looks longer and much more tapered than I’m used to wearing. Nothing like my short dresses.

She holds it out to me and I take it from her. Very excited, I hold the skirt against my body and look down at myself. It’s cute and I’ve made up my mind!

“I wanna wear this outfit,” I grin, looking up at mom as she smiles back.

“I’d hoped you’d say that!” mom cheers with a single clap. “That’s what I’d choose to wear too. Like mother like daughter!”

“D-daughter?” I ask, stumbling on my words.

Mom instantly puts a hand to her mouth—like she thinks she’s offended me. I see her face beginning to frown. The worry lines across her forehead give her feelings away,

“Should I not have called you that?” she asks.

I look into her worried eyes and take much longer to answer than I should. I can see it’s killing her waiting for me to respond.

“It’s ok mom,” I eventually say, giving her a beaming smile. “I-I…I think I prefer it.”

“Oh!?” mom squeaks, her face a little flushed. “Daughter it is then sweety.”

“Thanks, mom!”

Mom then looks away and I watch her use a single finger to wipe at one eye. She’s starting to cry.

“Are you ok?” I ask, worried I’ve upset her.

“Fine, sweety,” she answers, turning to look away. “Just a little overwhelmed right now.

Before I can even react, mom quickly turns back to look at me. Reaching out to me, she grabs me by the shoulders and reels me in for a hug. Still clutching the pencil skirt, she crushes me and it, in her embrace.

“I love you,” she whimpers, as I rest my chin on her shoulder.

“I love you too, mom.”

She sniffs and whimpers as we continue to cuddle. Now I’m really worried I’ve upset her and she’s just being nice!”

“Mom,” I say gently, pushing away from her embrace. “I’m worried you're mad at me. You don’t have to call me your daughter if you don’t want to.”

Mom wipes her nose and then smiles. “I’m not mad, sweety.”

“You’ve started crying,” I reply, pointing at her red eyes. “I think you’re upset with me. Let's just forget the whole thing! This is Silly!”

“No No No!” mom squeaks, shaking her head furiously. “That’s not it at all baby!”

“Ok..ay,” I grumble. “Well, why are you crying?”

“Sweety!” she says, desperately, gently touching my face. “I’m crying because I’m happy!”

“People don’t cry when they are happy,” I moan.

“Another lesson about women,” mom gently giggles. “Some women can get like this when they are happy, sweety. I’ve always wanted a daughter and now I’m getting my wish. It’s made me very happy and that’s why I’m getting teary.”

Like that, I feel years of repressed emotions boiling to the surface! I feel my skin heating up and my eyes watering.

“Y-you…have?” I ask, my lips quivering.

Mom doesn’t answer, she just pulls me in close and embraces me tighter than before. As I rest my chin again on her shoulder, I feel a single tear run down my face.

“Yes,” she sobs. “This is such a relief for me. I’ve been so worried about you.”

Slowly mom relinquishes our embrace and I step back from her. She gently wipes any tears from my eyes and gives me the widest smile.

“I thought with your father not around,” she explains, fanning my eyes to dry them. “You’d suffer for not having a father figure around. Has had me really worried that I wouldn’t be what you needed to help you grow up strong and happy.”

It has indeed been weird with dad gone. Still, it’s even stranger that I feel happier now than I ever have in the past.

“I’m here for you Paul.” Mom continues, gently touching my cheek with the back of her hand. “This journey you're going on, I’m so happy I’m here for you. I fear it’s going to be hard at times ahead of us and we need to face it as a team.”

I wonder what she means for a moment before I consider my opportunity to talk to her honestly about my name. I’ve not found a good time to bring this up before.

“Mom…,” I say, bashfully laying the skirt I still hold down on the bed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, baby,”

“I know you chose my name…,” I say, rubbing my arm as I look at the floor. “Do you mind if erm….I’d really like it if….erm…..”

“Yes, sweety?”

“Do you mind if we start calling me the name I’ve chosen for myself?”

“Oh…,” she says, her face full of curiosity. “What name would you like to be called?”