Return of the Sister: Part 4

Bobby wasn’t as thrilled as usual to get home from school that afternoon. Yes, it was a relief to get away from the stupid female drama that had blown up with Beverly in the cafeteria, but he suspected whatever Serena had planned for him might be worse. He’d told Kimberly about the “modelling bootcamp” thing, and she’d agreed that his sister’s goal was most likely to pressure him into dropping his “Barbie” act, confessing to their parents that he’d made the whole thing up.

Well, there was no freaking way he was going to do that. His parents would be horrified, everyone else would assume he was some kind of pervert or nutcase, and he wouldn’t have any way to redeem himself -- his old life as a basketball star was off limits until he got his gynecomastia under control.

Bobby braced himself as he clicked his way up the steps to the front door, the sight of his long tanned legs flashing beneath his skirt inadvertently making the neighbor across the street run his lawnmower right into a tree. He took a deep breath, making his growing breasts bob slightly on his chest, then walked inside.

His mom was out, but he could hear his dad upstairs talking on his Bluetooth. Serena, meanwhile, was sitting in the living room with her MacBook, wearing a pair of sweatpants -- Bobby felt a twinge of resentment looking down at his miniskirt. She wasn’t looking particularly diabolical, but when he tried to sneak upstairs she snapped her fingers without so much as glancing up from the screen.

“Nuh-uh,” she said. “You’re mine from now until six, little sis.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bobby protested.

“Sometimes having your hair done for a shoot takes three hours all by itself, and you can’t just toddle off to the bathroom without totally wrecking it,” Serena said casually. “First things first, take those shoes off.”

Bobby lowered himself onto the couch, frowning suspiciously, but he was more than happy to comply. Spending all day in stilettos was no joke. He undid the straps and slipped his feet free. He couldn’t suppress a sigh of contentment as he wriggled his toes in the carpet. It was cut short, however, as Serena reached down and produced a pair of what could only be described as stripper heels.

“I thought we would work on your walk today,” she said innocently. “Poise and balance are very important.”

Bobby blanched. She knew full well he’d just spent the whole school day wearing his highest heels, and now she expected him to practice on what were practically stilts? He was about to tell her exactly where she could stick those pointy shoes when his dad came down the stairs, fiddling with one of his DSLR cameras.

“Hey, girls,” he said, glancing at the high heels dangling from Serena’s fingers. “Poise and balance today, huh, sweetie? Good thinking. Always start with the foundations.” He waved the camera. “Don’t mind me, okay, Barbie? I’m just going to be taking a few photos here and there, trying to get you comfortable in front of the camera, and if we get a few usable shots, all the better for your portfolio.”

Bobby smiled through gritted teeth. “Great idea, Dad,” he said.

Serena threw an arm around their father’s shoulders and grinned. “Oh, Barbie, having Daddy do the photography was my idea,” she chirped. “And you can call him Daddy, too, now. You know that, right?”

To his credit, Bobby’s dad looked slightly perturbed for a moment, but then he nodded. “Absolutely,” he said. “I’ve got two little princesses now, don’t I? Now, enough chit chat.”

He pointed down the hall with his thumb. “I cleared out the old studio for us to work in.”

Bobby grabbed the heels out of Serena’s hand with a grimace. She had him right where she wanted him, and with his dad there he didn’t have any way out of it. All he could do was play along, so he buckled his feet into the shoes and followed his dad and sister down the hall.

Back in Serena’s pageant days, his parents had remodelled the spare bedroom into a miniature dance studio with hardwood floors and a mirrored wall -- it would have been great for practicing his dribbling, but naturally it had been declared off-limits. Until now, of course, that he was going to be prancing around in what he’d definitely heard the cheerleaders call “Fuck Me Pumps.”

Bobby minced inside the studio with a sense of dread. Each step clicked loudly against the hardwood floor, while the wall-length mirror threw his reflection back at him in painful clarity -- was his skirt really that short? He remembered Serena working on her “walk” in here, back when she was first starting out, and now it was his turn. The only difference was, he had absolutely no interest in being any kind of model, much less a female one.

“Let’s start with the basics,” Kimberly said. “End to end. Stop, pose, turn. Remember to roll those hips, okay?”

Bobby blushed. It was the same kind of crap his anonymous blackmailer had him doing in his room back when all this “Barbie” stuff first started, strutting and posing, but doing it in front of his dad, with Serena there loving every second of it, made it a thousand times worse. He traipsed back and forth while she handed out advice: isolate his hip motion, control his breathing, imagine a thread lifting him into the sky by the top of his head, et cetera.

It was physically strenuous in six-inch heels, and boring to boot, but he would have gladly kept doing it for the full three hours had he known what was coming next.

“Just how long have you been sneaking into my closet, Barbie?” Serena asked in mock anger. “You’re a natural in heels, little sis. But you’re not just getting from point A to point B anymore, okay? You need to do it with attitude. Right, Daddy?”

“Absolutely, sweetie,” Bobby’s dad said, snapping several photos in quick succession.

“I think you’re still a little nervous, so how about we loosen you up with some music?” Serena suggested innocently. “Remember, this is supposed to be fun. You should feel flirty, and confident, and girly, and sexy.” She smiled at him sweetly. “I’ll give you a little example, and you just copy me, okay?”

She connected her phone’s Bluetooth to the studio’s speaker, and suddenly the room was filled by thumping house music that wouldn’t have been out of place in a night club -- or maybe even a strip club. Bobby watched in horror as Serena “turned it on,” swishing from one end of the studio to the other with an exaggerated bounce to her hips, an ultra-femmy walk that somehow made her butt move in a figure eight. She made a graceful pirouette, shaking her hips.

“Your turn,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Bobby’s dad raised his camera, and Bobby couldn’t help but think back on all the times he’d imagined looking up into the stands and seeing his dad furiously snapping away with his camera, capturing action shots of his son dominating on the basketball court -- usually when his parents had attended games, they’d spent the whole time on the phone.

Now he finally had his dad’s undivided attention, and Bobby absolutely hated it. Blushing furiously, he did his best to imitate his sister’s walk, crossing one foot in front of the other to lend his hips an exaggerated sway. Serena harangued him on each trip down the studio floor, critiquing every wiggle until he was swinging his hips and ass in time to the music, grinding out an over-the-top sexy strut that was perfectly designed to draw male attention.

As the music got louder, Serena’s shouted instructions got even more humiliating: she was giving him poses to try at the end of each “walk,” having him shimmy his shoulders, cock his hips, arch his back… Every time, he was forced to look at himself in the mirror as he struck the pose, confronted by a sexy blonde all dolled up like a Barbie doll and preening like a stripper. Every time, his dad was there to capture it on camera.

“Now grip your heel with your right hand and put your left hand on your hip, okay?” Serena directed. “Tilt your head back… Push those boobs out, Barbie, there you go… Isn’t she adorable, Daddy?”

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” his dad said awkwardly, snapping a photo.

Bobby flushed. He would have once killed to hear his dad’s approval, but he was getting it for primping in front of the camera like some dumb bimbo. In the mirror his tired and breathless expression, eyes half-lidded and lips parted slightly, was starting to look like something totally different, almost like a seductive “come hither” pout.

“Very sexy,” Serena added wickedly. “This time throw in that spin I showed you, to give everyone the full view of that cute little butt.”

With all the swishing and twirling, Bobby was using muscles he’d never used as a basketball player, and before long they were burning and aching from the strain. His face, meanwhile, was flushed hot with embarrassment. He could feel a sob building up in his throat, which made him even angrier -- since when did he start crying so easily?

“Now try putting one leg forward, to give them a really good look, and bend over,” Serena said. “When you come up, toss your hair… That’s it! Oh, my God, Barbie, you’re just a natural boy magnet, aren’t you?”

“Really great work, sweetie,” his dad added, but as Bobby straightened up he could see that his father, for the first time, looked uneasy, clearly embarrassed to see his only son pull off a move that definitely belonged in a strip club. “Maybe we should work on some more technical stuff, Serena? Talk about angles, symmetry?”

“Daddy, not now,” Serena chided. “Can’t you see Barbie’s finally tapping into that sexy, feminine confidence? Do your little shoulder shimmy again, Barbie. So cute!”

Completely flustered by the clicking camera and Serena’s ever-changing directions, Bobby had an almost out-of-body experience, as if he was watching himself from a distance. He didn’t look like some elegant fashion model, which would have been bad enough. He looked like a complete skank, some girl who, judging by the length of her skirt, was the school slut, and knew exactly how to present her assets to all the horny boys.

Panicky thoughts started running through his head: Was this how he’d looked at school today, swishing out of the cafeteria? Was that why those football players had wolf-whistled at him? Did people think he was a skank?

“Once you have all these moves mastered, you’ll even be able to look hot in sneakers,” Serena said, turning the music down slightly and breaking him from his thoughts. “Trust me, a couple weeks of practice and we’ll have this walk totally ingrained. From now on, you need to treat the whole world like your runway, okay?”

Bobby swallowed. He remembered a time when Serena, just starting out with her modelling, had worn ridiculously high heels for about a month straight. At the time, he’d found it kind of funny, mostly because she tripped on the stairs now and then. Now, realizing he was about to get the same treatment, he felt sheer terror.

“You are going to be such a little sexpot,” Serena cooed. “In fact, let’s work on that a little. I want you to really seduce the camera for this one. Now, picture one of those cute boys from your old basketball team, and imagine he’s across the room.”

Bobby’s dad paled slightly. “Serena, sweetie, isn’t that a little much?”

“Oh, Daddy, it’s the same kind of advice you always gave me,” Serena said innocently. “You wouldn’t treat Barbie any differently, would you? Just because she’s, you know…”

“Of course not!” their dad blurted, flushing. “Go ahead.”

Bobby could feel his face burning up. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but imagine what his former teammates would think if they could see him like this.

“Oh, little sis is blushing,” Serena said. “So cute! You must have some very specific boy in mind.” She clucked sympathetically. “You know, I was thinking about that. It must have been so tough for you to act all straight and macho when you were completely surrounded by real guys. Tall, ripped, athletic... How did you keep from drooling in the locker room?”

Bobby opened his mouth, but all that came out was a squeak of indignation.

“Anyways, picture that cute guy,” Serena continued blithely. “He’s so hot, all you can think about is getting him to come over, sweep you off your feet, and stick his tongue down your throat. How do you make him do that with just your eyes?”

Bobby glared at his sister with all the hatred he could muster.

“Great intensity,” his dad remarked, wincing. “But it looks less seductive and more, uh… Murderous?”

“Put your finger in your mouth,” Serena said, smiling wickedly. “It’ll help you, you know, visualize?”

His dad’s eyes bulged momentarily, but he raised his camera. Overwhelmed, humiliated, and exhausted, Bobby swallowed the last of his pride and hooked one manicured fingertip inside his puffy pink lips. His reflection in the mirror showed a sultry, pouting bombshell, practically begging for a guy to tear his clothes off. He was about to burst into tears when his dad’s phone started buzzing.

“Six o’clock already!” his dad exclaimed, clearly relieved. “Barbie, you better go see if your mom needs help with dinner. Serena, I wanted to talk about the shoot prep a little bit…”

“You can run along, Barbie,” Serena said brightly. “Good work today. But the heels stay on until bedtime, got it?”

Suddenly released from his private hell, Bobby felt almost dazed. He nodded, then headed for the door without looking his big sister in the eye, but as he did so he realized he was walking in the same shameless strut she’d been drilling into his muscle memory for the past three hours. Blushing brightly, he scurried away towards the living room to retrieve his phone -- Serena had insisted he have no distractions during the “bootcamp.”

A huge mass of notifications, along with a missed call from Kimberly, were awaiting him. He went to their conversation on automatic, still feeling numb from humiliation. The latest message was not a promising one: Ally’s been sending this EVERYWHERE.

It was accompanied by a short video clip. With a sense of foreboding, Bobby pushed play and was met by the sight of himself in the girls’ bathroom at Jefferson High, standing in front of the mirror. Judging by the camera angle, someone had been filming from one of the toilet stalls, pressing their phone up to the crack.

Bobby recognized his outfit, the fuzzy pink sweater and tiny pleated miniskirt he’d worn on his second or third day as “Barbie.” Now, watching the video, he saw himself glance around the bathroom furtively before yanking up his shirt, adjusting the position of his boobs in his bra cups, and letting out a distinctly masculine groan of discomfort.

With his “Barbie” body language totally abandoned in what he’d thought was the privacy of the bathroom, he stomped over to the paper towel dispenser, scratching idly under one armpit. The camera shook with silent mirth, and a caption appeared at the bottom of the shot: She’s a lady?

Bobby realized his hand was trembling. Those stupid, skanky, airheaded bitches had been completely in love with “Barbie” twenty-four hours ago, and now they had turned on him. Combined with the misery he’d just endured in the studio, it was too much for him to handle. Before he knew it, he was hiccuping, tears streaking down his face as he sobbed out his feelings, blubbering just like a girl.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘good work,’ you know,” came the last voice on Earth Bobby wanted to hear at that moment. “All it took was three hours, and you’re already working that ‘fuck me’ strut that’ll have every guy in your school drooling after you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was the real you.”

Serena had followed him to the living room, like a shark who’d just smelled blood at last. She gave his tears a dispassionate look, then retrieved her own phone and scrolled through her notifications.

“Wow, look at that,” she said mildly. “One of your little school friends just stabbed you in the back. Welcome to girl world, Barbie.” She glanced up. “I think I’ll just give this a little signal boost. Unless, of course, you want to go tell Dad you’re not actually trans.”

Bobby seized a tissue from the box on the coffee table and dabbed angrily at his tears. He was tired, shaking, and miserable, but he wasn’t going to let his sister win that easily. “Screw that,” he said through gritted teeth. “I already told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

Serena gave him an angelic smile. “I was secretly hoping you’d say that. See, little sis, I’m just getting started.”

#

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Kimberly was running a bootcamp of her own in Josh Delacroix’s well-furnished living room.

“Okay, pretend I’m Barbie,” she said. “We’re at the same party. I’m not thrilled to see you, but I did see you defended me online from a pack of rabid cheerleaders. So I feel kind of indebted to you, but also I’m suspicious of your motives. Got all that?”

Josh rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, I think so,” he said, frowning. “I wish you hadn’t had to use that video. I can’t even imagine how embarrassing that must be for her.”

“Empathy!” Kimberly said. “Great. Use that. I’m Barbie, I’m at the party. What do you say?”

Josh shot her a look. “Do we really have to role play this?” he asked. “It’s not like I’ve never picked up a girl at a party before.”

“You’ve never picked up a girl like ‘Barbie’ at a party before,” Kimberly pointed out.

Josh shrugged. “Hey, Barbie,” he said. “You look really good tonight.”

Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Okay, first things first,” she said. “No compliments. Seriously. No calling him ‘beautiful’ or ‘cute’ or anything like that.”

“Her,” Josh corrected sulkily. “Okay, fine. No compliments.” He cleared his throat. “Hey, Barbie. You see the Lakers game last night?”

“There you go,” Kimberly said, snapping her fingers. “Keep it light, and keep it normal. Every single guy she knows is either weirded out by her or trying to get into her panties on the down low. So you have to be the total opposite of that.”

Josh nodded. “I get it,” he said. “In theory. It’s just hard, because, you know, she’s just so…” He trailed off, looking off into the distance.

Kimberly sighed. “No staring at her boobs,” she said. “Or her butt. Or anywhere but her face.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a small spray canister. “Here’s your secret weapon,” she said. “You know what this stuff is, right?”

Josh looked at the bottle of IcyHot. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Coach sprays it on ankle sprains. It does this freezy, tingly burning thing and...” He blinked. “Why is this my secret weapon, exactly?” he asked suspiciously.

Kimberly gave a significant glance towards his crotch.

“No way,” he said. “No way am I doing that.”

“Hey,” Kimberly said, shrugging. “I’m just trying to help.” Her phone buzzed; she picked it up and saw a reply from Bobby. “Good,” she said. “She saw the video. Let’s start coming up with your post. Remember, you have no romantic interest in Barbie. Like, at all. You’re just stepping in and telling Bev and Ally to knock it off, because it’s not cool. And you know what’s cool and not cool, because you’re cool. Got it?”

“Got it,” Josh said, a look of determination on his handsome face. He cracked his knuckles, inadvertently flexing his impressive shoulder muscles in a way that made Kimberly just a little bit tingly.

The truth was, Josh had an awful lot going for him. He was tall, he was good-looking, he was buff, he was smart, he was a basketball star, and, oh, his parents were filthy rich. Along with all that, he was somehow pretty humble and generally a nice guy, when he wasn’t using his hacking skills to blackmail people.

Bobby, meanwhile, had been pumped full of high-powered female hormones for two straight months, which meant, in theory, his body was going to start reacting a little more positively to attractive men than it had in the past. More importantly, he was desperate for a male friend.

Kimberly figured if she could make her ex switch teams, she could do pretty much anything. And if it didn’t work, well, at least she would get to see some fireworks.

#