Part 1--Sense Of Fashion
_DISCLAIMER NUMBER ONE: This story contains sexual content that takes place between two teenage fictional characters. In no way does the author condone real-life pederasty/pedophilia, which is illegal in most civilized societies.
DISCLAIMER NUMERO EL DOS-O: the characters of "Alk" and "Schrodi" are based on characters RP'ed on Tapestries MUCK by their respective creators. Send either one of us a tell sometime and come play!_
I'm leaning with my elbows against the railing at the top level of the mall, looking down on the three floors below me; all laid out with white tiles and neon lights like the inside of a hollow wedding cake. I hate coming to the mall in winter--it's February now, and I can't take off my coat, but walking around with it on, I get all hot and uncomfortable. I don't want to carry it, and I don't want to look like an even bigger dork than I am by tying the sleeves around my waist, so I have to suffer, swaddled in a big, heavy, hand-me-down anorak that's great for keeping out the arctic chill but no good to me at all indoors. (Schrodinger B. Takenoya, the Mall Eskimo; that's what they call me...)
For that matter, I hate the mall in the summer, too. It's too crowded and noisy and the furs smell bad. (I can't help it if I have a sensitive nose, it's part of being a cat, along with the long tail, whiskers and the habit of loathing everything and everyone around you...no, wait, that last part is just me.) I'm starting to realize that I pretty much just hate the mall in general.
So...why in the hell am I here?
The answer should be pretty obvious. I'm cutting class, and when you cut class, you're supposed to go to the mall. It's practically a law. Not that there's really anywhere else to go around here to hang out, this being the middle of suburbia. I guess I could go downtown and sit in a coffeeshop all day, pretending to like coffee and wishing a smart, cute girl would come by and start up a conversation, or wander around the docks or whatever; but it's too cold for that anyway. I guess the real reason I'm at the mall is because the only record store in town is here. The selection stinks and the staff is rude, but it's the only place I can add to my music collection ever since Cliff's closed down. I heft the plastic bag that holds my swag--a couple of semi-rare glam-rock compilations, some newer ambient stuff, an album by a singer-songwriter guy who everybody--that is, everybody in the magazine that is also in the bag--says is great. Good haul, and it took me all of fifteen minutes to wander around and buy. Now I have the rest of the day to kill.
Well...I suppose there's another reason I'm here. I'd love for that reason to be "hitting on girls and getting their phone numbers" but I'm not exactly the smoothest guy in the world, and I'd rather not feel the sting of rejection and abject humiliation pierce my heart like a thousand stilettos today; so I'm keeping a low profile, as usual. As I stare down a couple of floors, I can see that other reason pretty clearly. Mannequins and racks and shelves filled with beautiful clothes, delicate weaves, gorgeous patterns. Silky and stylish and sexy...the mall isn't crowded today, and the shop only has a few people inside...two, no, three ladies browsing, and it looks like one girl working behind the counter...surely nobody would mind, maybe nobody would even bat an eyelid, if I went down there and picked out a few things to...
I bonk my forehead on the brass rail. Snap out of it, I think to myself. Crossdressing is the stupidest fetish EVER and I wish I'd never heard of it or thought of it or tried it. Even if I COULD go down there and pick out some clothes for myself, how was I going to face the girl at the counter? Or the stares of the other shoppers? They'd laugh me out of there, and I'd get beaten up on the way out of the mall by a roving pack of frat-boys, and there would be a news crew watching, and my parents would find out before I even got home, and then the next day the whole school would know, there would be my face on the CCTV footage from the store, broadcast all over the world...I shudder. I know I'm making up the worst of the worst-case scenarios but it's reason enough for me to sigh and realize that it's impossible. After all, even if I DID manage to get down there and pick out some girl clothes without making an international scandal out of myself, what was I going to pay for them with? After buying my music, I barely have enough for a burrito.
I shift my posture and try not to think about the silky feeling I'm concealing in my jeans; far from arousing me, right now the fact that I'm wearing my favorite pair of panties under my clothes feels like an empty, pathetic gesture. I'm not getting away with anything, I'm just subjecting myself to imagined ridicule. I don't feel sexy or feminine or cute, I feel like a self-deluded dork in the wrong underwear--which, at the moment, is riding up in a very non-arousing way.
Oh well. Time to go home and kill the other seven hours of a day I would otherwise be devoting to furthering my education. Masturbation and video games, the cheap highs of disaffected youth. With a deep sigh, I turn and walk away from the railing. I guess I'm lost in thought and I'm not looking exactly where I'm going, because I turn the corner an--*WHOOOPH*
*WHAP!* *WHAM!*
I run smack-dab into someone else. The way I was walking, my nose smacked against their chest, and I get a muzzle-full of the most amazing scent--a blast of rosy, flowery perfume against a strangely familiar musk, not offensive at all; and the strange part is that the two distinct scents blend so well. It's this that I'm thinking about as I fall bodily back onto my ass. I open my eyes, and before me, sprawled out on the glitteringly gray linoleum, is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my entire life.
She's a tall, lean tigress; fur an ashy, snowy white with dark charcoal stripes running through it. Those lean-muscled legs are clad in a pair of suede boots, the kind that crinkle up like leg-warmers halfway up the calf, and a tight denim skirt, light blue. She has on a thick red sweater that's just tight enough to show off her features, but not TOO tight, and a gold locket resting against the swell of her breast. She has soft, demure facial features, a slim muzzle and ruby-red lips. Her headfur is long and luxurious, and the way she's tilted her head, half of it falls over her face; the dark stripes repeated in her silky-looking mane. Her eyes are so unusual, green but silvery at the same time...and she's looking at me pretty strangely.
Maybe it's because I just did a nose-plant into her boobs and knocked us both over, scattering the contents of her purse all over the floor.
And because we're both still sitting on the floor and I'm staring at her with my jaw hanging open.
YEEEAAAAH, maybe that's it.
"Ohjeez! I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry! Are you okay? ItwasanaccidentIswear!" I scramble to my feet and move to help her up, but she's already getting up on her own. I'm freaking out a little. "Lemme help you...uh..." I reach down to gather up the stuff that fell out of her purse, accidentally kicking some of it away. A lipstick tube rolls away from me, but I dive for it and catch it before it rolls under the railing and plummets down to the food court.
"It's okay," I can hear her say as I'm frantically scooping up feminine bric-a-brac, "I'm not hurt or anything...you should just really be more careful." Her voice is like honey sliding over...I don't know. Bacon? I don't have really good audial imagery skills, what I'm trying to say is that her voice is kinda throaty but sexy as all hell.
"Uh huh," I say, placing things back into her purse. "I'm really sorry for knocking you down...I'm just...incredibly clumsy sometimes." I hand her back the bag.
"Thanks." She smiles at me. GODS, what a devastating smile. "It happens, don't worry. These are yours, right?" She hands me the plastic bag full of CD's.
"Yeah, they are, thank you..." I'm trying not to stare at her, but GOD, those eyes and that perfect face...if I stare at anything else of hers, it'd seem rude, so I'd better stay locked in...I take the bag. She rifles through her purse. "Everything there?" I ask.
"I think so...everything except, uh..." She seems a little concerned, and shoves her stuff around.
It's then that I spy a small white plastic card a few feet away. "Oh! I got it," I say, walking over and grabbing it. I glance at the card--it's a Layleaux High school ID, and I quietly and quickly thank multiple pantheons of gods for giving me an in with this girl. "Hey, you go to the same school I do! I guess we're both skipping, huh? Don't worry, I won't narc on you." (Ugh. Witness the extent of my suave handling of the ladies.) I'm about to hand it back, but I take a longer look at the ID--the little photo shows a male tiger with similar coloration, long headfur tied back in a tight ponytail. And the name on it is Alk'arris--not somebody I'm familiar with, but the name certainly rings a bell; he's one of our school's top track runners--his name consistently pops up in the sports column of the Layleaux High newspaper, and I should know; I'm on the editorial staff.
I squint at the card for a second and hold it up, comparing the photo with the girl in front of me. For a second, I'm confused--if this is his sister, why would she have his school ID? Unless...WHOA! My eyes get wide as my brain does a double-take. "Hey, you're--!" is all I can get out before I realize the look of horror and panic on her--no, HIS--face, and what it means. In one smooth movement, he snatches the card out of my hand and shoulder-checks me, sending me sprawling back against the railing. Quicker than I can think, he's sprinting halfway down the length of the mall, making for a down escalator. "Hey! Wait!" I call after her/him, as I break into a run--I'm not nearly as fast as he is but I'm running after him anyway...
The tiger nimbly jogs down two sets of escalators, reaching the bottom floor and sprinting off like he was chasing gazelles across the grasslands...me, I'm flailing and fumbling my way down, trying not to drop my bag, break my legs or go ass-over-teakettle; all while I'm keeping him in sight. By the time I reach the bottom floor, I can see him turn a corner, and I bear down and run as hard as I can...I'm wheezing and gasping for air as I round the corner, and I hear a door slam. I duck into the side corridor and hesitate for a moment--am I really gonna go through with this? But the adrenaline is talking and my brain shuts down, and I enter the womens' bathroom.
Fortunately, it's empty except for the tiger-girl. (Guy. Whatever. Even after realizing the truth, I'm still having pronoun trouble.) Unfortunately, (a) he looks angry enough to kill me, (b) he's at least a head taller than me and obviously far more athletic, so he'll probably succeed if he tries; and (c), regardless, if somebody walks in on us right now, I'm as good as arrested. "Don't come near me!" he snarls, balling his fists. "I don't know what you want, and I don't care. I've practiced martial arts since I was six, and if you come one step closer--!"
"No! Wait! Seriously, really, it's not like that!" I wheeze. My lungs sound like a run-down calliope. "I just wanted--*gasp, choke*--wanted to show you something!" I start undoing my pants.
"What the HELL?" he shouts. I can tell his hackles are up, his fur is standing on edge. So is mine. He's moving in to start using those fists on me.
"No! No, wait, just wait!" I stumble backwards, and my jeans fall to my ankles. Naturally, I fall backwards onto my ass. Again. At least now he can see...
The tiger looks down at me and gasps, stopping in his tracks. He's utterly bewildered. "Wha...what is this?"
I sit up and glance down at myself. Under my jeans, I'm wearing a pair of cotton panties--purple, with lace trim and a tiny bow on the front. I look up at him. I know my face is bright pink and flushed, I can feel the heat on my cheeks. When my voice comes out, it's a squeaky whisper. "It's just...I always thought I was the only one." I close my eyes and accept whatever comes next.
A few minutes later, we're sitting together in the food court. I'm staring at my lunch--the finest burrito that two dollars and twenty-five cents can buy--and he...no, I just can't wrap my head around it. SHE is picking at her salad. I rub my face and wince.
"Still hurts, doesn't it?" She has a weird little smile on her face.
"Yeah. A little. You give a good slap."
She gestures at me with her fork, an olive speared on the tip. "I want you to know, I'm not sorry I slapped you. You chased me all over the mall, and into the ladies' restroom, for crying out loud. We could have gotten in MASSIVE trouble, and we're very lucky we didn't get caught." She pops the olive into her mouth. "As far as I'm concerned, the slap makes us even. So."
I nod. "Fine by me, I guess." I fidget in my seat and poke the burrito, trying to think of something to say. Hnh. Burrito's getting cold. "So, uh, Alk--"
She stops me with a raised fork and a pointed glare. "Ah-ah-ah. No. When I'm..." She clears her throat and lowers her voice, a tiny blush dusting her cheeks. "When I'm presenting as female, my name is Alika. Please use that name. Okay?"
"Oh! Um...okay. Alika." I flash her a nervous smile. "It's...it's a very pretty name."
"Thank you. I know. That's why I chose it." She moves the salad around on her plate. "It should go without saying that I would appreciate you not telling anyone else about this..."
"I know. I wouldn't dare. That's, well, that's one of the reasons I showed you, um..." I squirm. "What I'm wearing. Underneath, I mean. I figure, I know your secret, you should know mine...so we're both at risk, and that way we won't want to expose each other." I wince. Stupid choice of words.
"You had other reasons?"
"Well, um, yeah, I guess. I mean, I...I wanted to show you that I understand why you, you know, dress...um..." I make a vague gesture. "Like that."
She looks at me with half-lidded eyes. "Is that so?"
"Yeah! I mean, it's why I do it. Basically, it's a turn-on, right?"
Alika drops her fork. That expression she had in the ladies' room is back. "You have NO idea why I do this. Don't presume that you know anything about me. AT ALL." She stands to go.
"Wait! No, hang on! Don't leave!" I reach across the table and grab her hand. She looks at me like she's ready to dish out Slap Schrodi, Part II--The Enfacening. "If I don't know, then I want to understand! I...please sit down. I don't want this to end like this. Please?"
"Why should I trust you with my reasons?" she snaps. "I don't usually judge people morally, but you're just a pervert, out to get his jollies out of something I take very seriously!" She winces. "And my hand hurts. Your face has pointy parts and it hurt my hand when I slapped you. Let go of it."
I let go of her hand and sit back. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry I assumed the wrong thing. And I apologise for my pointy face parts. Please, just...let's talk about this, can we? I've never had anybody I could talk to, when it came to...you know."
Alika sighs and sits back down. "Fine. Do you want to know why I dress and present myself as female?"
"Yes. Please. But only if you're willing to tell me after all the stupid stuff I've done today."
"It is, because, deep down...when I'm dressed as a guy, doing guy things, looking and sounding and acting male...I feel like I'm living a lie. I'm not happy, I'm not free. I'm not myself. The only time I really feel like me is when I'm Alika. And someday..." She glances away. "I...I want to be Alika all the time. I don't want to have to be Alk ever again."
I blink. "Really? Do your parents know about this?"
Alika shakes her head, that amazing silky mane shifting around her face, making it even harder for me to believe that this beautiful girl is actually male. "My dad left us when I was really young--I don't even remember him. My mom...well, she knows about half the story." She smiles a little. "We were pretty poor back when she was putting herself through law school, and she didn't have many ways to entertain me. One of my favorite things was to go through piles of old hand-me-downs and, um...play 'dress up.'" She chuckles a little bit at the memory. "I would always pick out the girl stuff and parade around in it. Eventually, she saw me dressing in feminine clothes more and more often, and she saw how much I liked it. She knows I crossdress now...she even still calls it 'dress-up,' like it's a childish phase. She doesn't know how serious I am. She doesn't know I don't want to be a boy anymore. I'm really afraid of telling her the truth..."
I nod solemnly. "I can imagine it'd upset her. Do you think she'd disown you or something?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I try not to think about it. Maybe someday she'll be ready to know, but I don't know when that's going to be."
"So...when you say you want to be a girl full time, that means..."
She sighs and nods. "Yeah. That means all the way. Therapy, hormones and eventually..."
I wince. "GAH. I mean, I guess I can understand why you want to, and all, but...wow. That's a big change, getting rid of your..." I make a pained face, and take a big sip of my soda.
Alika shrugs. "I don't know. It's not exactly my favorite body part. It's sort of like being born with thumbs on your knees. It might come in useful someday, but for now, um...it just ruins the line of my pantyhose."
For whatever reason, I think about that imagery a little too closely, causing me to choke and nearly do a spit-take. My eyes bug out. "Are you okay?" she asks.
"Fine! *gack!* I'm fine," I gasp. "Just...nevermind." I clear my throat with a second sip and catch my breath. "It's just, if I hadn't seen your ID, I wouldn't have guessed you were, uh...weren't a female. Biologically. I mean, you're really beautiful."
Alika smiles a little, self-consciously, and tilts her head. "Oh, now you're just flattering me."
"No, no! I'm dead serious. The way you carry yourself, the way you talk, you're..." I find myself blushing again, and unable to look her in the eye. "You're, actually...the prettiest girl I've ever seen."
"Aww...you mean that?" She's smiling now, and brushes a hand through the part of her mane that frames her right cheek.
"Absolutely. I wouldn't lie about that sort of thing, especially not after you've just opened up your secrets to me like that."
She bats her eyes and looks away. "Schrodi, you're a sweetheart."
"Nah. Just honest. Um...I did want to ask you, if it's not too personal..."
Alika rolled her eyes and sighed. "I knew this was coming. They're falsies, okay? I know they're a little on the big side, but they go with my body type. I'm getting used to the weight, too; I may just get 'em this size when I go through surgery..."
I'm pretty sure I'm blushing hard enough for my head to explode now. "Uh...actually, I was gonna ask about your voice."
"Oh!" She giggles. "Vocal training. Half an hour a day, every day since I was 12 and my voice started to change. I kinda knew back then, too, but at that point I was more concerned about not letting my voice crack."
"Ahh, yeah. That makes sense. It really puts a cap on the whole..." I make a vague gesture. "I don't want to say 'illusion,' but..."
"No, 'illusion' is accurate. I kinda like it--almost like it's a magic act. Ta-daa!" she says, smiling and miming the tapping of a magic wand on her head. I chuckle and pick on my burrito, chewing on a little bit of the soft tortilla. Alika rests her chin on her hands. "So...now that we've discussed all my secrets, let's talk about yours."
I swallow the tortilla, it goes down like a sheet of fiberglass. "Uhh..."
"Those cute panties you showed me. Are they part of a collection? Do they belong to someone special?"
"No. Th-they're mine," I stammer, averting her gaze. I can feel my eartips blush. "I only have a few pair."
"I see. I'm curious though...is it really just a 'turn-on' for you, a way to get you excited, or is there something more?"
I look up at her, and it's like she's staring into my soul. "W-what do you think?"
Alika shrugs. "Don't get me wrong. I think you're a pervert, but I also think you're not JUST a pervert. If excitement was all you wanted, wearing panties in private would be enough." She poked me in the shoulder. "But you're wearing them on your time off, for comfort. You're testing your own boundaries. You've never worn them to school, have you?"
"No way!"
"But you've thought about it, haven't you?" She doesn't need to see my terse nod to know my reply. I can't even look her in the eye anymore. "You don't have to be ashamed of it. But I know there's more to your habit than you're admitting." She places her hand on mine. It's so warm. "I've told you more or less everything. And since you've never had anyone to talk to about this, maybe you should open up too."
"I...I don't know..."
I glance up at Alika. She's got a sparkle in her eye that's hard to resist. "C'mon. I'll buy you dessert..."
A few minutes later, we're nibbling on one of those cinnamon buns that are roughly the size of my head. If I weren't dying inside of embarassment, this would feel pretty much like a date--or at least I assume it would. As it is, I can barely look at Alika, and I feel like I'm going to start freaking out any minute. "Is the sugar loosening your lips at all?" she asks, licking the icing off her fork.
I take a deep breath to steady myself. "This is...it's all just dumb. I don't have good reasons like you do. I just..."
"Whatever reasons you have, they're good enough for you, and that's good enough for me."
I exhale. "Okay. This is going to sound weird. See...I have three brothers."
"Mm-hmm. Go on."
"They're all older than me. I'm the youngest one of my family, even my extended family. I've always been, you know, the runt. My oldest brother is away in college, studying to be an architect. My second-oldest is quarterback on the football team; he wants to go pro after college but he's thinking about joining the military instead. My big brother Amano isn't like either of them, but he's the life of the party--he's funny and smart, and he has a new girlfriend every other month." I sigh. "Me, on the other hand, well...I got nothing. I don't have any friends, I've never had a girlfriend, I'm no good in sports, and my grades are not exactly great. The only thing that makes me stand out is my utter lack of standing-out-ness."
"I see..."
"I tried for years to be like my brothers. I really do study hard, for all the good it does me, and I tried playing sports but nothing worked out. You see how inept I am around girls. A while back, I thought..." I shake my head. "I thought maybe, just for me...I could try something that wasn't like my brothers at all. I fail at being a guy like them, so...maybe I could try being..." I can barely get the word out. "Cute."
Alika shakes her head, smiling. "But you are cute."
"I don't...I don't mean like, 'guy cute,' because if I am that at all, it's an accident of appearance. I don't feel it, you know, I look in the mirror and I see...just this stupid kid with nothing going for him. But...I sorta fell into trying on girl clothes, and I liked the feeling, and after a while, I thought...if I tried wearing girl stuff, just for me...maybe it could be more than just a turn-on or a fetish or...maybe I would start feeling special AND different. On the inside, if nowhere else. Maybe I would start mattering..." I swallow hard. "...you know...to myself." Oh no...don't get choked up. Don't freak out on her now...
Alika is quiet for a moment, and takes my hand in hers. I can feel my eyes start to sting. "Schrodi. Look at me." I don't think I have the strength, but I obey her. Those green-on-silver eyes...so dazzling that I almost don't hear what she has to say. "You want to be pretty, don't you?"
I can feel tears running down to my cheeks. "Yes," I croak, squeezing my eyes shut. I take a shuddering breath and release it. "It's so stupid, I told you...but it makes me feel good about myself..."
Something swipes across my face--Alika is dabbing away my tears with a napkin. "Sweetheart, it's allright to feel this way...don't be ashamed." When I've stopped tearing up, she takes my hand again. "Listen...I can help you with this. But you have to trust me."
"W-what does that mean?" I struggle to get a hold of my emotions.
"It means that you have to trust me. You know, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty for yourself. But it seems to me that today, of all days, you have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to become more. Much more."
I blink. "More than...what? What are you suggesting?"
Her smile answers all my questions. I feel my stomach plummet into my shoes, all the blood drain out of my face, and my tail kink itself into a knot. "You...you can't possibly be serious..."
"I am as serious as a heart attack, hon. We have an entire mall practically to ourselves. You have an experienced crossdresser as your own private shopper. You are never, ever going to have a day like this in your life again. We have GOT to grab this opportunity!"
My jaw flaps a couple of times before I find words to make come out of my mouth. "But-but-but I don't have any money, and I couldn't ask you to--" Alika places her index finger over my lips and reaches into her purse. "Ah-ah-ah," she says, pulling out several small plastic oblongs, which she fans out between her fingertips like they were a winning poker hand. "Remember when I said my mom was putting herself through law school? That was a decade ago. Now, she's a partner in her firm, and she only represents clients who can pay her exorbitant--some might call 'outrageous' or 'unfair'--fees." Alika flashes me a toothy grin. Her credit cards glitter in the garish neon light of the food court. "She doesn't even look at the bills anymore, or ask what I bought. She just writes a check every month.
"Let's get one thing straight, Schrodi--I am the girl with the golden credit. YOU are a boy who needs to be pretty in the worst way. We were *destined* to run into each other today. Do you know what that means?"
I wince. "...that I'm going to end up on the evening news in a skirt?"
"It means we have shopping to do. And if you end up on the news at the end of the day, I promise you'll look FANTASTIC for the cameras."