The Flower Boy

Chapter 6
The Flower Boy, Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Sure enough, there was a pair of panties waiting for him on the counter. The pack he had picked out at the store had no variety; they were all plain and white, since he had aimed for something that looked as close to the briefs he wore when he was younger. Putting them on while standing in the privacy of the bathroom was much easier than the awkward changing process he went through in the car. 

The soft material was still unfamiliar and uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Unlike briefs, the panties hugged him down there in a more light way. He was once again tempted to refuse to go through with being the flower girl, but it was way too late for that. Fiona believed she had a solution to the problem that came up earlier, Michelle had made an agreement with him about the car, and Sophie had already taken him shopping to make him a girl for the weekend. And, of course, Sam had just shaved his body from head to toe.

Reluctantly grabbing the training bra, reminding himself that he had already briefly suffered through the feminine undergarment earlier, he slipped his arms through the holes and put it on like he would do with a shirt. The white bra matched the panties, making it appear like he had done that on purpose when it was actually Sophie who grabbed something that went with the plain underwear he had opted for.

Not that any of that mattered, when the dress his sister referenced was going to be what was seen by everyone downstairs. A fucking dress. Except that was kind of the point. Humiliating as it was, passing as a girl was what would allow him to get through the weekend without anyone but his immediate family being able to tease him about his role in the wedding afterwards. Ideally, he’d be able to be able to fade into the background more often than not. The bridal party and other relatives wouldn’t have had much in common with Mia, and now Sam was the only ‘tween’ present to take her place.

Sophie hadn’t taken the towels, thankfully. Hanging up the one he had dried off with, Sam grabbed a fresh towel to wrap around himself. There was no way in hell he was about to leave the bathroom in just girls’ underwear. Even while covered, he felt the need to crack the door and stick his head out to make sure no else was in the upstairs hallway. 

When he saw that the coast was clear, he left the privacy of the bathroom and darted to the room Sophie was staying in. He braced himself for plenty of teasing, hoping that she’d be more inclined to just get the dress-up done since there was company downstairs and they couldn’t just take forever before joining everyone. Sam was guessing he was going to have to go down there for at least a little bit, rather than hiding out in his room.

“There she is,” Sophie said, “About time, little sis. Are you ready for the rest of your makeover?”

Not really. “Sure,” he said, sounding as non-committal as possible. They both knew that he’d never really be ready for something like this.

“Where’s your ‘Samantha’ voice?” she teased, “It was so cute. Besides, you’re not allowed to be a boy this weekend.”

That was not the deal. He scowled, opening his mouth to reply but ending up getting cut off before managing to get a single word in.

Giggling slightly at the expression, since her brother toweled like a girl undercut any of his attempts to look serious, she said, “I’m kidding, Sammie. You’re allowed to be whatever you want. But you do need to get used to being treated like a kid. The bridesmaids think that you’re Mia’s age, and those of us that do know the truth are going to pretend otherwise. That’s what you want, right? For no one else to know that you’re really the flower boy this weekend?

Well, he wouldn’t say that he wanted it. As Sophie just said, letting people believe he was a girl was just better in the long run than everyone knowing that he was a college boy who could pass as a twelve year girl.

“That’s what I thought,” Sophie said. She crossed her arms, taking a step forward to exaggerate her height advantage, “So, if you want my help, take off the towel and ask me politely for a makeover. In your real voice, Samantha.”

He was too overwhelmed by the rest of it to argue about how talking like a girl was the opposite of real. Also, it was a little weird letting Sophie see him half dressed, bra or no bra. Regardless, he let the towel loosen on his body and hesitantly let it fall until he was just holding it with one hand. After clearing his throat, he tried to emulate the higher tone from a few minutes ago. “Can you give me a makeover?”

“How about, ‘Can you please give me a makeover?’ That’s how a little sister would ask a big sister.” Sophie took the towel before he could change his mind about standing there in nothing but the panties and training bra, smirking slightly as she looked him up and down. “You really do look like a 6th grader, Sammie. Your panties fit you perfectly. Guess you’re more of a grower, huh?”

As usual, Sam felt weird about any reference Sophie made to his manhood. Not dignifying the taunt with a response, or the comment about his body, he simply corrected his original question, “Can you please give me a makeover?” It sounded a little more sarcastic in his tone, which really just made him come across like a moody tween.

“Only because you asked so nicely, little sis.” Sophie took his hand and walked him all of ten feet over to the desk chair he had been seated in when she first did his hair and make-up to see if he could convincingly pass as a tween. After nudging him to sit, she took his chin and tilted his head slightly to look at his face in the overhead lighting. “Remind me, Samantha. How old are you?”

He blushed at both the leading question, as well as the proximity and physical contact that she’d never get away with under normal circumstances. “Twelve.” That’s how old they were going to say he was, anyway.

“Right,” she nodded, “You look more like thirteen or fourteen right now. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you look just right before introducing you to the others.”

His eyes narrowed at the suggestion that he naturally looked like an older middle schooler. But when being pressured to talk like a girl, any argument or comeback would be immediately undermined by the higher tone.

Stepping back for a moment, Sophie grabbed her bobby pins. “You’re twelve years old, Samantha. My shy, little sister. You know, someone might ask about school. Do you know the name of the middle school you’ll be going to this fall?”

He knew the name of the middle school that he went to when he was actually a twelve year old. Feminine voice aside, it was also difficult to push back on Sophie’s narrative when she was technically prepping him for questions he might have to deal with. His age, his school, etc. If he were pretending to be a boy in Mia’s grade, he’d have an easier time shifting the details of his past to his present. As a ‘girl,’ however, he was bound to run into any number of things that might trip him up.

“Samantha.” Sophie snapped her fingers in front of his face. “How old are you?”

The gesture succeeded in breaking him out of the thoughts that were sparked by the very girl who was now getting him to focus up in the most bratty way possible. He almost responded in his natural voice, but paused to adjust. “Twelve.”

“And you’re starting middle school this fall. Sixth grade, right?”

He blushed again, muttering in the girly tone. “Yeah. At Maplewood Middle.”

“Don’t forget it, Samantha,” she smiled, “You’re twelve years old. About to start sixth grade. If anyone asks, you’re my little sister.”

With everything else Sophie was throwing at him, Sam was oblivious to her not so subtle repetition of his false age. For her, it was less about conditioning and more about normalizing his ‘Samantha’ role. The more he heard it, the better. Sooner or later, he’d say some of those phrases himself without hesitation.

There was just one part that didn’t quite work. “I can’t be your sister,” he pointed out. While he didn’t really know the bridesmaids, or the extended family of his step-sisters, at least a few of them would know that they had a brother.

Sophie considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “We’ll figure it out. Little girls don’t have to worry about stuff like that. I’ll talk to your mommy, and let you know how your twelve year old self fits into all of this. Okay? Okay.” Deciding that conversation was over with a few more jabs about his transformation, she said, “Close your eyes, Samantha. I’d hate for you to get any breast envy.”

He cringed at how she had shifted ‘don’t stare at my boobs’ to something that would be more relevant to his current identity. Sam wasn’t attracted to her due to their relationship and her general attitude towards him, but her chest was at eye level. He would have averted his gaze or closed his eyes anyway, like he did when Sophie first put make-up on him, except now he had to deal with it seeming like he did so because she told him to.

“Hold still, Sammie,” she said, “I’m going to start with your hair. Luckily for you, a few of my girlfriends have short hair. Not quite this short, but close enough. Remind me how old you are?” She collected his bangs and pinned them up, making his hair look less boy-ish while also making his face more accessible for the next part.

The nonchalant question caught Sam a little off guard. After a small pause, he said, “Twelve.”

“Almost.” Sophie kept working on his hair, adept at talking while she was helping another girl out. The only difference was that she had to frequently bite her lip whenever she heard her brother’s girl voice or when she caught a glimpse of his hairless frame in a training bra. “You’re twelve, not ten. You’re a big girl, Samantha; try to sound like it. And make sure you answer right away. We don’t want anyone getting suspicious, do we?”

He stayed silent. Smug and patronizing as she was acting, they were technically on the same side when it came to him passing as a tween girl. They had completely different motivations, of course. And he still wasn’t comfortable talking as if he were the opposite gender, even if practicing was the only way to get it right downstairs.

After a few more pins, his hair was done. Sophie took his chin again, angling him in a few different ways to make sure it worked. With the added bonus of treating her older sibling like a doll. “How old are you, Samantha? What grade are you in? Where are you going to school?”

So much for avoiding the awkward tone. Adjusting his vocal cords slightly in an attempt to age himself up a year or two from the previous attempt, knowing that hesitating would give her another excuse to lecture him, he said, “Twelve. I’m-” That’s as far as he got before Sophie insisted that he say the whole thing. He grimaced, about to try again, only to be instructed to smile on top of everything else. After all, he couldn’t look annoyed or irritated about such a basic question. Sam let out a heavy sigh, then forced a small smile. “I’m twelve years old. I’m about to start 6th grade at Maplewood Middle.” It was so fucking awkward. All of it.

Sophie had a different impression. “That’s so fucking precious,” she giggled, “Sucks that Mia couldn’t make it, but you’ll honestly make a better flower girl than she would. How do your panties fit, by the way?”

‘They’re not mine’ was on the tip of his tongue. Asserting that in a feminine voice wouldn’t do him any favors, plus he could easily guess Sophie’s response about how they literally bought the panties for him. If they weren’t his, whose were they?

“Aww, don’t pout,” Sophie teased, reading his expression as easily as he could predict some of her antics. They weren’t that close as siblings, though living in the same house for a few years meant they knew each other to some degree. “Time for your make-up, Samantha. Be a good little girl and hold still for me, okay?” Without waiting for him to respond, she started applying foundation to his face.

Outside the current day, Sam had no experience whatsoever with make-up. While Sophie’s brushing wasn’t particularly rough, it didn’t feel that gentle either. He did his best not to flinch as she hit every inch. Then it was onto the contour and blush that made him look both more childish and more feminine at the same time.

Every now and then, Sophie would pause and ask Sam the same questions. Gradually getting him used to stating that he was twelve, and a soon to be middle schooler. Also, making sure his tween girl voice was consistent.

“Almost done, little sis,” she said, sticking with that relationship despite how it wouldn’t actually work when introducing him to Fiona’s friends and family, “One more thing. What’s your name? Your full name, I mean.”

It was one thing when Sophie called him that. As much as he didn’t want to say it himself, he didn’t have much of a choice. ‘Samantha’ was more convincing than ‘Sam.’ Once again forcing a polite smile, he said, “Samantha.” Again, he was pressured to say the whole thing. “My name is Samantha.” The blush his sister had applied wasn’t enough to hide the natural hue of his cheeks as he went along with the name change.

“Perfect,” Sophie smirked, “This is going to be so much fun. Remember, Sammie. You are a GIRL from now on. You wear panties and bras. You like pink. If anyone asks, you’re crushing on a cute boy named Tyler.” Upon seeing his negative reaction to that, she scoffed and said, “Relax, sis. I’m kidding. Mostly. You should be prepared for someone asking you about crushes. I guess you can be a tween lesbian, but liking boys would draw less attention to you.”

He didn’t care that he was going to be disguised for the weekend. If someone brought that up, he was going to figure out a way to steer the conversation in a different direction. As much as he hated to admit it, Sophie was right about there not really being a good response. His straight sexuality didn’t exactly work when he was pretending to be the opposite gender. Thankfully, ‘twelve’ was an age where no one would expect him to be dating or anything like that.

“You can open your eyes now,” she said.

Keeping them closed for so long had felt a bit unnatural, so he did just that. What he didn’t expect, however, was for Sophie’s cleavage to basically be right in front of his face. His eyes widened, and he immediately glanced away. Not that it mattered.

Sophie called him out right away for how he had been briefly staring out of surprise. “Breast envy?” she taunted, “Give it a year or two, Samantha. I started blossoming more near the end of middle school. Ooh, we can go bra shopping together when you actually have tits.”

Similar to the way he didn’t need his sister’s boobs right in his eyeline, hearing her use crass terms like that wasn’t his favorite. “Can I get dressed now?” he asked. He really didn’t want to put on the dress Sophie had referenced in the bathroom; at the same time, sitting around in girls’ underwear for an extended period of time didn’t feel comfortable either.

“In a minute,” she said, “Do you want me to do your nails? You’d look more like a girl like that.” Little by little, it was easier to push that leaning into the disguise was a good thing. No nail polish? His hands might not look feminine enough. It worked particularly well on a boy who was clueless about all the things that girls did to get themselves ready for any given day.

No, he didn’t want his nails painted. Yet he begrudgingly admitted that she was right about how anything that helped avoid someone noticing his real gender was the way to go. “Fine,” he huffed.

Sophie just rolled her eyes. “Ask nicely, Samantha.”

Brat. With another sigh, he said, “Please do my nails?”

“‘Pretty please, my amazing big sister, will you paint my nails and make me the cutest little girl in the whole world?’” Sophie laughed at her over-exaggerated correction, not actually expecting him to repeat it. Just saying those words as if she were him was enough. She turned and knelt down to look through her suitcase. “We should have picked up some pink nail polish while we were out. I didn’t pack any. Hmm, what about white? Matches your bra, at least. And goes with most of your new clothes.”

He wasn’t about to complain. Between pink and white, the latter was more tolerable. 

Standing back up with the small bottle in hand, Sophie walked back up to him and took his hand as if such contact were just as normal as everything else she had thrown at him recently. “Since you asked nicely, Samantha, I’ll do your nails for you.” Waiting until he met her eyes, she added, “You’re going to be well behaved downstairs, right? No one wants to deal with a bratty flower girl.”