"Does my butt look big in these jeans?" I asked my sister Teri.
"Actually, it kind of does, but in a good way," she said. "What do you think, Lori?"
Lori, my other sister, came out of the hotel bathroom wearing a towel and brushing her long brunette hair. She took a good look at me in the skintight jeans.
"It's a bubble butt," she said, giggling. "I can't believe my brother has a bubble butt! It's curvier than my butt!" She pulled her towel up and pointed to her butt, which did not stick out as far as mine.
Both of my sisters collapsed in gales of laughter, and I blushed beet red.
"Stop it!" I said. "Both of you stop it right now! You know I'm only dressed this way because it's important to Mom's career. If it wasn't for that I'd be dressed in my guy clothes!"
"What guy clothes?" Mom said, walking into the bedroom, a smile on her face. "You know your suitcase was lost by the airline, and you don't have any guy clothes right now. The only clothes you have are the girl clothes I bought you in the shop downstairs in the hotel lobby, and I must say, they do look good on you."
"Yeah, he looks cuter than both of us," Teri said. "I'm insanely jealous. I wish I looked as good in a pair of jeans and a satin top. All he needs is a bit more work on his lips and eyes and he'll be a knockout. Come over here, Robin, and I'll make up your face."
I walked over to the dressing table with the big mirror and sat down. The jeans I was wearing felt even tighter when I sat down, and the tiny little thong panties my Mom had bought me were wedged in between my cheeks, and tight as a drum in my crotch area, so that was making me uncomfortable. I squirmed in the chair, trying to find the right position, and Teri got annoyed.
"Sit still," she said. "If you move I'll mess up your eye shadow, and then your cute blue eyes won't look as good.
How did I get myself into this predicament? I thought as Teri worked on me. Okay, I know I'm not the most manly looking boy. I have long blonde hair, blue eyes, a smooth complexion, a pert button nose, a high voice and the body of a girl. I don't know how, but puberty didn't happen for me like it did for other guys. I went through changes, but instead of getting facial hair, a deeper voice, and bigger muscles, the only thing I got was wider hips. My hips, butt and thighs started growing a year ago, when I was 15, and now I really did have a bubble butt most girls would be proud of. A month ago Lori got out her measuring tape and took my measurements, and they were like a girl's -- 34A-28-36 on a 5'6" 120 pound frame.
My personality is like a girl's too, I guess. I get emotional sometimes, and I throw temper tantrums.
Like now. My sisters were giggling nonstop about what a cute girl I made, and I finally had enough.
"That's it!" I shrieked, getting up from the chair and walking across the room. "I've had it with you two! I'm a boy, not a girl, and don't you ever forget it!"
"Did you see the way his hips moved when he walked in those heels?" Lori said.
"Oh, yes," Teri said. "He could be a runway model, the way he wiggles his hips."
They started laughing uncontrollably, till tears were running down their faces.
"That's enough, you two!" Mom said. "Stop teasing Robin. It's not his fault he makes a cute girl. But he has to play the role now, or I'll lose my job." She came over and put her arms around me to keep me from crying. "You know that, right, honey? You're just going to have to pretend to be a girl from now on when you're at company functions with me. It won't be that hard. After all, I work for a company that makes the cutest clothes for girls to wear. So you'll have the best wardrobe of any girl in your school!"
Well, that got my sisters laughing again, which made Mom burst out into giggles, and made me blush again.
It was pretty funny, I admit, how this all happened. We didn't have much money when I was younger, mostly because my Dad left us when I was only six, and he left Mom in a bad situation -- three children to raise and a pile of debts he'd run up from his gambling habit. We had to move to a tiny house in a sketchy area of town, and there were times when I had to wear my sisters' hand-me-down clothes because my Mom couldn't afford to buy clothes for me.
Mom had a college degree in Marketing, but because of our desperate situation she couldn't use it. She had to take any job she could get, and that turned out to be working for a company that specialized in cleaning rich people's houses.
She did that job for years, but one day she was sent on a special job: the company sent her and a crew of women to clean the mansion of Arabella St. Jean, the owner of a line of women's boutiques. Arabella was a self-made woman, extremely wealthy, and she was a fiercely pro-woman boss. She surrounded herself with only women at the top levels of her organization -- she made it clear she liked working with them a lot more than men.
So one day, Arabella was home when my Mom was cleaning, and my Mom came up with a marketing slogan for her. Why don't you try something like "Tight and Right"? she said. "Your clothes are very tight anyway, so it's a bit of wordplay on that."
Arabella liked this idea from a cleaning woman, and after that she asked my Mom for more slogans, and advice on her campaigns. Next thing you know she decided to hire Mom as her Marketing Manager.
My sisters were overjoyed, because they had just turned 20 and 21, and they loved dressing sexy, and now with Mom's bigger salary they could afford it. They liked it even more when Mom said she got a discount on all the clothes at Arabella's boutiques.
We moved into a bigger house in a better class of town, and Mom enrolled me in a new school. I was going into my third year of high school, and I was excited.
Then disaster hit. We went on that vacation, which was to a fancy mountain resort in Nevada, and the airline lost all my luggage en route.
"I have no clothes!" I whined, as Mom filled out the form at the lost baggage claim counter.
"That's a problem," Mom said. "We're going to a dinner reception for Arabella's franchisees tonight, and I need you there, and dressed to the nines."
"We can buy me some new clothes in town."
"Uh, no, we can't."
"Because I told Arabella I have three daughters."
"What? Why would you do that?"
"Because she doesn't like boys. She can't stand them, as a matter of fact. I think it helped me get the job when I told her I was a single mother with three daughters. You're going to have to dress as a girl and pretend, sweetie."