Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Puppy Love and Sherbet

Ethan experiences love and loss.
 

The phone rang at precisely 7:03 PM. Ethan had been staring at it since 6:57, pacing around the living room in socks and a pressed button-down shirt—though he wasn’t sure why he’d bothered to dress up. It’s not like she could see him.

“Hello?” he answered, trying to sound casual.

“Well, hello there, Miss Emily,” came Ivy’s voice, sing-song and bright, as if she were standing in the sunshine with a milkshake in one hand and secrets in the other. “Or is this Ethan tonight? I get so confused.”

Ethan swallowed. “It’s—it’s just me.”

“‘Just me,’ he says,” Ivy teased. “That’s not very exciting. I was hoping to speak to the young lady who models high heels and makes shy eyes at me when I hand her a shoebox.”

He blushed so hard it felt like his ears had gone hot. “I—I don’t make shy eyes…”

“Oh sweetie, you absolutely do.” Ivy paused just long enough for the silence to feel meaningful. “So, tell me. Are you done with your housewife chores for your mommy?”

“Ivy... stop it!”

There was a giggle, then: “You know, dusting, polishing the silver, folding frilly napkins for afternoon tea. I assume your schedule’s pretty full. Must be exhausting being mommy’s perfect little housewife.”

Ethan sat on the armrest of the couch and covered his face with one hand. “You don’t know anything about it,” he muttered.

“Don’t I?” she said. “I’ve heard things, Ethan.”

“What… what things?”

“All sorts of things.” Ivy lowered her voice to a velvet whisper. “How about underthings?”

Ethan stood up so fast the phone cord tugged taut. “Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come on, sissy boy. Don’t you dare pretend no one’s whispered about it. I have ears, and Estelle has opinions.” Ivy giggled. “She said you’re the only boy she’s ever known who can walk better in a panty girdle than in pants.”

“I don’t wear—!” He stopped. That wasn’t true. He did wear. Everything.

“Mmhm. So, just between us girls,” Ivy purred, “what color are the panties under your wittle girdle? Pink? Lavender? Something with cute wittle bows, maybe?”

“Ivy!”

“I’m just asking, Ethan. It’s called conversation.” She laughed. “You can tell me. I promise I won’t faint.”

He sat back down, flustered and barely breathing. “You always tease me like this. It’s… so embarrassing.”

“Isn’t it?” He could hear her giggle through the earpiece. “Come on, tell me. I won’t say a word. What color are they? Come on, my pretty little sissy… tell Ivy all about it…”

“You’re awful,” he muttered.

There was that giggle again. “Maybe. But we’re having fun, too, right? So come on, tell Ivy all about your… pan-ties.”

“Okay,” Ethan whispered. A thrill swept over him as he worked up the courage to speak. “They… they’re usually white. S-sometimes… pink… or yellow. Depending on what Mother picks out for me.”

“Depending on what 'Mother' picks out for you, hmm?” Ivy sang the words like a commercial jingle. “How sweet. You are such a mama’s boy, you know that?”

Ethan didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m not making fun. Well, yes I am. But I can’t help it! It’s so adorable, you being so devoted to your mom like that. It really suits you, you sweet wittle mama’s boy.”

“Don’t be so mean,” he groaned, though he didn’t really want her to stop. “Why are you like this?”

“Because you’re cute when you blush, and because I’ve never had a friend like you. All my other guy friends just talk about their cars or their dumb sports. But you? You sew doll clothes and curtsy when you’re nervous. You make beautiful dresses with your mom and you wait on your aunties hand and foot.”

There was a long pause. Ethan started to say something in his defense, but was interrupted with:

“Yesterday I heard you even do housework in your panties.”

“Ivy!”

There was giggling on the other end of the line. “So it’s true! Come on, ‘fess up. I’m right aren’t I? Don’t you dare lie to me!”

Ethan bit his lip. Then he nodded. “Maybe.”

Ivy laughed. “You actually admitted it! Oh my God, Ethan, I can’t even! If only I could see your face right now. I bet you’re as red as your aunt’s lipstick.”

“You’re probably right,” he said wryly.

“That’s one of my favorite things about you, how you blush like crazy. That day when you came into the store, clinging to your Aunt Vivian’s skirt—”

“I was not clinging to her skirt!”

“Well, you just as well have, as scared as you looked.” Ivy’s voice was husky, excited. “Your face got all red and you were so shy. At one point you looked like you were about to cry. It was adorable!”

A moment passed as Ethan caught his breath. Part of him hated this conversation—but the other part… was thrilled.

“Adorable?” he finally whispered.

“Yes, adorable! I love how all I have to do is look at you, or say the word ‘panties’ and you get all flustered and red-faced. You’re my dream girlfriend.”

He spluttered. “I—I am not—!”

“Relax, girlfriend.” She giggled. “What’s the matter, Emily? Don’t you like being called ‘girlfriend’? Would you prefer boyfriend, then? My pwetty wittle boyfwiend Ethan… in his pwetty wittle panties? The pwetty panties his mommy waid out fo' him?”

There was a silence then, but not an empty one. Ethan could hear the smile in her voice as he tried to think of something to say.

“You’re so mean,” he finally said, his voice shaking, emotional… aroused.

“And you’re so sweet,” she replied warmly.

Another silence, then: “You really don’t mind? Don’t think it’s… weird? The wig? The clothes? Me being Emily?”

“Mind? Ethan, I live for it.” Ivy’s tone softened. “I think it’s brave and wonderful. And, yes, weird. But it’s also sweet. And… yeah, really fun. I know I tease you a lot, maybe too much, but that’s because I really like you. I mean, I feel like I get to talk to both halves of this amazing, fascinating person. You’ re not like anybody I’ve ever met. You’re a walking diary in panties and ballet flats.”

That made him smile, even if it was slightly against his will.

“So listen,” Ivy went on, as if changing the subject but not really, “If I were to casually, not-at-all-formally, invite you out for some window shopping this weekend… and if I happened to expect a certain someone to show up in lip gloss… and a pair yellow panties…”

Ethan bit his lip. “You mean… Emily.”

“Mm-hmm. Well, you, but dressed as Emily, if you like.” The giggle over the phone sounded like music. “Emily’s cute, but Ethan in a dress—I can’t even!”

Ethan smiled. He loved it when she said that. “So… a date? In public?”

“Of course! That’s where all the windows are when you go window shopping, you silly thing!” There was a pause. “If you’re worried about any gossipmongers, everybody in town will be at the big game Friday night, and the shops won’t have many local customers, just tourists.”

“Well, then…” Ethan thought for a moment. Part of him was terrified at what she was asking—the other part couldn’t wait to make it happen. “I guess I’ll have to check with my mother,” he said softly.

“All right, mama’s boy. You go check with mommy.” Ivy’s voice had dropped to something gentler now, something like affection. “And you can’t make it, send Emily instead. I’ll treat her to whatever flavor sherbet she likes if she lets me ask one or two more nosy questions.”

“You already are nosy.”

“I know. But I’m cute, so I get away with it.”

There was a pause.

Then, very quietly, Ethan asked, “Are you being serious, Ivy? You really want me to show up as Emily. In a dress, I mean?”

Ivy answered without hesitation. “Ethan, I hope you do. I’d insist on it if I could. Because I want to spend time with the whole you. I’ve seen you as a boy and as your sissy self, and as far as I’m concerned, they both make up the real Ethan Martin.”

And before he could say anything else, she added, “Be sure you wear yellow panties.”

“Yellow panties?” Before he could finish the words—click—she hung up.

Ethan sat there in the quiet for a long time, still holding the receiver.

Still smiling.

The dial tone buzzed in the receiver, but Ethan kept holding it, cradled against his chest like a locket. He stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching with a dopey little smile he couldn’t quite suppress.

He didn’t even notice the creak of the floorboards in the kitchen.

 

* * *
 

Colleen gave Penelope a sideways glance and lifted a finger to her lips. Penelope’s eyes twinkled. They both leaned, ever so slightly, toward the living room where they could see the smiling boy lying on the sofa. Neither woman said a word. Not yet.

Ethan let out a dreamy sigh and whispered to himself, “She asked me on a date.”

Penelope arched a perfect silver brow. Colleen stifled a giggle.

“Well,” Colleen said brightly, “someone’s got a look on his face like he’s just been kissed through the telephone.”

The startled boy jolted upright like a marionette, cheeks flaming. “Wh-what? I wasn’t—I mean, it wasn’t—!”

Penelope glided in behind Colleen and perched her immense assets elegantly on the arm of the sofa. “Relax, darling,” she said airily. “We only heard bits. Just enough to assume you’re being seduced by a salesgirl.”

“Ivy is not—!”

“Oh, so it’s Ivy now, not Miss Ivy?” Penelope’s eyes sparkled. “I just love the way you say her name, Ivy. Ah, puppy love! It takes me back to my youth.”

Colleen crossed the room in three quick steps and picked up the still-warm receiver from Ethan’s lap. She pressed it to her ear.

“Hello, Ivy? This is Ethan’s mother. Just wanted to say thank you for turning my son into a puddle.”

“Mom!” Ethan groaned, reaching to snatch the phone away. Colleen let him, but only after giving him a motherly pat on his cheek.

Penelope leaned her chin into her hand and drawled, “So tell me, Mother, what do you think about your baby seeing an older woman?”

Colleen smirked. “Oh, I think it’s adorable. And frankly, not all that surprising. From what I’ve seen, he’s always had a thing for older women. He does keep quite the collection, doesn’t he?”

Penelope preened. “Present company included, of course.”

“Of course!”

“Then again,” the old woman cooed, “according to what Vivian told me, this Ivy looks an awful lot like a young teenaged Colleen O’brien.” She shot the horrified boy a playful wink. “No wonder your son finds her so attractive.”

“Penelope!” Colleen smacked her on the shoulder. “You’re awful! You’ll give the boy a complex.”

“How’s that old song go?—” Penelope put her finger to her chin, thinking— “I want a girl… just like the girl… who married dear old dad…”

Ethan was aghast. “Auntie Penelope! That’s not why I—”

“Don’t fuss at me, dear heart—I’m just repeating what Her Honor told me. And you know what a stickler she is for the truth.”

The two women laughed. Ethan buried his face in his hands and mumbled something unintelligible.

Colleen sat beside him and smoothed his tousled hair. “Darling, we’re only teasing. But I do have to ask—are you sure you’re ready for this? She is… you know, a little older than you. I just don’t want you getting too attached. Just in case.”

Ethan peeked up at her, shy bordering on mortified. “I know, I know. But she is so nice to me. Me as me… and me when I dress up as Emily. Even if she does tease me a little bit.”

“You should be used to that by now,” Colleen said. “Between us and your cousin Dani—”

“And Aunt DeeDee,” he said, rolling his eyes. He sighed. “I know she’s older, but it’s just a couple of years.”

“Seventeen, almost eighteen.” His mother rubbed his shoulder, maternal, supportive. “That’s a lot older than thirteen.”

Ethan sighed. “Yeah, well, I really do like her, Mother. Girls my age are so messed up.”

Penelope, less gentle but no less sincere, added, “Older girls can be complicated, too, you know. Especially ones who flirt like it’s a sport.”

“She doesn’t flirt that much,” Ethan muttered.

Both women stared at him.

“She flirts a little,” he conceded. “Okay, a lot.”

Colleen tilted her head. “And how does that make you feel, baby?”

Ethan hesitated. Then, very softly, he said, “I kind of like it. And no, I don’t even mind the teasing… at least she’s not mean about it. Not like the girls at school. I mean—” he struggled with his thoughts—”it’s just… she sees me. Not just ‘Emily.’ The real me. I really like that.”

Penelope’s teasing expression softened. She reached out and tapped his knee with her fingers.

“Then maybe it’s time we all started seeing more of the real you, too.”

The room went quiet for a moment.

Colleen kissed his temple, then stood and adjusted her apron. “Well. We’ll leave you to your daydreams, sweetheart. But don’t float away entirely—we still expect you to set the table. Even puddles have chores.”

As the two women swept out, Penelope tossed one last line over her shoulder:

“And if this Ivy does take you out for sherbet, be sure to wear the yellow panties. I hear they’re her favorite.”

“Auntie Penelope!”

They went back to the kitchen, cackling and chatting away happily.

Ethan lay back on sofa, heart racing, face burning, and—despite everything—smiling.

 

* * *
 

The bell above the door hadn’t chimed all morning. A rare quiet settled over Estelle’s boutique like a satin glove. Ivy moved with her usual ballet-like ease, rearranging pumps by color and heel height, but her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

Estelle watched her for a moment before speaking.

“You’ve been grinning like a cat with a bow on its tail all morning, sugar. Care to share with the class?”

Ivy turned, startled. “I haven’t been—”

Estelle raised a hand. “Please. I’ve known you since you wore jelly sandals and cried when I ran out of glitter polish. Something’s up.”

Ivy hesitated, then crossed the floor and leaned against the counter, fiddling with a stray bobby pin in her pocket.

“Okay, so... I made a phone call last night.”

Estelle smirked. “To the blushing boy in the blonde wig?”

Ivy’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you—”

“Honey, I see things. The way you doted over him. And those little whispers you thought we didn’t hear? Please. And the way he looks at you? Like you’re the fairy godmother and the pumpkin carriage.”

Ivy tried to look indignant, but it melted into a smirk. “He’s... sweet. And weird. And... kind of wonderful.”

“And thirteen,” Estelle said pointedly, arching a brow.

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Ivy groaned. “It’s not like that. I just... I like talking to him. He listens. And he’s got that shy, fragile little voice like he’s always halfway to disappearing.”

Estelle folded her arms. “You’re falling for a paper doll, darling.”

“I’m not falling!” Ivy insisted. “It’s just—he makes me want to tease him. I can’t help myself. But also... I want to protect him. Like, I want to see how far he’ll go when I ask him about lip gloss and heels, but I also want to slap the next kid who calls him names.”

Estelle softened.

“That’s called affection, sweetheart. Messy kind. The real kind.”

There was a silence, then Ivy asked, carefully:

“You really don’t think it’s awful? That I’m... flirting with a boy who’s so young. And sews dresses and answers to a girl’s name sometimes? A real life mama’s boy?”

Estelle snorted.

“I think you’re giving a very lost boy the rarest gift in the world—being seen, as he is. No pretending, no fixing. Just seen.”

“I still haven’t told him about college.”

The old woman nodded. “Don’t you think you should?”

“I guess.” Ivy huffed. “I know I need to. He’s so sensitive. I think he might cry when I do.”

“That’s puppy love, darling.” Estelle smiled. “He’s young, and yes, he might cry. But he’ll survive. I can tell you this: he’ll always remember you. You’re his first love and believe you me, first loves, even fleeting ones, last forever.”

Ivy nodded. “I was a little naughty.” She looked down, smiling to herself. “Maybe more than a little.”

“Oh? Do tell!” Estelle’s grin turned wicked. “Come on, Ivy, what did you do?”

“I told him we should go out… together…”

“That doesn’t sound very naughty. It’s rather sweet, in fact—”

“… And I heard you and the Judge talking about how his mother makes him wear panty girdles.” The teenager glanced up and giggled. “So I asked him about it—”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. And he said it was true.” Ivy giggled. “So, I told him when we go out, to wear yellow panties… you know, underneath.”

“Ivy!” The old woman put her hand to her mouth, but that didn’t quell her laughter. “You’re just awful!”

“I wonder where I got that?”

“Guilty as charged.” Estelle’s eyes twinkled. “So, what did your little girlfriend say?”

Ivy grinned. “He didn’t say he wouldn’t.”

The shopkeeper chuckled and turned away, reaching into a cabinet. She pulled out a delicate pink gift box, tied with ribbon. “Take this,” she said, sliding it across the counter. “I was going to give it to him, or Emily… or whoever showed up the next time they visited, but you do it instead.”

“What is it?”

“Stockings, you know, the ones with the lace tops. A pack of three. Our Pastel Pastiche line. They’ll enhance those blushing cheeks of his.” She winked. “Tell him they’re from you.”

Ivy grinned and tucked it into her purse. “He’ll die.”

“Good,” Estelle said. “Dying’s the first step toward transformation.”

 

* * *
 

Thursday afternoon Ethan wandered into the kitchen where Colleen was slicing peaches for a cobbler.

“So, what’s new with your girlfriend?” she sang sweetly. “I heard you on the phone. Are you two still going out?”

“Kinda,” he mumbled. “She wants to go out tomorrow night… with Emily. If that’s all right with you.”

Colleen turned, holding her paring knife like a scepter. “Oh? The big not-a-date-but-maybe-a-date?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but his ears flushed pink. “We’re just going for sherbet and maybe walking around. That’s all. Window shopping.” He pursed his lips. “She says most of the locals will be at the big game, so I don’t have to worry about anybody from school seeing us. Well, me.”

“Mmm, I think that’s a fine idea,” she said, wiping her hands. “From what Vivian says she’ll be good for you. Well, you and Emily.”

“I… I don’t know what to wear….”

Colleen frowned. “Hmm… maybe we can try something a bit more grown up. Not too grown up, of course. You don’t want to look like a tart.”

Ethan sighed. “Yes, Mother.”

 

* * *
 

Colleen’s choice—a soft green mini-dress with capped sleeves and a low, square-cut collar that showed off Ethan’s upper chest, and a hem that reached mid-thigh—walking the line between sweet and stylish. A white lace bra with some slight padding, yellow panties dripping with lace trim. And a heavily reinforced panty girdle with decorative embroidered spandex panel in front—to prevent any embarrassing bulges.

Add to all that white knee-high stockings with tiny bows at the top, a matching green headband over his blonde wig—the one with the bangs and the flip—and the white T-straps with heart-shaped cutouts that Vivian bought at Estelle’s. The final touch was a soft white cardigan with tiny pearl buttons draped neatly over his shoulders.

Early Friday evening Ethan smoothed the skirt of his dress as Colleen finished his makeup. She applied one final touch of gloss. His eyes were already done up with a bit of pink shadow and the slightest hint of mascara, just enough to enhance the wide-eyed look that had become his trademark style. His ears sported the faux pearl drops and Dani’s charm bracelet decorated his wrist. The silver angel pendant rested at the hollow of his throat.

“You look lovely, Emily,” she said, beaming. “Very Natalie Wood-ish.”

“Mother—”

“Oh, I’m teasing. Partly.” She smiled. “Seriously, though… in that dress you look almost as old as Ivy.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She leaned in with a wink. “Remember, if you do get ice cream, just one scoop. We don’t want Emily getting chubby.”

“Yes, Mother.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “You sound just like Auntie Vivian.”

“Oh my goodness!” Colleen feigned dismay. “Don’t be saying that!”

They drove in quiet, fluttery silence to Estelle’s boutique. When Colleen parked out front, Ethan could already see Ivy inside through the window, pacing and grinning like a cat.

Estelle opened the boutique door before they even reached it. “Well, well! If it isn’t the belle of the square.” She glanced at the purse in Ethan’s hands, a pearl-white clutch with a gold chain. “Oooo, what a lovely little purse! Wherever did you get that, I wonder?”

“It’s his—er, her—favorite,” Colleen said with a laugh. “She carries it quite often.”

“I’m glad she likes it,” the shopkeeper chirped gaily. “I admire your taste in shoes, too, Emily.”

Ethan stepped inside, blushing furiously. Ivy greeted mother and “daughter” wearing a white sleeveless blouse and a navy blue skirt with nude heels—her work clothes—all grins and bouncing curls. She looked the cross-dressed boy up and down with a slow whistle.

“Daaang, Emily. Look at you! I feel underdressed. That dress is awesome—and those stockings are to die for. I can’t even!”

“She took her time getting ready.” Colleen grinned, giving her cross-dressed son a light peck on the lips. “You know how teenaged girls are.”

“I’m right here,” Ethan mumbled.

Estelle cleared her throat. “Ivy, speaking of stockings… don’t you have something—”

“Oh, that’s right!” Ivy produced a small white package tied with a pink ribbon. “A little gift. It’s not much, but I thought you’d like.”

Ethan took the package and unwrapped it. He pursed his lips as soon as he saw the coral pink lace, then the soft yellow and muted lavender. “Oh gosh, Ivy… they’re… so pretty.”

All eyes were on the cross-dressed boy as he examined the stockings. None missed the little wiggle he made as he ran the delicate material over his fingers, lightly caressing the satin bows. Eyebrows raised and knowing smiles were exchanged as they each confirmed what the other was thinking.

Colleen nudged her son. “What do we say, Emily? Don’t be rude.”

Ethan woke from his thoughts. “Oh, um, thank you, Ivy.” He did a little dip and smiled shyly. “I really like them. A lot!”

The teenaged girl grinned. “I thought you might. Estelle said they’d bring out the blush in your cheeks. She was right, as usual.”

“See? I know what I’m talking about,” the shopkeeper said.

Colleen took the stockings and put them back in their packaging. “They really are gorgeous, Ivy,” she said. “And I have the perfect materials and patterns for some outfits that will do them justice.”

Ivy glowed. “I’ve no doubt. You’ll have to send me pictures when you get’em done.” Ethan blushed as she bumped hips with him. “I can’t wait to see you in them!”

At this point the older ladies began chatting away. Ivy grabbed her purse and slipped her arm through Ethan’s. “Come on, girlfriend. Let’s let these old ladies do their thing. Later, y’all!”

Estelle laughed. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, girls,” she called as Ivy led Ethan toward the door.

“And that leaves plenty of wiggle room,” Colleen added with a smirk.

“The emphasis on ‘wiggle.’” Estelle chuckled. She then turned and guided her guest toward the back of the store. “Come sit a while, dear. I want to discuss a business proposition…”

The boutique door closed behind them, and Ethan felt the first warm blush of twilight spill over his shoulders as Ivy tugged him toward Main Street.

“Okay, first question,” Ivy said, looping her arm through his. “Are you more of a lemon sorbet or strawberry girl?”

Emily blinked. “Is there a right answer?”

Ivy laughed. “We’ll soon find out.”

 

* * *
 

The shops along the street were bathed in golden light, their windows filled with end of summer dresses, hats, and shoes on sale. Ethan was more than a little nervous, being in downtown Maplewood en femme, but—just as Ivy predicted—foot traffic was meager and the few people they encountered were out-of-towners shoppers and tourists who paid no more attention to him than they did his date.

Ivy must have noticed his shyness as she took the lead, walking with a confident bounce in her step, chatting as she went, occasionally stopping to point out something she liked—or something she wanted Emily to try on.

“I mean, seriously, you’ve got the legs for this skirt,” she said, tapping the glass of one boutique window. “It would be a crime not to try it on.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for crimes,” Ethan murmured.

Ivy smirked. “You already committed fashion theft in that dress. By the way, is that another one of your creations?”

The cross-dressed boy shrugged and smiled shyly. “I helped with it. Mom already had the pattern… I just added some detail to the collar and sleeves.

“Well, it is fabulous!” Ivy pulled him close, brushing her cheek against his as she plucked and pulled at the material, admiring the craftsmanship. “You ought to do this for a living. Honestly, I can’t even! I love me a prissy little sissy boy who can make such wonderful dresses!”

Ethan blushed furiously and looked away. Ivy’s teasing was relentless, but never cruel. She seemed fascinated, amused, and maybe even a little bit… charmed?

“So…” she said as they continued their walk. “Do you really take care of all the chores around your house? Please tell me you’re actually your mom’s little maidservant! Or is that just hopeful thinking on my part?”

Ethan sighed. They’d talked about this on the phone more than a few times, but either Ivy couldn’t get enough of it, or she just liked making him blush. “I do some of the chores. Well, most of them. You know, washing dishes, laundry. Sweeping. Dusting. Stuff like that.”

“Apron and all?” The older girl giggled. “I heard you sometimes wear a maid’s costume. Tell me it’s true!”

“It is… I did it once or twice.” He saw the “You better not lie to me” look on her face and bit his lip. “Okay, more than that. I did get paid for it, though.”

“You poor little Cinderella,” Ivy said dramatically, fanning herself with her hand. “Next you’ll tell me you scrub floors in pearls.”

Ethan snorted. “Only on Tuesdays.”

Ivy drug him to a shop with a pastel display in the window and pointed to a pale pink party dress with a white chiffon skirt. It looked like something a high school debutante might wear to the big homecoming dance.

“That. That is the one. It’s so you! Come on, Emily. It’s fate.”

Before he could protest, she had pulled open the boutique door and dragged him inside.

The clerk barely looked up from folding scarves. “Hey, Teri!” Ivy called out. “Don’t mind us… we’re just browsing. Gonna try on a few things.”

“Fine by me,” the other girl said. “If you need anything I’ll be out front on a smoke break.

Ivy giggled, then made a beeline for the rack. She plucked the chiffon dress like a prize and held it up against the flustered boy.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “This one’s got your name on it. And it's your size. Imagine that!”

Ethan shifted on his feet. “I don’t think I should—”

“Oh, you’re such a baby,” Ivy said, eyes gleaming. “Girls try things on all the time. You don’t have to buy it.”

“Are you sure?—”

She pushed him firmly toward the dressing rooms in back. “Girl, you may look the part, but you have so much to learn.”

Inside the small fitting room, Emily reached for the curtain, but Ivy slipped in after him.

“Ivy—”

“Don’t be such a goody two-shoes… Emily,” she said, grinning. “I keep telling you, us girls do this kind of thing when we go out. It’s expected, so get used to it!”

She quickly hung up his cardigan, then unbuttoned his dress with eager, deft fingers, and eased it down his body. Ethan stood still, breath caught, his padded bra and snug panty girdle now fully visible in the mirror.

“Oh. My. God. You really do the whole thing, don’t you?” Ivy whispered, almost reverently. “Wow. I can’t even.”

Ethan held his breath as she carefully, tenderly, ran her fingers down his shoulders, then under his arms and along his sides. Her curls brushed against his belly as she knelt down, putting her face at eye level with his waistline. He breathed in the fragrance of her perfume and shampoo—the combination of sensations nearly caused him to faint.

“Oh yes… there it is.” Ivy slipped her finger under the waistband of his panty girdle and tugged it out just enough. She looked up, a crooked smile curling her lips. “You’re wearing the yellow panties,” she whisper-sang the words. “Ethan’s wearing yellow pan-ties….”

Red-faced, the anxious boy nodded. Just barely.

Ivy stood up and looked at him, curious, with more than a bit of mischief in her eyes. “Such a good boy… such an obedient boy. You deserve a treat.”

Then—unexpectedly—she leaned in and kissed him on the side of his neck. She gave him a nip and a nibble, then moved to the other side of his neck, doing the same there.

“Oh gosh,” Ethan gasped. “Ivy…”

The older girl put her finger to his lips. “Shush! Stop talking. Do you want Teri to hear us?”

She then kissed him on the base of his throat, causing him to roll his head back so that he was looking at the tiled ceiling of the store. The ancient fluorescent lighting flickered. Ethan savored the sensation as he struggled with a certain tension rising within his panty girdle.

“Mmm, you smell so good.” She nuzzled in just behind his earring, breathing in his fragrance. “Is that White Shoulders? My mom used to wear that.”

Ivy then kissed him on the lips. Lightly at first, then turned that into a long, warm pressing of red painted lips against pink. She tasted like bubble gum and coffee. She did it again, slower this time, and pushed her tongue into Ethan's mouth, filling it, exploring it. This was the first time he’d experienced such a thing and while it surprised him, he fought the urge to resist and allowed himself to be invaded and probed.

Adding to his angst, Ivy’s hand slid over the embroidered front panel of his panty girdle, rubbing ever so lightly, up and down... up and down. It was a shocking sensation, but a welcome one. He’d often fantasized about what that might feel like… and it was more exciting than anything he’d dreamed.

“You don’t know what you do to people, do you?” she murmured.

Ethan shook his head.

“Thought so,” she said. “I’m horny and you’re flushed. And I messed up your lip gloss. Too bad, so sad.” She smiled a wicked smile and kissed him again.

Ethan tried to not panic as Ivy caressed him with more pressure, one hand cupping his padded bottom, the other rubbing up and down his front, getting more aggressive, more vigorous with each stroke.

“Mmm, it’s so pretty, so flat and smooth… just like a real girl down there…” She increased the rhythm, cooing. “Here, puss-puss… purr for mama….”

Ethan felt shamed by her statement. The boy part of him was emasculated, neutered, even, by her words. But the other part—the Emily in him, perhaps?—craved her touch and begged more. He didn’t have the willpower to resist or reciprocate or anything—it was all he could do to not melt in her arms.

“Mmm, let’s see those titties,” Ivy whispered sweetly.

She slid a hand slowly up his belly and under his bra, exposing his flat chest. Her sharp fingertips tickled and pinched and tweaked him until his nipples were hard and filled with blood.

“Aw, they’re so cute and wittle,” she cooed, giving each nipple a playful nibble, then a kiss. “I just wuv them so much,” she added, giggling.

The poor boy had no idea what to do with his own hands, so he braced himself against the wall while Ivy had her way with him. He felt so used, so objectified, so enslaved… but he didn’t resist or protest it at all.

“I’ve done this plenty of times with girls,” Ivy whispered slyly, returning her attention to the front of his girdle. “Well, a couple. You know, slumber parties and sleepovers and stuff. But you’re my first boy. And I gotta say, you’re a lot more fun than any girl!”

Ethan bit his lip, doing his best to not moan or make any noise that might attract the attention of the store clerk. Ivy grinned to see him in such a state.

“Such a pretty boy, my prissy little sissy,” she whispered. She then slid her tongue into his ear. “Ooo, mama’s boy likes that, does he? Let’s see what else he likes…”

She continued to rub the front panel of his panty girdle—up and down, all around—teasing him, tantalizing him … provoking him.

“I know that little guy’s down here somewhere, all tucked away, safe and sound,” she purred. “And when I find him I’m gonna wake him up.”

She whispered more sweet taunts into his ear, nipping and licking his earlobe and kissing the side of his neck and down along the base of his throat. Magically, miraculously her fingers divined the location of his tingling boyhood beneath all those layers of nylon and spandex, and their efforts to bring it to life increased tenfold.

“Oh gosh… Ivy… I’m gonna… please… don’t… stop….”

“I ain’t stoppin’ for nothin’,” Ivy murmured. “Not no way, not no how.”

It didn’t take long before the youth’s body went into a vigorous spasm that left him a shaken, spent mess. His knees went weak and his vision blurred, but he didn’t fall down. He savored the aftershocks and the way his skin tingled all over. He’d felt similarly in the privacy of his bedroom after a session of self-pleasuring, but it was nothing like this—especially not under Ivy’s appreciative, mischievous gaze.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” She kissed his lips lightly, smiling against his face. “I’m kinda jealous.”

He nodded, then shrugged. At home he always felt guilty afterward, especially when his mother was just down the hall and he wasn’t sure whether she’d heard him. A similar sensation of humility hit him under Ivy’s eager gaze. Adding to his disgrace, he felt the need to change his underwear.

“I’m sorry, Ivy,” he whimpered. He felt ashamed for losing control over his bodily functions in front of his friend. “I didn’t mean… I-… I-I’m so sorry… so sorry….”

“Poor baby.” She hugged the shaken boy and kissed him on the forehead. “It’s all right. You’re all right. Just catch your breath and you’ll be okay.”

Ethan could barely look her in the eye. A wave of humility swept over him as he struggled to speak. “I’m, uh… wet. My underwear… I… I can’t… go home like this. Can you find my purse?” He closed his eyes and whispered, “I need … one of my… pads.”

Ivy stared at him, just for a moment, then she laughed. “Why yes, I can find your purse, sweetheart. Here, let mama help you get cleaned up…”

 

* * *
 

They left the shop a few minutes later. Ethan was in such a state that he didn’t trust himself to speak. Ivy grinned like a vixen in the henhouse as she took his hand and led him down the street.

“Feel like some sherbet?” she asked with a giggle.

“Sherbet sounds nice,” he said softly.

They sat on a white iron bench outside the café, the tiny silver-plastic bowl of strawberry sherbet between them.

“You didn’t even try that dress on,” Ivy teased.

“I got distracted.”

“Me too.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a compact.

“Hold still.”

She dabbed at his lip gloss with her finger, then reapplied it with a tiny applicator brush. She also took a napkin, dipped it in her cup of water and wiped around his eyes.

“There,” she said, tilting his chin. “Pretty again.”

Ethan looked away. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Ivy smirked. “You’re already in trouble. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

They both laughed, and for a moment, the world felt like something out of a magazine ad—soft lights, sticky fruit-flavored kisses, and lavender skies.

 

* * *
 

The spell broke when—just a couple of blocks from Estelle’s—Ethan spotted a group of teenagers, all in black denim and sneakers, gathered under a streetlight, loud and obnoxious as boys sometimes do. His heart dropped when he recognized the leader.

Samuel Torres.

Samuel leaned against the lamppost, surrounded by four friends, bottles of what looked like beer in hand, laughing and snickering, a pack of predators in search of a good time. Ethan’s hand tightened on his purse strap, ready to bolt; Ivy felt him stiffen and she squeezed her arm. It was too late. Samuel looked over, eyes narrowing in recognition, his ebony lips curling into a smirk.

“Evening, ladies,” he drawled as the pair approached. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Emily.” He took a swig, spit, and snorted. “Looking good, girly-girl. That little outfit really suits you.”

His friends whistled and tossed lazy compliments; they saw two girls, nothing more. Ethan struggled to keep his composure, knowing full well that if Samuel wanted, he could ruin his life—it would only take a second… a quick move of the hand… a spoken word...

“What's the matter, Emily? Too good to talk to me?” He sneered. “Don't like my kind, huh?”

Ethan’s voice cracked as he tried to reply. “Nooo… I'm…” Near panic, he minced along, clinging to Ivy as best he could without causing a scene.

“You sure you ladies don’t wanna join us?” One of the boys waved a bottle in their direction. “I know someplace private where we could get it on.”

“Just passing through, boys,” Ivy quietly replied. “Nothing to see here… just passing through.”

“Nothin' but that ass,” jeered another boy, the youngest, struggling to hold his beer. “Come on, bitches. Don’t y'all wanna have some fun?”

Ivy took a deep breath—Ethan gripped her hand hard, a plea to avoid trouble. “Sorry guys, but we’re spoken for. Come on, Em—we need to get you home before your mama has a hissy fit.”

The boys sneered and hooted until Ethan and Ivy passed, then Samuel cut it off with a lazy, “All right, y’all. That’s enough. I’m dry—c’mon, let’s get another round.”

Ethan looked back in time to see Samuel wink at him. “See you at school Monday, Emily. Tell that little fairy brother of yours I’ll be lookin' for him.”

The cross-dressed boy’s knees almost went out from under him. Only when they’d turned the corner did Ivy steer him into another dress shop. While they pretended to look around she watched him chew his lip.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she asked softly. “What was all that about? Do you know him?”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Ethan gave her a brief, whispered explanation, mostly how Samuel figured out he and Emily were the same, and how they’d almost clashed at school.

“I… I thought he was going to do something horrible,” Ethan murmured. “Or at least give me away. Why didn’t he?”

Ivy gave him a hug, then pulled back, eyes sharp behind thin lips. “Because he’s not stupid. And because he likes having a secret. That boy—I can’t even!”

Ethan frowned. “Do you think…it’s over? I mean, he could have… but he didn’t. So maybe—”

“I can tell you this, Emmy—” Ivy leaned closer— “If that guy kept his mouth shut when he didn’t have to, that means he’s interested in you. One way or another.”

That thought scared Ethan more than the catcalls.

 

* * *
 

They returned to Estelle’s just as the sky turned dusky blue. The boutique’s lights were on, and Colleen and Estelle were seated at the counter with matching teacups.

“Well?” Estelle said, standing up. “Did you two behave yourselves?”

Ethan blushed.

“I mean, you weren’t naughty, were you?” Estelle said, teasing.

“We just had sherbet,” Ivy said sweetly. “Though someone was very shy about picking a flavor. She also chickened out of trying on the cutest pink and white chiffon dress.”

Colleen smirked. “Is that right, Emily?”

Ethan nodded, face hot.

As they turned to leave, Estelle gave Ivy a playful nudge. “You’ll have to tell me everything later,” she whispered

“I plan to,” Ivy whispered back.

Ethan climbed into the front seat of Colleen’s car, smoothing his skirt. He dared a glance at the mirror. His lipstick looked fine.

But Colleen glanced over and raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got a little smudge on your sweater,” she said. “Isn’t that Ivy’s color?”

Ethan froze.

Colleen smiled to herself and pulled onto the road.

They drove in silence. But Ethan’s lips still tingled. And in spite of Ivy’s generosity, he still felt the need to change his undies.

 

* * *
 

It was nearly 9:30 when the phone rang. Colleen, reading her book, glanced toward the upstairs and smiled faintly. She didn't say a word.

Ethan closed the door gently, sat on the edge of his bed, and picked up the pink receiver. “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Emily.” Ivy’s voice was a whisper wrapped in giggles. “Or should I say… panty boy.”

Ethan buried his face in his free hand. “Oh my gosh.”

“Oh my gosh, what?” she teased. “You didn’t mind earlier when I helped you clean up. I believe your exact words were—wait, how did it go?—Oh yes… ‘I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!’”

“I did not say that.”

“Oh, but you did, my pretty sissy. You said exactly that. Three times. In a row. It was adorable.”

Ethan grinned in spite of himself. “You’re making fun of me. Again.”

“Yes, I am,” Ivy said cheerfully. “But also… I had fun. A lot of fun. Did you?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. I mean, I think I was blushing the whole time.”

“You were.” She paused, then said softer, “You’re a really good blusher.”

That made him laugh—quiet, breathless. “That’s not a compliment, is it?”

“It is when I say it.” She paused again. “I like seeing your eyes when you’re nervous. They go all wide, like a cartoon girl.”

He rolled onto his back, his legs swinging slightly off the bed. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.”

They were quiet for a second.

“I think I’m still shaking,” Ethan admitted.

“That’s okay. You can shake. I kinda like that I can make you.”

He swallowed.

“And if it helps,” she added, “I was nervous too. I just… hide it better.”

Ethan didn’t reply right away. Then softly: “Are you gonna tell Estelle what happened?”

“Oh, she already knows. She could tell by that panicked look on your face when we came back.” There was a pause, punctuated by a giggle. “Did you tell your mom?”

“NO! Absolutely not!”

There was that giggle again, followed by another beat of silence.

“Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay? I mean, after that Samuel guy?—”

Ethan frowned. “Can we just… not talk about him?”

“Sure, baby. But you let me know if he gives you any trouble.” There was grit in Ivy’s voice. “I may be cute, but I got two cans of whoop-ass ready for him.”

Ethan wiped his eyes, laughing. “I don’t doubt it.” After a moment, he sighed. “Ivy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking… and well… I... I think I li—”

“Stop right there!” The voice on the phone was sharp, almost maternal. “Don’t you say that! Don’t you dare use that word?”

Again, Ethan frowned. “What word?”

“You know. The ‘L’ word.”

“The ‘L’ word?” He furrowed his brow, lips pursed. “All I was going to say was, I think I like going out with you as Emily. You know, instead of as me, Ethan. What did you think I was going to say?”

Silence. “Sooo… you weren’t going to say that you, um… love me? Promise you weren't.”

“Oh. That.” Ethan’s face reddened. “Well, um… maybe.”

“Ethan, no… please—”

“I mean, I might love you. Like I love a lot of people. But not… not in that way. Not yet, I don’t think.”

There was that silence again. “Good. Because I don’t think I can deal with that. Not from you, Ethan Martin. Not yet. You’re too young, I’m too old. And I like you too much to ruin this over some stupid word. I can’t even!”

“You’re not that old. I mean, it’s not like you’re my mom.”

“Well, I should say not!” Ivy giggled. “Now that would be weird.”

Ethan bit his lip. “Yeah, I guess it would.” He thought for a moment. “You know, this feeling I have… that we have, I guess—my Auntie Penelope calls it puppy love.”

“Ha! Estelle said the same thing.”

“Okay then. So—” he mused aloud— “how about we use that word instead? Puppy love.”

“Mmm, sounds good to me. Just don’t overdo it. Like I said, let’s not ruin this. Not yet, at least.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good. Hey, I look, gotta go. Girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep.” There was a kissing sound over the speaker. “Good night, pretty boy.”

“Good night, Ivy. Oh. One more thing?”

“Yeah?”

He giggled. “I ‘puppy love’ you.”

“Oh, shut up, you!”

 

* * *
 

A week later, Ivy proposed something “extra fancy” to make up for the scare with Samuel: a trip to a nail salon over in Stanton, a twenty-minute drive. Colleen agreed on two conditions—she got Ivy’s phone number, and they had to call when they arrived and when they left. Ivy showed up in her parents’ long station wagon, all curls and lipstick and excitement, while Emily climbed in beside her in a cute purple polka dot minidress—another one of his 1960s-inspired experiments—the lavender stockings she gave him, and a stylish pair of heels provided by Estelle.

“You’re killing me, Emily,” Ivy said, admiring Ethan’s outfit. “That outfit looks like something from New York. I swear, I feel like I’m wearing a potato sack whenever I’m around you!”

Ethan grinned. Something clicked—being in the car with Ivy, knowing he could do whatever he liked and not fret over being judged—and so he pulled out his compact mirror and made a little show of primping his blonde wig, touching up his lip gloss, adjusting earrings. He snapped the compact shut and blew her a kiss.

“Don’t be jelly,” he teased coyly. “I can’t help it if I’m beautiful.”

“Oh, you’re going to get it later, Miss Priss,” Ivy smirked. “Soon as I get my hands on you, you’re doomed!”

“Promises promises,” he replied, blushing.

 

* * *
 

Miles away from Maplewood, Ethan felt safe from wagging tongues and bullies. They sat side by side at the manicure station, chatting casually with the technicians and each other like true girlfriends while their nails were shaped and painted. Ivy did most of the talking, of course, bouncing from gossip about customers at the shoe store to questions about Colleen’s business and Ethan’s fashion ideas.

After a while Ethan went quiet, doing most of the listening and the least of the talking. He wasn’t so much nervous as he was being observant—he had gotten into the habit of taking mental notes on the ways of girls and women of all ages and types, paying attention to how they wore their clothes, how they moved when they walked, worked and played, even when they just stood or sat. Part of it was how, or if, he fit in their world—but mostly he wanted to see how their clothing worked for them, wondering if he could make them better in some way.

Ivy noticed his daydreaming. “You’ll have to excuse my girlfriend,” she told the manicurists. “She’s been having boy trouble. We just had to get away for some girl time.”

“That’s not true!” Ethan bristled—the image of Samuel Torres suddenly flashed through his mind, and just quickly he shoved it out. He forced his face into a shy smile. “Well, not exactly. Maybe.”

“Well, don’t you fret none, babydoll.” The oldest of the workers—around the same age as his mother, only with tall hair, like a silver beehive—cooed sweetly: “You’re safe with us. There ain’t no boys comin’ in here—but if they do, we’ll take care of them for you real good.”

“Yeah—” one of the younger girls held up her fists, a boxer’s pose— “Anybody give you trouble honey, I got two cans of whoop-ass for 'em.”

“I told her the same thing!” Ivy squealed. She shot Ethan a wink. “See girl? We ladies stick together.”

“You said it, sister!” the beehive woman hee-hawed.

The salon filled with laughter and stories about bad boys and even worse men. Ethan thought about his mother and his aunts, how they held similar counsel back home, and his eyes warmed and his chest swelled. Ivy noticed him sniffing and she shot him an impish wink.

“You big crybaby,” she whispered happily.

The experience in the salon turned out to be just what Ethan needed. He was used to being around women, but here, an out-of-towner amongst such a wide variety of females—young and old, down home country and city-polished, well to do and some not as well off—allowed him to grow in his role as “Emily.” No one knew his secret, no one even suspected that he had a secret—there was no agenda beyond being catered to and pampered as a customer and simply having fun.

Ivy added to his aggravation by bragging about her “girlfriend’s” talents. The manicurists were wide-eyed impressed when they learned that the pretty petite blonde designed and made the polka dot minidress she wore. And when Ivy pulled out her phone and showed them Eleanor’s website—and the photos of Emily modeling their latest offerings—the whole place buzzed with excitement.

“You’re a supermodel!” one of the elderly customers crowed. “Just like Brooke Shields!”

Ethan made a face. “Brooke who?”

Ivy laughed. “You know who Heidi Klum is?”

“Um, yeah. Of course.”

“Same, only she was about your age when she made it big.”

Ethan blushed to be treated like a celebrity. He looked at Ivy with a near-panicked Help get me out of this! expression, but she let him have a moment before stepping in. As the two friends left, everyone in the shop—including many of the customers—eagerly searched out Colleen’s Collections on their phones and chattered on about what they found.

“Well, that was awkward,” the cross-dressed boy moaned. “How long do you think it’ll be before this gets back home?”

Ivy bumped shoulders with him. “Before what gets back home? Sweetheart, those women don’t know who you are. They only know Emily, but they have no idea who Ethan is, nor do they care. All they know is that a glamorous internet model dropped in to get her nails done. Trust me, they’ll be talking about the world famous Emily for days, not some scruffy boy.”

“I’m not scruffy,” Ethan muttered.

“Yeah, right.” Ivy nodded, thinking. “But seriously, you’ll have to tell your mom about this. You ought to get a commission from all the sales you just scared up for her.”

“Well, Mother did make me her partner in the business, so I guess I’ll have to remind me to pay myself.” Ethan snorted. “Ow!—I think I just hurt my brain.”

They wandered past storefronts arm in arm, then settled into a booth at a diner. Ivy ordered a hamburger, fries, and a milkshake without a second thought; Ethan, immersed in the role of a dainty young lady, settled for a sandwich and a salad. Dessert, inevitably, was sherbet.

Ethan grinned. “A milkshake and sherbet?”

“Don’t judge me, Little Miss Perfect,” she said, looking more than a little irritated. “I don’t always get to eat like this.”

“I won’t say another word.”

They chatted while they ate—Ivy was pleased to see how relaxed her date had become without the worry of discovery haunting him.

“I could get used to this,” she said, fingers laced over Ethan’s on the tabletop. “You’re so much nicer any boy I know. And way more fun than any of my girlfriends. I hate getting into silly arguments over nothing. And I am so tired of having to talk about boys all the time—it’s boring, plus, no matter what you say, somebody always gets their feelings hurt.” Her smile went crooked as she scoffed. “Women… am I right?”

Ethan giggled. “You said it, not me.”

After they paid the bill and touched up their makeup, Ivy suddenly got serious. “Listen, Emmy.” She looked at Ethan, her expression uncharacteristically shy, even a bit sad. “I have to tell you something… it’s kind of important. You know, that whole good news, bad news thing.”

The cross-dressed boy nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Okay. Did I do something wrong?”

Ivy huffed. “No, baby, you’re great. Better than great. No, it’s not like that at all.” She pursed her lips, then sighed. “The good news is, I’m going to college. The bad news is, I’m going to college. In Capital City. Soon. Next week, in fact.”

Ethan blinked. “Oh. Okay. I see. I think.”

Ivy frowned. “You don’t look too upset. Now it’s my turn. Did I do something wrong.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. I just… I’m just trying to figure out what that means. You’re going to college… in Capital City. So, does that mean you’re moving away? For good?”

“No, sweetheart, not for good. Just for… you know, most of the time.” Ivy rolled her eyes, sniffed, then got out a tissue. “Oh fuck me. Sorry. I have such a potty mouth sometimes.” She dabbed at her eyes and gave him a sheepish smile. “I… I was going to try to explain it better—and sooner—but I messed it up. I’m so sorry, Ethan… but…”

They drove back in silence, each deep in their thoughts, trying to sort out whatever would come. By the time they rolled back into Ethan’s driveway, the sky was violet and the cicadas were loud.

Ivy lingered with the motor idling, looking wistfully at the boy in the polka dot dress and blonde wig, admiring how vulnerable, how romantic he appeared in the dim glow of the dashboard. His eyes glistened, and she felt her heart pound as a tear trickled down his cheek.

Without warning, she leaned in—Ethan thought she meant to kiss his cheek; instead she tilted his chin toward her and gave him a soft kiss on the lips—nothing like Colleen’s motherly pecks. It was sweet and confusing and over too fast. For an instant he thought—he hoped—they would get into it hot and heavy, but then the porch light came on.

“Shoot,” Ivy pouted. “Your mom is such a party pooper. Oh well, there’s always next time.”

Ethan blushed. He was disappointed, to be sure, but knowing that there was going to be a next time almost made up for his mother’s interruption.

When he minced into the house, Colleen studied his flushed face and mussed lipstick, arched an eyebrow and smirked: “That’s pretty much what I thought.”

 

* * *
 

Their third and final date was the one Ivy called “a proper American romance”: the drive-in. The night was warm, so Ethan wore a halter-style sundress in a floral print, sandals and his blonde wig with the pageboy bob. He looked—and carried himself—much older than his thirteen years. Ivy wore a strapless sundress with a short skirt and a bodice that showed off her breasts. Ethan did his best to not stare, which made his little sin even more obvious.

“I don’t mind you looking.” Ivy winked. “If you’re a good… girl… I might even let you touch. Maybe. But you have to be good.”

Ethan swallowed. “Um, okay… um, I- I’ll try… my best,” he stammered.

The drive-in was in Lafayette County, not too far, but enough that it would be unlikely anyone they knew would be there. Ivy chose a horror picture, which puzzled Ethan until the first real scare made him jump—Ivy squealed and they ended up hugging one another for all they were worth.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got a big, strong man to protect me,” she whispered into his ear. “Even if he is wearing panties.”

No one looks twice at two girls cuddling under a blanket in the front seat of a station wagon during a scary movie. Which was what Ivy counted on. Between the flicker of the screen and the steam on the windshield, her attention gradually drifted from cinematic zombies to the cross-dressed boy beside her. During one particularly tense scene, she turned, embraced him, kissed his cheek, then gently kissed him full on the mouth. It was still shy and tentative, but longer this time, and the sounds from the speakers blurred into nothing.

“Here you go, baby,” she whispered, her voice husky. She tugged down one side of her sundress and guided Ethan’s hand to her exposed breast. “You’ve been good enough… and mama needs a little lovin’…”

Ethan’s recollection of what happened in the station wagon that night would be etched into his memory for the rest of his days. True, it wasn’t much more than typical teenaged heavy petting, not a whole lot more than their first tryst in the dressing room just a couple of weeks before—to do anything else would have meant defeating the complex spandex and nylon chastity device his mother had him tucked into. But that did not stop them from having their moment. Lips locked, fingers explored bare breasts—both flat and well-endowed—and hands slid underneath skirts. Emotions and hormones ran rampant. Once again, Ethan lost control of himself under Ivy’s increasing expertise and he would have to clean himself up before they left the drive-in.

But most exciting was how he’d brought Ivy to similar crossroads. During their first encounter at the dress shop he’d been the passive one, the recipient of her attentions and intentions, inexperienced and naïve—but now he was determined to return the favor. He wanted to learn all he could about these things so he could make her as happy as she’d made him—and she was a deliberate and thorough teacher. She’d already encouraged him to fondle her breasts, but it took all of his concentration—and her guidance—to get through the fog of his own needs to slip his free hand in between her thighs… and delve into the center of her femininity. Instinct fueled by curiosity took over and soon she was squirming and squealing—her cries were so loud and shrill that the occupants of the other cars laughed at what they thought were two terrified girls reacting to the gruesome slaughter scene at the climax of the film.

Needless to say, there was more than one climax at the drive-in that night.

While the credits were rolling and the second feature was about to start up, they cuddled in silence, drained in the aftermath of their passion. Ethan’s cheek laid again Ivy’s breast, her nipple red from someone’s overeager nibbling and kissing. Exhausted but elated, she put her finger under his chin and tilted his head upward, smiling to see his blonde locks mussed, his eyes dreamy, dazed.

“My God… Ethan—” she murmured, her breath heavy, her voice a moan. “That was… so nice. I mean, really REALLY nice. I can’t even…” She leaned down and gave him a wet kiss on the mouth, then a little lick on his chin, her expression mischievous, naughty, even. “I suppose I should feel guilty about all this, you being so young and me being older, but… I can’t even!”

“Hey, I keep telling you, you’re not old.” Ethan scoffed. He kissed her nipple, then looked up. “Like I said, it’s not like you’re my—”

“Ethan Martin! Don’t you dare compare me to your mother!” Ivy giggled. “Do it again, little miss, and I’ll put you over my knee.”

The grinning boy waggled his eyebrows. “Is that threat or a promise?”

On the way home they stopped, predictably, for sherbet. Ivy fed him a taste off her spoon, dabbed a bit of melted orange from his lower lip with her thumb, and stole another quick kiss while he stared at her, helplessly pink from his collarbones to his hairline.

At the curb outside Ethan’s house, she straightened his wig and smoothed his skirt like a fussy big sister, then sent him up the walk with a pat on the rear and a whispered, “Call me, Emmy. I’m not done with you yet, I can’t even.”

Through the front window, he could see Colleen waiting with her arms folded, ready for another “full report” before Emily was allowed upstairs for a bath and bed.

 

* * *
 

Ethan and Ivy saw each other again before she left for college, though only a couple of times. On Saturday he made a delivery to Estelle’s in his usual “Ethan” guise—T-shirt, jeans and sneakers—dropping off swatches of material for a joint project between his mother and Miss Estelle. Flirtatious looks and coy glances were exchanged, but he was too shy to speak his mind under the watchful eye of the grinning shopkeeper.

Their last meet-up was on Sunday for ice cream—again, with Ethan in T-shirt and jeans. Ivy was chatty as usual, excited about leaving for Capital City, moving into her dorm, things that escaped the young boy’s notice. All he could see were the bouncy curls in her hair, the dimples in her cheeks, and the light in her eyes as she talked.

“You okay, baby?” she said at one point. “I’m doing all the yammering. You’ve hardly said a word.”

Ethan nodded. “I was just thinking. About stuff. You know.”

“Stuff is pretty vague, but I get you.” She reached over and linked her fingers with his. “I’m sorry.”

He frowned. “About what?”

Ivy sighed. “I know what you’re feeling. Pretty sure, at least. You know, that whole ‘puppy love’ thing. I didn’t mean to lead you on—for what it’s worth, I’m kinda smitten, too. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Mmm, I hoped so, but what do I know?” Ethan snorted. “You’re so awesome—I can’t even.”

“Oh stop it!” She giggled. “You’re not saying it right. It’s ‘I can’t even!’ You have to get the vibe down if you’re going to make it work.”

Ethan nodded. “I think I’ll just leave that to you. I like the way you do it better.”

“You got that right, sissy boy.” She leaned in and gave him a warm, strawberry sherbet-infused kiss. “Nobody does it better than me,” she added with a wink.

 

* * *
 

Ivy called Ethan a week after she left for college. He hadn’t expected it, and—if he was honest—he almost dreaded taking the call. She was gone, he knew, starting fresh with her classes, new friends, challenges, even a new job. Which was what their conversation was mostly about. Within seconds he knew for sure that he’d lost her to a whole new life, a world away from his own. She did ask how he was doing, if he’d had another clash with Samuel Torres—“No, not really, I promise,” he assured her—how his mother was doing, how everything was going with school and the business.

When that was all said and done… there was an awkward silence. Expected. Inevitable.

“Ivy?” he finally said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to miss you.”

She didn’t answer for a second. Then: “I’m going to miss you, too, Miss Emily.” She paused, then said, “Mr. Ethan,” giggling.

Ethan pressed the phone cord to his lips. “Think we’ll ever see each other again?”

“Oh sure. I’ll be back during the holidays and next summer, working for Estelle. But it’ll be different.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re going to meet people and do things, and I’m going to meet people and do things, too. I might have a girlfriend by then. Or a boyfriend. Who knows.” She paused, then giggled. “And you might even have a boyfriend. We could go on a double date together!”

Ethan made a face. “Ugh! I will never have a boyfriend!”

“Never say never, girlfriend. You don’t know what the future holds. You’ll see.”

Another moment of silence, a heartbeat… then:

“Ivy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You said that already.”

“I know. I just wanted to say it again. I’m never going to forget you, though.”

“Me, too. Forget my pretty little sissy boy? I can’t even.”

There was another pause, then: “Hey, Ethan?”

“Yeah?”

“I ‘puppy love’ you.”

His smile was too big to speak. He just nodded into the receiver, eyes glistening, knowing she couldn’t see him.

 

Next: Ethan Takes the Stage