Kammi's Serial

What If? Part 28

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“Oh, did you mean have I had sex with a man before? Yes, I have.”

“Are you going to tell me about it or am I going to have to squeeze it out of you?” Amos asked as he put his hand around Leon’s balls and tightened his grip.

“Ouch, that hurts. Okay, okay, I’ll tell all. You can leave your hand there but please be gentle. Yes, I’ve had sex before, many times, but always with the same man, Butch, or as he’s known now, Andre. We started when we were only thirteen and the last time was when he gave me a perm, six weeks ago.”

Leon told Amos his story…

Butch and I lived just a block apart and had been best friends since kindergarten. We did everything together, though Butch was terrible at sports. He tried his best but he was always afraid of the ball and threw like a girl. He was very fussy about his clothes and his hair. He said his mother would beat him if he got his clothes dirty and he carried a comb in his pocket from early on and was constantly arranging his hair. If it started to rain, he rushed to a shelter to protect both his clothes and his hair. Every so often he would appear with curly hair but blamed this on not using enough Brylcreme to keep it down. Naturally, he was soon labeled as a sissy by the other boys. One time, a couple of bullies pushed him into a muddy puddle and he got soaked in thick mud on his clothes and his hair. He begged me to go home with him and tell his mother it was not his fault and that some bad boys had done it. He seemed petrified to face his mother. I told her what happened but she still seemed mad.

“Go out on the porch and take all those dirty clothes off, and I mean all. I’ll be waiting in the bathroom to wash you and shampoo your hair. Looks like it will be another pin curl and dress evening, won’t it Byron? Would you like Leon to stay for supper?”

Poor Butch began to cry  and said that I had a lot of homework to do and couldn’t stay. What homework? It was spring vacation week. I followed Butch out to the porch and tried to talk to him but he insisted I had to go as he removed his clothes. It was the first time I ever saw a boy naked. I came by the next morning and Mrs. Armstrong let me in.

“Byron is just finishing the dishes and he’ll be able to go out when he finishes, as long as he promises not to get all dirty again. Right, Byron?”

Poor Butch was at the kitchen washing and drying the breakfast dishes. I almost laughed when I saw he was wearing a flowered apron over his clothes. He also hadn’t applied his Brylcreme as his hair was curly again, very curly. But before we could take off to look for squirrels in the woods, I had to wait for him to hang laundry on the clothesline, including the clothes he had worn yesterday. Boy, did he ever look like a sissy doing that. I tried to ask him about all the weird things his mother had mentioned but he didn’t feel like talking about and I let it go. Soon after that, Butch could no longer play on Saturday mornings as he had chores to do now. One time I stopped by to see if I could borrow his baseball glove – his was like brand new as he never used it – but nobody answered the door. I heard a vacuum running inside and figured Mrs. Armstrong could not hear me knocking at the door nor could Butch. So I let myself in, like I had a million times before. I wish I hadn’t. There was Butch in the middle of the livingroom, vacuuming the carpet. That was something boys just did not do, back then. He had his back to me and I watched him for a bit. He had that same flowered apron on and a kerchief tied around his head. I walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped so high he almost hit the ceiling.

“Leon! What are you doing here? You gotta leave as quick as you can before my mother sees you and I’ll get into big trouble.”

He literally pushed me out the door. I glanced back over my shoulder as he closed the door. Funny, I thought, it looked like Butch had a bunch of bobby pins stuck on the front of his hair not covered by the kerchief. A few weeks later, I went to his house after school to go on a bike ride together. Mrs. Armstrong answered the door again.

“Hi, Leon, come on in. Byron’s not ready yet, he’s kind off tied up” she said and laughed. There in the kitchen was Butch, wearing that apron again and holding his arms out and his hands up. There was a pile of yarn around his wrists and his mother was unwinding the yarn into a ball. I had seen my mother do this but this was the first time I saw a boy doing it. I muffled a chuckle.

“Almost done, honey. You can run along, I’ll leave the yarn in your room for your lesson later.”

We rode our bikes to a nearby lake. I asked Butch what was going on, doing housework and such, and he said his Dad decided that if he was not participating in sports that he had to find something to keep him occupied. His mother decided that helping her out around the house would be good training for him.

Between Butch’s new chores and me making the junior high baseball team, we did not see each other as much as we used to. I was also afraid to be associated with him as his sissyness was getting worse and worse. For the first time I began to hear guys say he was queer. I knew that was not a nice word but I did not know the real meaning.

That summer, my mother and father were called out of town due to a death of one of my father’s cousins. I pleaded not to have to go, I didn’t even know the deceased, and it was going to take six hours each way to drive to his town. Mom called Mrs. Armstrong and asked if I could stay there for a few days and she readily accepted. I packed the few things I would need and my parents dropped me at the curb in front of Butch’s house. I waved good by as the car went down the street and walked to the side door. I knocked and heard Mrs. Armstrong call out from afar  “Come in”. Once inside she called out, “We’re downstairs.” Butch had told me that his father had finished off the basement for his mother but I had not seen it yet. I went down the stairs and saw two doors, one closed and one open with lights on. Slowly stepping inside, I entered a well lighted, feminine looking and smelling room. I never expected to find the sight before me. There was Mrs. Armstrong in a quilted pink robe, sitting at a large table with a towel around her shoulders and her bare feet in a bowl of sudsy water on the floor. And there was Butch standing behind her with a comb in his hand. His mother’s hair was wet and there was a row of pin curls across her forehead. I guessed what was going on but couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Hi, Leon, come on in. How do you like Byron’s new playroom?” Mrs. Armstrong asked. “Set your suitcase over there and Byron will show you where to put it after he’s finished doing my hair. Take a seat. See all of Byron’s favorite toys” she said, waving her arm in an arch around the room and laughing. I looked around and saw a washer and dryer set - pink, a wash tub - white, an ironing board and iron with a pink cover, and a table with a sewing machine on top and a chair pulled up, with pink cushions. Lastly, there was one of the types of hair dryers you see in a ladies beauty salon, also pink. Why did Mrs. Armstrong refer to them as “Byron’s toys”?

A very red faced Butch bowed his head and muttered “Hi, Leon”. Mrs. Armstrong chatted on asking me all the stupid questions adults ask kids and also about my cousin as though everything going on was normal. I had trouble answering as I watched Butch continue to make tiny curls on his mother’s head and clip two bobby pins to each one. Judging from how quickly Butch completed his task, and by the neatness of the rows of curls, I guessed that this was certainly not his first time doing his mother’s hair. He never said a word. At some point I stopped staring at her head and saw that Butch was wearing what my mother called a housecoat. Butch’s was a pale yellow with little pink flowers. There were no pant legs below the hem. Finally, after about twenty minutes and after Mrs. Armstrong had learned all I knew about my father’s family, Butch put the comb down and spread a hair net with his outstretched hands and lowered it over his mother’s head. This too looked like something Butch was well used to.  Next he rolled the big, clumsy looking hair dryer to behind his mother, lifted the front visor while she sat under the metal dome, then closed the visor which started the dryer and turned on a pair of reading lights on the dome. He handed his mother a couple of magazines.

Before she started to read, she called out above the noise of the dryer, “Hey, Leon, ever watched a woman get a manicure? Pay attention and maybe you can learn to do your mother’s nails. I’m sure she’d love that. And maybe Byron could teach you how to do her hair too” she said with a gusty laugh.

Oh no, I thought, please don’t let me see what I knew full well I was going to see. Still playing mute, Butch opened a case on the table and began removing objects. As I feared, there were nail files, the pointed sticks my mother used and, of course, a bottle of red nail polish. Butch wasted no time putting these utensils to work. And once more, it was clear that none of this was new to him. After using a cotton ball saturated with a strong smelling liquid to remove the existing polish, he filed and poked and very carefully applied a layer of clear polish on each finger, followed by two layers of the red kind, and finally another coat of the clear stuff. Mrs. Armstrong held up here fingers and studied them.

“Good job, sweetie. Now let’s see you do as good a job on my toes. But you know what you have to do first, don’t you? And be careful.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Sweetie”? “Mommy”? Where was that coming from? As much of a sissy as I knew he was, I never heard him call his mother “Mommy”. This was not good. Once more, I guessed what was about to happen, but I was wrong. Instead of doing his mother’s toe nails, which would have been bad enough, Butch began to shave her legs.  Using the water in the bowl on the floor, he washed her feet and  legs with a wash cloth, followed by a coating of shaving cream, and lastly, very, very carefully drawing the razor up her legs. Oh damn, I thought, I have to get out of here. What if whatever Butch had was contagious? I was going to be here for three days and nights. I could leave here like Butch, a freaking, fairy sissy! And I had not seen everything yet, not by a long shot. He repeated all the steps he had used on her fingernails on her toenails. I had never paid any attention to a woman’s nails but it seemed that Butch was doing a nice, neat job. I sighed in resignation, realizing that Butch had performed all these tasks before, probably many times. And the strangest thing of all – I had an erection!

“I just need to clean up here” Butch said to me. “Can I get you anything, coke or something?”

“No thanks, I’m okay.”

Byron picked up the bowl of water and rinsed it in the wash tub. He put the towels he had used on top of the washer and threw the now red tinged cotton balls in the waste basket. The manicure implements were neatly stored back in the case along with the nail polish.

“Almost done” he said to me apologetically.

He lifted the visor and patted his mother’s head.

“You’re dry, Mommy.”

“Good. I’ll go put on my face while you do my dress and slip. Bring them up to my bedroom when you’re finished and help me dress. Okay? You can finish the rest of your ironing later.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“And bring Leon along too. Maybe he can learn what a nice boy does for his Mommy.”

Leon gave me a shrug and walked to the ironing board. He plugged in the iron and spread out his mother’s dress. It was a shiny purple (satin, I learned later) and very long. It draped down almost to the floor from the ironing board.

“This is going to take me a while. Want to go watch TV?” Leon asked.

“No” I answered, having a hard time talking. For some strange reason I wanted to see what weird stuff was going on here. My best friend was turning into a girl.

“You ever do any ironing?” he asked, clearly also having a hard time maintaining a conversation.

“No way, that’s…” I stopped myself from saying “girl’s work”. I did not want to hurt my friend’s feelings. But he knew what I almost said.

I watched as he slowly moved the iron back and forth, back and forth, then shifting the dress to a different position. Just like earlier, I could tell this was nothing new to Butch. I guess I was looking on very intently.

“Want to try do some?”

I swallowed but could only respond by shaking my head. Did Butch really thing that I, the third baseman on the school team, would iron a dress? And yet, there was something telling me to give it a try. I quickly dispelled that notion from my head.  The damn dress was as big as a tent and it took a long time for Butch to finish, just as he had said. He carefully lifted it off the ironing board and turned it back right side out. He placed it on a hanger and hung it on the chrome clothes rack. He picked up a white slip, as long as the dress, and placed this on the ironing board.

“Have to make sure I turn the heat down or I’ll burn it and Mommy will be very mad” he said as he turned the dial on the iron. Sure you don’t want to give it a try? Slips are easy and fun to do.”

I could not shake my head hard enough. Imagine if anyone found out I had ironed a slip? It was beyond belief. No way, no time, ever, not this kid. Whatever was happening to Butch, I wanted no part of it. Still, there was that something in my head urging me to see what it was like. I did kind of like the way the slip smoothed out as Butch passed the iron over the beautiful material. It was like magic. Damn, I told myself, get those thoughts out of your mind. I could tell from the happy expression on Butch’s face that he was enjoying himself. And so was I – I still had an erection.

The slip finished, Butch put this on another, padded, hanger and lifted both items up. “Want to come up with me? Mommy said you could.”

Now why would I want to watch my best friend, who I thought was a boy but now questioned that, help dress his mother? No reason in the world but yet I found myself saying “Yes”. And I did not regret it. Mrs. Armstrong was sitting at her vanity putting lipstick on her lips. All she wore was a sexy, black lace bra and matching panties. She was a very pretty woman and looked gorgeous to this all American boy. Man, had I died and gone to heaven? My mother considered it immodest if I saw her in her bathrobe. I was looking at someone almost naked. The fact that she still had her hair up in pin curls and wearing a net did nothing to detract from the sexiness of what I saw before me. In fact, strange as it may seem, it made her even more sexy, like I was being allowed to see her in a private, intimate, pose. I felt myself get even harder. I wanted to stand closer to her and touch the top of her head and had to fight hard from giving in to my temptation. My word, if I thought someone finding out I ironed a dress would kill my reputation, it would be nothing to finding out that I was excited at the thought of touching the net and pins in her hair. Now that was really weird. Probably even Butch would find that strange.

And it got better. I watched in awe, speechless, as Butch casually pulled a pink girdle up his mother’s legs followed by a pair of nylons which he easily attached to the eight garters, then wrapped a corset around her middle and pulled it very, very tight, draped the long slip over her head and smoothed it with his open hands. Lastly, he followed the same procedure with her dress. Wow! My heart was beating and I was afraid my cock would break through my pants. Did other sons do this for their mother. Was I the weird one or was Butch? Would I want to do the same with my mother? Absolutely not. This clearly, to me anyhow, was not what a future baseball star would ever do. But maybe if I was ordered to do so by my mother, I would. I always obeyed my mother.

And Butch was not done yet. He removed the net from his mother’s head and unpinned the tight curls. Picking up a brush from her vanity he ran it through her hair until it seemed like all the curls were gone. Now he used a comb to carefully arrange her hair into a lovely, feminine style. Like a magician, he brought the curls back by combing sections of hair around his finger. She looked gorgeous. Funny, through all the time Butch dressed her and did her hair, she said nothing. She just relaxed and smoked a cigarette. Now I knew that this was something that Butch did on a regular basis. His last act was to kneel at her feet and place her high heeled shoes on her feet.

“Thanks honey, good job as always. So Leon, would you like Byron to teach you how to be a lady in waiting? I’ll bet your mother would love to be pampered as much as I do.”

I gulped twice, unable to say anything, and shook my head “no”.

Mrs. Armstrong laughed.

“I’m not surprised, dear. Only a sissy boy like Byron enjoys doing these kind of things. Has he told you about his embroidery lessons? He’s getting very good at that too.”

I looked quickly at Butch and saw that he was blushing, and he did not look happy. Feeling very sorry for Butch, my instinct was to hug my best friend but I quickly got over that.  Whatever he had, I hoped it was not contagious.

Later, after his parents had left and after Butch had, at his mother’s order, done a load of wash and ironed several of his father’s shirts, we sat down to watch Bonanza. I was very uneasy when Butch pulled up close to me on the sofa and even more so when he put his arm around my shoulder and played with my hair.

“You have very nice hair, Leon. I’d love to see it curled. Will you let me?”

“BUTCH! What the hell has happened to you? Have you turned into a girl? Good golly, you do your mother’s hair, you take care of her clothes, you even help her dress. And now you want to curl my hair? Next thing will be you wanting to kiss me.”

“Are you reading my mind, Leon?” he asked and I was so shocked that he was able to lean over and kiss my cheek before I could do anything about it.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m going home” I said adamantly and stood up.

“Fine, but have you forgotten, there’s nobody at home. ‘Fraid you’re stuck here. Now sit down and be nice. I know you got excited when you watched me set my mother’s hair, and again when I ironed her slip, and you almost split your pants when you watched me dress her. You’re a lot more like me than you think. Bet you jerk off tonight thinking about everything you saw today, right?”

Damn, he was right. I had an almost constant erection the whole time I was here. And I had one now listening to him recount all the “queer” things he had done as he ran his hand over the front of my pj’s.

‘Why are you calling me names, Butch. I’m not a jerk off.”

Butch laughed loudly.

“I’m not calling you names. Don’t you play with yourself when you go to bed?”

“No, I might play solitaire sometimes, but not in bed. That’s weird” I responded innocently.

“Leon, don’t tell me you don’t masturbate?”

“No, never, ah, what does masturbate mean?”

“How about I show you, my friend.”

He reached inside my pj’s,  took hold of my erect penis, and began moving his hand up and down. As wrong as I knew this was, I could not stop him. It felt so good. So did his kiss on my lips.

“Just think of nice things, Leon, like setting your mother’s hair in lots of little pin curls, over and over.”

I closed my eyes and envisioned that scene, my mother in her robe, sitting at the kitchen table, with me standing over her combing and pinning her hair. Then I replaced my mother with Sandy Pierce, the prettiest girl in my class who I had a big crush on. I did not get very far in my fantasy before I pissed my pants. At least that’s what I thought had happened but taking a pee had never felt so good.