Return of the Sister: Part 7

“Wait, so how do you know this chick, again?” Bobby asked nervously. He and Kimberly were making their way up the sidewalk towards a very large, expensive-looking house, and he was having definite second thoughts. This was a far cry from his usual Jefferson High house parties, which mostly involved getting wasted in one of his teammate’s basements and inviting some girls over to hook up.

“Yoga class,” Kimberly said. “She’s rich, you know, like most of the St. Ceylan’s crowd, but not snobby about it at all. She said she’s totally cool with you coming.”

Bobby grimaced. “It just feels weird going to a St. Ceylan’s party,” he muttered. “They’re like, the enemy, you know?”

“The enemy?” Kimberly echoed, rolling her eyes. “You’re thinking like a boy, Barbie. Not everything is about opposing sports teams.” She reached over to adjust a stray tendril of his wig. “Besides, you were the one who said you wanted to avoid Bev and Ally and them. I guarantee we’re going to be the only Jefferson High girls at this party. And also by far the hottest.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bobby said darkly, tugging at the sky-high hem of his skirt.

Kimberly had insisted they uphold their school’s reputation -- Bobby himself had often claimed Jefferson High had the sexiest girls -- and that meant she’d taken charge of his outfit, hair, and makeup. She’d bullied him back into the denim skirt he’d worn a few days ago, which was apparently not just a miniskirt, but a “micro” miniskirt, to put his freshly-shaven legs on full display.

It was paired with a crimson off-the-shoulders crop top that left his abdomen totally exposed while also showing off his collar bone, a whole lot of skin, and more than a hint of cleavage -- just looking down reminded him of Serena’s boob job threat, making him shudder. He had enough guys talking to his chest already without any “enhancements.”

He ruefully reflected that he was probably getting more coverage from his hair than his top. Kimberly had styled it into a “sexy messy” half up bun, leaving the remainder of his blonde tresses to spill down his shoulders. She’d done the touch ups on his makeup, too, ensuring no clumps in his mascara-laden eyelash extensions and picking a Vampy Matte lipstick to match his top, finished with a clear coating of gloss that made it permanently look like he’d just finished licking his lips.

To complete the “party girl” vibe, he was wearing big golden hoops in his ears, the annoying kind that always brushed against his cheeks when he turned his head, and a lacy choker around his neck. And, of course, he was clicking his way up the porch steps in a pair of high heels, though he had to admit that the four-inch wedge sandals were a piece of cake after a week straight in FMPs.

All in all, the resulting look could probably get him into any high school party on the planet -- and he didn’t see many frat parties turning “Barbie” down, either. His ex looked pretty good too, in a spaghetti strap top and high-waisted Daisy Dukes, but Bobby knew he was going to be getting the lion’s share of the male attention tonight, one reason why his heart was thumping so quickly behind the silky constriction of his strapless bra.

“Kimmy, I think this was a mistake,” he blurted, adjusting the strap of his purse on one shoulder. “Look at all the cars! There’s going to be a ton of people in there. Let’s just go back to your place and watch Netflix, okay?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Kimberly said severely. “I didn’t get both of us all dolled up for nothing. You used to love parties. Just have a few drinks, relax, and if it sucks we can head out around eleven.”

Before Bobby could come up with a better argument, she reached forward and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, a pretty black-haired girl opened the door, bathing them in the sound of thumping house music -- Bobby was unpleasantly reminded of his studio session with Serena -- and shouted conversations.

“Kimberly!” she squealed. “You made it! Looking good, girl.” The two exchanged an air kiss, then the host of the party caught sight of Bobby. “Oh, my God, and this is Barbie!” she exclaimed. “I’m so psyched to meet you! Like, my brother is gay, and he thought it was so, like, inspirational? When you came out like that, in front of everybody?”

Bobby swallowed, then did his best to smile brightly. “Yep, that’s me,” he said. “I, um, I love to inspire people.”

“He thinks you’re gorgeous, too,” the girl giggled. “He would totally love to meet you.”

Bobby flushed, looking over at Kimberly for help, but she was busy checking her phone. “That’s cool, but I’m not, um, dating right now,” he squeaked.

The host of the party stared at him for a second, then burst into laughter. “Oh, my God, Barbie, that’s hilarious,” she gasped. “My brother just turned ten, so I think he might be a little young for you. Plus, you know, he only crushes on boys?” She shook her head, still giggling. “Come on in, you two.”

Face burning, Bobby pasted a smile onto his face and swished inside, clutching the strap of his purse much tighter than necessary. If this was supposed to relax him, he was going to need more than a few drinks. A whole lot more.

#

Kimberly couldn’t lie: seeing her ex attend a house party as a hot blonde was an absolute treat. They had gone to plenty of parties together back when they dated, and Bobby had always been quick to make himself the center of attention, bragging about his latest exploits on the court or cracking jokes with his teammates, all the while standing with one possessive arm around her waist as if she were some kind of prop.

Of course, he’d also taken the opportunity to check out other girls as they walked by, and after a few drinks he was liable to start flirting with them, too. Kimberly had always been forced to scramble to keep his attention on her, usually by dragging him to the dance floor for some grinding or by letting him get a little frisky on the couch.

Times had definitely changed. Bobby was still getting plenty of attention from male admirers, but they were “admiring” very different things now. From the instant they entered the party, basically every guy inside had been ogling him like a piece of meat, either captivated by his long tanned legs, drooling over his flat stomach and tempting cleavage, or just plain love-struck at the sight of his pretty face. Kimberly could guess that at least half of them were already fantasizing about where they would like to put his glossy red lips.

But it wasn’t just his beautiful appearance that was getting him so much attention -- whether he knew it or not, Bobby’s own body language was equally to blame. Whatever Serena had been doing to him was obviously having an effect, because his graceful high-heeled stride had morphed into something Kimberly could have never taught him: a bouncy, neck-snapping, “come get it” strut that absolutely screamed sex.

At the same time, Bobby’s total refusal to meet anyone’s eye, choosing instead to dip his luxurious black lashes towards the floor, made him look like an incorrigible flirt -- the way he kept tossing his hair and playing with his earrings certainly didn’t help matters, either. It was no wonder every other guy at the party seemed to have forgotten how to form complete sentences.

“Come on, let’s get some drinks,” Kimberly said, pulling him towards the kitchen.

“Good idea,” Bobby said weakly.

The kitchen counter was loaded with various types of booze: Kimberly saw Grey Goose, rum, a few wine bottles, and, of course, a cooler. Bobby groped for the beer as soon as they were within reach, but Kimberly slapped his hand away.

“Image, remember?” she chided. “Here, have a cooler.” She plucked out the girliest-looking strawberry spritzer she’d ever seen and handed it to him. He grimaced, then took it.

“They only have Bud Lite, anyways,” he said. “I hate that stuff. Why doesn’t anyone ever just have normal Budweiser?”

Kimberly tried not to smirk. She grabbed a drink of her own, then looked around to survey the party scene. It was definitely a step up from the usual Jefferson High variety -- St. Ceylan’s kids tended to come from rich families, and were preppy to a fault.

The boys certainly didn’t mind Bobby’s outfit, but she noticed a few girls, who were dressed stylishly but not showing nearly as much skin, shoot him snobbish glances. She scanned the crowd until she saw who she was looking for: not Josh, but a guy from the St. Ceylan’s football team named Kevin Naismith.

“Barbie, look at that boy over there,” she said, pointing him out. “Doesn’t he look like a buff, red-headed version of Adam Sandler?”

Bobby followed her finger, frowning. “Yeah, I don’t see it, Kimmy.”

“Keep looking,” Kimberly urged. “Wait until you see him in profile.”

Bobby kept staring, and Kevin, who she happened to know had been creeping “Barbie’s” Instagram on the daily for the past couple weeks, finally noticed. He looked slightly surprised, then gave Bobby a cheeky wink. Kimberly watched a blush spread over her ex’s face.

“Still don’t see it,” he said, taking a would-be casual swig from his spritzer -- it went down the wrong pipe, making him cough and dribble a bit into his cleavage. Blushing even brighter, he grabbed a napkin and sponged himself off. “So, um, what’s new with you?” he asked, trying to regain some dignity. “Did you do the cosmetology homework?”

“You’re really the queen of small talk,” Kimberly remarked dryly. “Finish that thing already. You drink like a baby.”

Bobby, clearly affronted, drained the rest of the spritzer in a single chug, drawing some slightly intrigued looks from the guys hanging around the kitchen. Kimberly was counting on the alcohol to loosen Bobby up a lot quicker than usual -- he hadn’t partied once since the initial “Barbie” incident, and he’d lost significant mass since then thanks to the hormone pills and, more recently, his mom’s strict diet plan.

For some reason she felt guiltier about plying her ex with alcohol than she did about forcing him to live as a girl, but it was all part of the plan. After three spritzers and a shot of vodka, she could tell Bobby was definitely starting to enjoy himself a little. They had been joined temporarily by a couple St. Ceylan’s girls, who had been curious to meet “Barbie” in person and take a group selfie together, but both girls were now stumbling off towards the basement to dance.

“These spritzer things actually taste pretty good, you know,” Bobby said. He took another glance at the two girls’ butts, and his pouty red lips formed a devilish smirk. “And those St. Ceylan’s chicks weren’t so bad either.”

Kimberly seized her opening. “Let’s go dance with them, then,” she said. “You can get a nice close look.” She grabbed his wrist.

“Hey, wait, hold on,” Bobby stammered. “I can’t, you know… Because I’m a girl, now, and…”

Kimberly knew he was tipsy, but hearing those words come out of his lipstick-coated mouth was still heaven. “Barbie, girls aren’t like boys, okay?” she said, smiling deviously. “We’re not terrified of a little girl-on-girl contact. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She didn’t give him time to think about it, instead tightening her grip on his wrist and threading her way through the party to the basement stairs. The lights were dim, and the music was really thumping. A game of beer pong was going on in one corner, but most of the space was full of people dancing.

“I don’t know how to dance like a girl!” Bobby protested.

Kimberly pretended she couldn’t hear, putting a finger to one ear, then dragged him out into the middle of the dance floor. The male occupants perked up immediately -- the sudden appearance of two attractive blondes, one of whom was wearing a skirt so short it was barely covering both ass cheeks, could not go unnoticed.

Kimberly played it up for all it was worth, shaking her hips and grinding teasingly against her ex. He had a look of confusion and longing on his prettily made-up face, probably because he wasn’t “responding” to the female form how he used to, but once the St. Ceylan’s girls came over to join them he forced a smile onto his lips and started to dance, watching what the females around him were doing and trying his best to imitate.

Her ex had never had much of a sense of rhythm, but in this particular situation it couldn’t have mattered less. All he needed to do was toss his blonde hair, shimmy his shoulders, and shake his booty a little, and the male half of the dance floor developed a sudden jaw disorder.

The two girls from St. Ceylan’s were eating it up, though Kimberly suspected they were mostly getting a kick out of the novelty of seeing a former basketball star wiggle his butt in a micro miniskirt. The dance floor was getting suddenly crowded, mostly with dudes trying to dance their way closer to their little foursome, and as soon as Bobby twirled on his high heels, back facing her, Kimberly slipped away.

She was a little buzzed herself at this point, even though she’d tossed the vodka shot into the sink while Bobby wasn’t looking, but she had the presence of mind to send Josh a quick message: Showtime. Then, she found her burly red-headed football player over at the beer pong table.

“Hi,” she said, leaning close to Kevin and pretending to slur. “My friend thinks you’re cute, and she’s wondering why you won’t dance with her? She’s the blonde one. You know, the super hot one?”

Kevin Naismith gulped, and she could see his eyes immediately go to the dance floor. He broke into a grin, finished his beer, and wiped his mouth. “Hey, I’m open-minded,” he said. “Her name’s Barbie, right?”

Kimberly rolled her eyes -- as if he hadn’t been obsessively checking Bobby’s feed for new photos every day. “That’s right,” she said. “Go get her, big boy.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, immediately dance-walking his way towards her oblivious ex. Now Kimberly felt a definite pang of guilt -- she’d been hit on by enough horny drunk guys to know exactly how the next five minutes were going to go -- but she figured if anyone deserved it, it was Bobby Vickerson, misogynist extraordinaire.

Plus, he had a rescuer on the way.

#

Bobby had somehow lost sight of Kimberly, distracted by the St. Ceylan’s girl whose cleavage was practically right in his face, but then he felt his ex give his butt a playful swat from behind, making both of the girls giggle. Kimberly had always been kind of into spanking. Since Bobby was buzzed and actually enjoying himself for a change, he decided to play it up a little, putting a manicured hand over his mouth in mock horror, then giving his butt a wiggle.

This time, instead of a swat, Kimberly full-on groped his ass -- and her hands were a lot bigger than he remembered them. Bobby spun around, mock horror turning into real horror, and found himself looking at the broad chest of a guy who towered over him despite his high heels. He tipped his head back and saw the red-haired, definitely-not-Adam Sandler who Kimberly had pointed out earlier.

“What the hell?” Bobby demanded, feeling his face go hot.

The guy just pointed to his ear, shrugged, and proceeded to grab him by the hips. Bobby stumbled as he was yanked closer -- if it weren’t for his week straight of practice in stilettos, he probably would have lost his balance entirely -- and had to catch himself on the only sturdy surface available, which just so happened to be the asshole’s chest. The guy grinned down at the sight of Bobby’s dainty manicured hand splayed against his pecs, then leaned down to shout in the smaller boy’s ear.

“My name’s Kevin!” he yelled, gripping Bobby’s free hand in his. His hot breath stank so strongly of alcohol Bobby almost retched. He looked around instinctively for Kimberly, but didn’t see her, and the girls from St. Ceylan’s were more focused on taking selfies than on his current predicament.

“I don’t care what your name is!” Bobby shouted back. “I just want you to screw -- ”

The bass dropped, entirely swallowing his last word, which was unequivocally “off.” For some reason, the guy’s grin got even wider, and Bobby found himself spun around in Kevin’s much stronger arms. Suddenly his skirt-clad butt was grinding up against the guy’s crotch, while one of Kevin’s hands roamed across his bare midriff. Bobby tried to squirm free, completely mortified.

“I’m a guy, okay?” he shrieked -- he tried to use his old voice to say it, but panic had made his pitch even higher than usual.

“You can just say trans,” Kevin shouted back. “And yeah, that’s okay!”

Bobby tried desperately to wriggle away, but all he managed to do was rub his buttocks against a growing lump in the guy’s jeans. He gave a squeak of horror as he realized what was happening. Kevin leaned down again, blasting Bobby’s ear with his hot breath, and his stubble-coated chin brushed Bobby’s cheek. He recognized the feel of lips on his neck.

This could not be happening. There was no way a guy was necking him on the dance floor. He looked around desperately, but there was nobody paying attention -- in fact, it seemed like all the other guys were looking the other way now that “Barbie” had been claimed by a big football player. Kevin’s fingers brushed his chest, and to Bobby’s eternal shame, he felt a strange tingling sensation in his nipples.

He started to hyperventilate, paralyzed by his own shock and fear, as the taller boy rubbed up against him. Why wasn’t he kicking this creep in the balls already? He couldn’t throw a punch with these nails, but he could definitely scratch his eyes out, so why was he just standing here? Bobby shut his eyes. Maybe if he just waited, the asshole would figure it out and go away, and he wouldn’t have to make a scene in front of everybody. Maybe if he…

The music suddenly cut out, and Bobby felt Kevin’s grip loosen. Confused but relieved, Bobby opened his eyes and stumbled away -- right into the last person in the world he wanted to see at that moment. Josh Delacroix gently caught him, letting him regain his balance, then turned to Bobby’s would-be dance partner with a stern look on his face.

“Kevin, what the hell are you doing, man?” Josh demanded. “She obviously doesn’t want to dance with you. Back off.”

Bobby realized Kevin’s pawing hands had yanked his top askew, revealing the lacy edge of one bra cup. Blushing furiously, he pulled the fabric back into place. Half the party was now staring at them. The drunk asshole, Kevin, was swaying slightly on his feet.

“Dude, she obviously does,” he slurred. “She’s been teasing me all night!”

Bobby, still too upset to speak, shook his head as hard as he could, making his earrings bounce.

“You’re wasted,” Josh said, stepping firmly between them. “Get someone to drive you home, Kevin. Seriously.”

Kevin looked furious for a moment, as if he might take a swing, but Josh had him by a couple inches and showed no signs of backing down. In that exact moment, Bobby wanted nothing more than to see Josh punch him right in the face. Instead of starting a fight, however, Kevin looked over in Bobby’s direction.

“You little cock-tease,” he snarled. “I can’t believe I was going to let you suck me off.”

Bobby’s mouth fell open in a mixture of shock and rage. Then, to his embarrassment, all the emotions somehow turned into a sense of total helplessness and he burst into tears. Not silent, manly tears, either. He was sobbing and sniffling and completely wrecking his makeup, and everybody was watching.

Josh reached out a hand, a concerned look in his brown eyes, but Bobby slapped it away, then turned and fled up the stairs. He wasn’t sure where he’d set his purse, but he’d kept his iPhone in his bra during the dancing, and now he fished it out to start dialing Kimberly’s number, squinting at the screen through his tears. He put it up to his ear, trembling.

“Hey, it’s Kimberly. Leave me a voicemail if you’re, like, a hundred. Or else just text me like a normal person.”

It was all Bobby could do to keep from hurling his phone at the wall. He barged his way into the closest bathroom and shut the door behind him. Typical Kimmy. The one freaking time he needed her, she was AWOL, probably making out with some other St. Ceylan’s asshole.

Bobby stared at his reflection in the mirror. His makeup was a total mess, eyeliner running down his cheeks, and his blonde hair was tousled from Kevin’s attentions on the dance floor. Half the party had seen him burst into tears, and even worse, he’d done it right in front of Josh Delacroix, his basketball nemesis.

How the hell had his life gotten so screwed up? A few months ago the only way he would have ever shown up to a St. Ceylan’s party would be to crash it, steal some beers, maybe break a lamp, and get in a fight. Now he was a hot blonde mess weeping in the bathroom, wearing a tiny top that flaunted his cleavage, a tight denim miniskirt that clung to his butt like a second skin, and high heels that were impractical even without any alcohol in his system.

To top it all off, some idiot was now knocking on the door.

“Someone’s in here!” Bobby snapped. “Get lost!”

The knob turned -- why the hell wasn’t there a lock?

“Hey, this bathroom is ocupado!” Bobby yelped. “I’m serious, I’m taking a big shit and…”

Josh Delacroix poked his head in. “Hey,” he said sheepishly. “Uh, I grabbed your purse for you, plus some makeup wipes from one of the girls. Figured you might need it.” He tentatively held the small Gucci bag through the gap. “Everything okay?”

Bobby snatched it out of his grip, flushing. “Yep,” he squeaked. “Yep, yep, totally great in here.”

Josh glanced over his shoulder, then, to Bobby’s utter horror, stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “Look,” he said. “I told Kevin to get the hell out, and he went home. I’m really sorry he was being such a creep. Do you want me to get you an Uber, or anything?”

Bobby stared at him for a moment, then snapped. “Oh, quit acting so freaking nice,” he said. “I’m sick of this act. Go ahead and gloat! Seriously! Do it!” He folded his arms across his chest. “The one guy who ever kicked your ass on the basketball court is now crying in the bathroom wearing a freaking micro miniskirt. Get your laughs in, already!”

Josh blinked. But instead of getting mad, or leaving the bathroom, he just awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Barbie, you know I never thought of us as enemies, right?” he asked hesitantly.

Bobby narrowed his mascara-streaked eyes. “Meaning what, exactly?”

For some reason, Josh was the one who looked embarrassed. “Well, I always admired you,” the St. Ceylan’s star said. “I mean, I can only dream about having your handles, or your shooting touch. I used to watch so much tape of Jefferson High games, trying to figure out how you got off that three no matter who was guarding you.”

It was Bobby’s turn to blink. “Seriously?” he demanded.

“Of course,” Josh said. “And I still admire you. Like, even more now, probably. To think that you were kicking my ass on the basketball court when the whole time you were secretly, you know…” He made a hesitant gesture, encompassing Bobby’s feminine appearance. “I really respect you. That’s all.”

Bobby swallowed. He had never, in his wildest dreams, expected to be having a conversation like this with Josh Delacroix, especially not in a bathroom. He had always thought Josh’s squeaky clean image was just a front, and that Josh hated him every bit as much as he hated Josh.

But now that he was really thinking about it, why had he hated Josh at all? Just for being on St. Ceylan’s? If they’d been on the same team, he probably would have loved having a big man who could actually catch and finish lob passes, or cover for him on the defensive end.

“I totally get it if you want to leave,” Josh continued. “But I kind of need a beer pong partner.” He pulled a six-pack of Budweiser from behind his back. “How about we crush a couple of these, then go hand out some L’s?”

Bobby nearly choked up again. “Where did you find Budweiser?” he demanded. “The cooler was all Bud Lite. I hate Bud Lite.”

“I always bring it from home,” Josh explained. “I like it better, too.” He popped one open and handed it to Bobby. “Cheers, Barbie.”

At that moment, Bobby hardly cared if he was “Barbie” or not. For the first time in over two months, he had what felt like a friend again -- not Kimmy, with her constant bitching and scheming, not the cheerleaders, who were even worse, but a dude friend. With a tremulous smile, he raised his beer.

“Cheers, bro,” he said.

Josh chuckled, maybe at hearing the phrase in a breathy feminine pitch, but he clinked his beer can against Bobby’s and drained it in one impressive gulp. Bobby took a few moments longer, but still figured he did pretty well considering how long it had been since he chugged. He let out a distinctly un-ladylike burp and tossed the empty into the bathtub.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go wreck some losers at beer pong.”

“Definitely,” Josh said. “But, uh, maybe fix the makeup first.”

Bobby caught sight of himself in the mirror again and winced. “Oh, yeah,” he said, rummaging in his purse for his cosmetics. “Just, um, give me a couple minutes. Hey, crack another beer for me, will you?”