Sixteen the Hard Way -12- Trying On (Patreon)

I put one arm across my breasts and immediately moved it away. That had looked like I was posing.

Sandra handed me the bra. "You'd better put this on before you ketch your deeth."

I looked at her, but she kept a straight face. I'm the one who giggled. "That sounds like something someone's granny would say."

"Shooden wunda," she agreed, and this time we both giggled.

I put the bra back on and adjusted the fit like she had shown me by lifting my boobs one at a time and letting them fall into the cups.

"Let's adjust the straps," she offered. So we did that too. There were clever little clasps on the straps to hold them in place once adjusted.

"Check the fit," Sandra suggested. "Waggle your shoulders, bend forward then back."

"All at once?" I protested. More giggles.

"Well," Sandra observed. "Nothin' fell out on the floah and rolled unna the fridge."

"You're doing that on purpose now," I accused.

“Ayuh,” she admitted. We both laughed again.

"That one fits so well," she noted. "Do you want to try on any of the others? A back=closing bra often fits better than a front-closer."

"Uh." I looked down. "You don't think the smaller size would fit?"

"Not as well as this one."

I sighed. "I feel like the bra makes me look even bigger than I am," I complained.

"There is such a thing as a minimizer bra," she suggested, "to make women with generous chests look a bit more stingy. Shall I see if we have one in a size that would fit you?"

I smiled at her description. "Please?" I said.

"Be right back." She unlatched the fabric door and left the tiny dressing room, taking with her the bras I wasn't going to try on.

No sooner had she left than Donna slipped in. "I got some other stuff for you to try—oh, wow." She stopped and stared at me for a moment.

"What?" I protested, embarrassed.

"Well," she said. "At least your nipples aren't showing now, but Joni—and someone is going to tell you this, probably a guy—you're built like a brick outhouse!"

I frowned. "That doesn't sound like a compliment!"

She giggled. "Well, it's usually meant as one! You know, like, well-built? 'Cause like, who builds an outhouse out of bricks?"

I kept frowning. "You've got bags. What's in them?"

"Oh!" she said, "Mom and I bought you some things." She waved the bags, then set one down on a bench. "Underwear, besides bras, I mean. And don't worry, they are pretty much like your own tidy-whities, just you know, for girls."

"I'm not a girl," I pointed out.

"Yeah? Is that why you changed your name to Joni?"

"Don't! You—That's got nothing to do with underwear!"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure it does. I told Mom that if you're going to do this Joni thing, you ought to do it right. And she agreed. So we bought you some panties."

"Aigh!"

She continued. "And if you won't wear them, you won't, but if you don't open the package, we can take them back. This is Nordstrom. They'd probably take them back even if you did open it."

I glared at her.

"You're so cute when you do that pouty thing," she said.

"I am not pouting!"

"'She pouted,'" said Donna. "Joni, when your lower lip gets all fat and puffy and the corners of your mouth turn down—that's pouting. Don't get me wrong. You're good at it. And it pays off." She paused to look at me with her lips pursed.

"Tell me something," she demanded. "Which of us gets into more trouble with Daddy?"

"You do!" I said immediately. "But that's not—that's not! You're just a loose cannon!"

"Hmph," she mumped. "And you are the Princess of Pout! And Daddy just wants to make it all better for you!"

"I'm—he?—you!"

She turned away. "Mom and I got you some capris 'cause we figured we'd never get you into a dress today." She pulled a pale denim something out of the bag. "See?" She shook the item out so I could see it was a pair of pants.

"Those are capris? I thought they were called pedal pushers?"

"They're sort of the same thing," she admitted. "But capris can go down to the ankle or even have a cuff. Pedal pushers only reach mid-calf and never have a cuff that could get caught in a bicycle chain."

"Oh," I said. "But they're both kinds of short pants for girls?"

"Yea-ah? Joni, you are so dumb!"

"Well, I don't know this stuff! Remember," and here I used finger quotes, "I've been 'pretending to be a boy' for ten years."

That cracked her up. She nodded, laughing, and tapped her nose. "That was what you call fast thinking!" She laughed, pointing at me. "And the beauty of it is it was true!"

I frowned at her, and that made her laugh more. "Pout, Princess!" she cackled.

I was trying to decide whether it was worth it to maybe pop her one at the risk of her cleaning my clock when Sandra walked back in. She only had two boxes this time. "Hey!" she said to Donna.

"Hey," Donna said. "I brought some pants for Joni to try on and some panties cause I think the ones she's wearing are a bit small." She started for the door. "Maybe you can get her to try them on. And that other bag has some tops, too."

"Oh," said Sandra looking at me. I glared at Donna's back as she headed out.

Sandra watched Donna go and said to me, "You two don't always get along?"

I snorted. Sandra laughed and shook her head. "You're too close together. In age, I mean, didn't she say you were only ten months older?"

"Huh? Yeah," I said. "My birthday is in November and hers in September, so we have been in the same grade at school."

She stared at me. She blinked. "That's effing hilarious," she said.

"You'd think so," I agreed. "But, yeah, no. It's a pain. Everyone thinks we're twins, and we have to keep explaining it."

"But that's what's funny!" she protested. "And you two don't even look that much alike!"

I gestured at my chest. "Well, not now!" I said. And she laughed even harder.

"Don't hurt yourself," I commented.

"So it was hard to tell you apart then?"

"I dunno," I said, shrugging. "I knew which of us was me."

Sandra grinned again. "You were the one pretending to be a boy?"

"Uh—," I know I was blushing. The weird thing about blushing is I could feel the heat go all the way down under my shirt.

Sandra was still grinning. "I think that is so cute." I knew she didn't mean me blushing but still….

I wondered if I should go along with Donna's cockamamie invention.

"Did you have a boy's name you used?" Sandra asked.

"Uh—Jonny," I said without thinking about it too long.

She nodded, smiling. She pulled something out of a box. It looked like it had a lot of lace on it. "Now this," she said, "is a back-closing longline bra that is supposed to be a minimizer." She held it up. "See, it has lacy cups and a bit of lace at the midriff."

Ah, jeez! And it was lavender! With a little flower where everything came together.

"You don't like it?" Sandra asked.

"I don't think so," I shook my head. "Too…."

Sandra grinned. "Too girly?"

I nodded, blushing again.

She laughed. "Even for a bra, it's a bit over the top, huh?"

"Please, no," I said.

"Okay," she said, still laughing a bit, as she put it back in its box.

She waved with the other box she had brought. "This is one just like the one you're wearing now, so you have two. You need at least two good bras, so you have one to wear while you wash the other."

I nodded. That made sense, if anything did.

She looked in the bags Donna had brought. "Package of plain white panties," she commented. "Size three?" She shrugged. "This is four pullover tops in different colors. And a pair of denim pants, size small." She held the pants up. "These are pretty plain. They could almost be boy's jeans, except they don't have pockets or a fly." She giggled, looking at me sideways.

She handed me the pants. "You can try those on in here. I'll just go ring up the two bras. Latch the door."

I sighed but accepted the capris.

"There's a screen, there," she pointed. "You can pull it away from the wall and change behind it, if you're extra paranoid."

"Now you tell me."

She laughed and put the package of panties on top of the capris I was carrying, along with the bag of pullovers. "You can try one of those on, too. The panties, I mean. And yes, we do have the well-known insane return policy."

I looked alarmed. "You don't resell returned underwear, do you?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I think we give them to a charity. Something." She went out the door and reminded me again to latch it.

I did that first, then pulled the screen out from the wall to make a little cubby with a shelf for putting things down and hooks for hanging things up. Walking back and forth across the room, I noticed the swaying of my breasts, but the bra was keeping it down to just disconcerting and not alarming.

I sighed, put the capris, bag of tees, and package of panties on the shelf, then took off my shirt and hung it on a hook. The back of the screen was a mirror with another on the wall, making an angle where I could see my reflection from the front and from the side.

I made such a face at myself!

I decided to try on one of the pullovers first, pulling them out of the bag to look them over. They weren't Polos; they didn't have stand-up collars. Also, instead of an alligator above a pocket, they had a little black-and-white panda and no pocket at all. The tag at the neck said the brand name was Pandaclad, which I vaguely remembered as a brand of little-kid pajamas.

Something else suggested to me that these were not unisex or from a collection for guys. The sleeves were cut on an angle instead of straight across. Girly but subtle. I decided I could live with that.

The colors on offer were red, a greenish blue that was not turquoise, a purple sort of brown, and a foresty-looking green. I pulled that last one on, and it fit well enough, but my shape stretched it out a bit, and it turned out that not having a pocket was a good idea. That would have looked ridiculous.

Thinking about it even made me blush, and I was interested (only a little freaked out) to see that the color did go down into the shirt to turn the barely visible swell of my breasts a definite pink. No blushing in public, I told myself—like that would work.

I wondered if these tops were the boat-necks Donna had mentioned. The neck opening was wide and pointed at the shoulder, and the front did not dip into a vee or even a shallow oval. Hmm. I decided to forgive Donna one crude remark for having had the sensitivity to make a modest choice.

The material of the tee was very soft and slightly stretchy, reminding me again of Linda's pajamas. It felt good against my skin. The shape of the opening made my neck look longer. And the green looked good, too. I decided I liked the tees and would wear them as long as I had to be Joni. The slight girly styling did not look out of place on me.

Sigh. Nothing for it but to continue.

I toed off my sandals, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, then hooked my thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down. The waist was loose, but they fit very tightly on my hips, and I had to force them. Just as I expected, getting the jeans down over my hips was impossible without dragging my undershorts.

I pushed them all the way down, ignoring the anatomy revealed but muttering something nonsensical I had heard my grandfather say. "If it ain't lamb, it surely must be mutton." I have no idea what that meant, but it felt appropriate.

Before I could change my mind, I tore open the package of white panties, noting as I did so that the size was marked S for small. They looked huge.

I slipped them on, terrified for some reason. What did I think would happen? I mean, probably the worst thing possible is that they would cause me to grow double-D boobs. Too late for that.

I pulled the waistband up, and it actually fit my waist, not hanging loose. The soft, stretchy fabric covered my ass, too, without binding at the leg holes. Even little Jonny made no complaint. Little Joni?

That thought made me blush all the way down to my navel.

I wiggled around a bit, but the fact was indisputable. Girl's panties fit better than boy's underpants. I rolled my eyes. What had I expected?

Nothing left to try on but the capris.

The softness of the fabric surprised me also—compared to my jeans, the cloth was thin and light. And stretchy. I pulled the waistband up and felt the material tighten over my butt, around my thighs and as far down my calves as they reached. Which was about four inches above my ankles, with no cuff. Ridiculously short for boy's jeans. But…

I looked in the mirror, turning this way and that. I felt my bust jiggle when I moved but at least…at least what? My ass didn't jiggle, even if it looked, well, huge in the tight fabric. It had been getting bigger for the last year and had rounded out with the growth spurt I'd had last night. It was enormous for a boy, but about like Donna's shape down there, truthfully.

Maybe a bit bigger.

I could feel myself blush again. What had provoked the red flush this time—not the sight of my own ass…. I glared at my reflection from two angles. No, I had turned red thinking about Rod Pick seeing me in these capris.

How much of a girl was I going to turn into?