"I know you weren't at Cliff's house," she accused.

"Huh?"

"Cliff's parents called here looking for him. So you weren't there and he wasn't here. So where were you?"

"Uh, I spent the night with this girl Brenda from History class," I admitted. I didn't have time to make up another story and I certainly didn't want to get caught lying again.

"Well, I know you left your penis and testicles at home, so OK. But don't lie to me! I'm your mother! You can always be open with me! Now what did you do with this girl?"

"We took a shower together, then I helped her get dressed, then we went out cruising with two of her girlfriends."

"What about later? Did you find a strap-on somewhere?"

"No," I admitted truthfully.

"Well, if you bring any girls here, I'm going to want your Package Pen. You understand, just to avoid trouble."

"OK, thanks, Mom."

I couldn't believe it! My mother had just given me permission to sleep over with girls!

"That kilt is dirty and wrinkled," Mom observed. "Take it off and I'll wash it with the other one."

"Like, right here?"

"Yes, don't be bashful. There's no reason to wear clothes around the house. There's nothing to see anyway."

It did feel awkward but nevertheless I removed my dirty clothes, handed them to Mom, walked buck naked to my room, and slipped safely between the covers.

Lying there, I could hear my severed parts crawling around inside the Package Pen. Oh, I wanted to jerk off! But instead, I could only replay my experiences with Brenda.

It had been a long night and I dozed off quickly.

* * * * *

About twelve o'clock my phone beeped with a call from Noreen, the girl who'd wanted to borrow my dick earlier in the week.

"Hi, Troy," she cooed. "I've been talking to Brenda and, like, Mandy and I wonder if you'd like to hang out at the mall this afternoon."

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Not much. Shopping, talking, looking at people, whatever."

"I'm not bringing my dick, if that's what you want."

"Yeah, we figured that, but wear a skirt, OK? Brenda says you look hot in a skirt."

"I don't wear skirts, only kilts."

"Whatever."

"Where should I meet you?"

"How about the entrance to Nichol's at one o'clock?"

"OK, why not?" I agreed. The episode with Brenda, though incomplete, had been interesting.

* * * * *

Problem: I'd promised to meet Noreen and Mandy in an hour, and wearing a kilt, but all my kilts were in the wash! Fortunately, I could hear a load of clothes spinning in the dryer. Perhaps one or both of my kilts were in there.

Problem: I was still naked. It seemed redundant, however, to dress, go to the laundry room, undress, and then dress again. Mom hadn't objected the day before when I showed up naked for breakfast. She'd told me to get naked earlier that same day. Maybe I could get away with being naked for twenty seconds, just long enough for my mission. Mom and Dad would probably be somewhere else. Anyway, I just headed to the laundry room as I was.

"Oh, there you are!" Mom exclaimed as I snuck through the kitchen. Damn! I'd hoped she'd be out shopping or in the living room or something. Now she'd caught me with no pants, or no kilt, no whatever. Instinctively I crossed my knees and tried to cover myself.

"Going casual again today?" Mom asked wryly.

"No," I told her. "I just wanted some stuff from the drier."

"Those clothes won't be dry for another twenty minutes," Mom informed me and then, before I could turn and run, she said, "Why don't you make a sandwich and have some lunch?"

Damn! I'd forgotten to ask Noreen whether to eat first. And did Mom really expect me to dig through the fridge, make a sandwich, and eat it right there with my bits and my butt and everything else hanging out? Oh, that's right, no bits, but still�

"Where's Dad?" I asked as I made my sandwich and Mom presumably watched my butt. Was that a breeze or her eyeballs I felt?

"He's working in the garage," she explained, and that was a relief. I didn't want to think about him catching me naked, or being that way himself.

When I sat down to eat my butt stuck awkwardly to the plastic seat covers. I didn't think Mom wanted me sitting on a dishtowel, though, and a paper towel might come apart, so I just toughed it out.

"I'm meeting some girls at the mall. Is it OK if I take your car?" I asked her.

"Yes, I'm not going anywhere today. Are you sleeping over with them?"

"Um, I don't know, we only talked about the mall," I explained.

"Well, if you do, or if you stay out anywhere else, be sure to call and tell the truth," she demanded. "And here, take my credit card in case you find something you need. Don't go crazy, though."

"I won't," I promised, and then the drier stopped.

Since I'd worn the red kilt on Friday, I switched back to the green one on Saturday. Slipping it on was actually a relief. Upstairs I threw on a white tank top with a rock band logo and my new green shoes. With forced detachment I checked myself in the mirror. Oh shit but oh well. I'd worn a kilt the previous two days and somehow made it through.

On the way out I remembered my bag and Mom gave me a wink. Dad was in the garage all right, and I guess that counted as part of the house.

"Dad, why are you naked?" I asked him because, uh, what else do you say?

"Your mother talked me into it. She claims it speeds acceptance."

"Sounds like talk show drivel."

"Probably, but after a while it does start to get comfortable. It looks like you're dressed to go out."

"Yeah, I'm meeting a couple of girls at the mall."

"Well, happy hunting! Do you need a credit card?" he asked, and then he slapped his thighs and butt looking for pockets.

I told him I had Mom's, and then I opened the garage door, and then he stood there and looked out without missing a beat. Go figure.

* * * * *

Outside Nichol's the girls were on time and waiting. Noreen was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. Mandy had a sleeveless blouse and walking shorts. I felt a little out of place then realized I'd feel that way anywhere, no matter who I was with or how I was dressed. Both girls insisted on lifting my hem and proving I was unarmed, so to speak.

After that and a few more hellos Mandy wanted to shop for a purse. We looked in five different stores, though, and couldn't find one she liked.

Next Noreen wanted to look for earrings, but after six or seven stores (several the same ones as Mandy) she gave up as well. After that we sat down to talk for a while.

"You really look good in a skirt, "Mandy remarked.

"It's a kilt," I insisted.

"Whatever. How many do you have?" Mandy continued.

"None, you know that," I replied.

"No, how many skirts?"

"Kilts, and just two," I replied.

"Well, you're gonna need more than that," Noreen stated. "How will you get through the week? You need some variety."

"Mom bought me some skin shorts, and I still have all my old pants," I explained.

"No, just look at you! Covering those legs would be a crime. Let's look around," Mandy insisted.

Over both girls' objections, I insisted on shopping in men's departments. It'd been a while since I'd been in one and I was surprised to find several racks of kilts in various styles, colors, and sizes. At least they called them kilts.

"What's your size?" Mandy demanded.

"Thirty-two," I replied.

"This one's a thirteen. Why don't you try it on?" urged Noreen, holding up a very short one in lime green.

"Isn't that a girl's size?" I objected.

"Isn't this the men's department?" she countered.

"I'm not going to wear lime green."

"Like him?" Noreen pointed out as sure enough, a guy in the same lime green kilt was approaching us.

"Can I help you kids?" he began. He was also wearing patterned nylons, dressy shoes, and a loose-fitting white shirt with big sleeves and ruffles. In short, he looked like a flaming version of Robin Hood.

"I'm looking for a couple of kilts, something conservative," I told him.

"Well, these here come from the same manufacturer as those khaki pants that are always so popular," he suggested.

"Can I try one on?" I asked.

"Sure. If you're separated you can do it right here."

"I'd rather use a dressing room," I asserted before the girls could say anything, but then they insisted on coming in with me.

Neither of the girls was thrilled about the color or fabric -- khaki cotton polyester -- but the kilt was size thirty-two and it did fit me pretty well. Somehow, though, the girls talked me into buying thirty-two short rather than thirty-two regular, and they talked me into buying three of them: khaki, olive, and black. All were pleated, all had side zippers, none had belt loops, and none had pockets.

"That stuff is boring. You need more variety," Noreen proclaimed on the way out. "More colors, more fabrics, more styles. How can you wear the same thing day after day after day?"

"Guys do that. Like, it's OK to wear jeans every day. And I've got five kilts now. That should be enough"

"You have no idea of the principles involved," Mandy told me, and then she steered us into the Young Actives department.

"I don't wear girls' skirts. I only wear men's kilts," I objected.

"Let's just look," she insisted, and somehow I agreed to tag along.

"How about this?" Noreen suggested, holding up red polka-dot number with several tiers of ruffles.

"Not a chance."

"Or this?" Mandy proposed, showing me a tight, silky, straight-sided thing.

"Ah, no."

"Fishnet? It'll save you from lifting your hem."

"No."

"This," asked Noreen, showing me one in denim -- one with pockets!

"Maybe..."

Quickly the girls hustled me into the changing room and watched as I kicked off my plaid kilt and pulled up the denim, uh, whatever. Then the waist wasn't right and Mandy had to go out for a different size.

"Are you sure it isn't too short? Maybe I should have a medium or a long," I suggested.

"These don't come in lengths. You fit the hips and the length is what it is."

"There's not much room inside. What happens if I sit down?"

"You won't be showing anything."

I looked again at the pockets and finally said, "Okay."

"Now we're making progress. How about one in lycra or leather?" Noreen proposed.

"A lycra kilt? No, I don't think so."

"OK, leather then. Mandy, can you go out and look for one?"

Actually she brought back several and one wasn't too bad. I didn't really go for the motorcycle look, with chrome studs and zippers all over, but ta-da, it had pockets! "Does it only come in red?" I asked.

"Crimson, purple, brown, and black," Mandy replied.

"OK, black," I finally decided. What in the world was I doing?

"I think you should leave that one on," Noreen said.

"What?"

"Put your red plaid back on, buy these, ask 'em to cut off the tags, and then come back to change."

"OK, but the denim," I insisted.

* * * * *

On the way out I told myself over and over again that I wasn't walking around a mall in a girl's denim miniskirt. It came, after all, from the Young Actives department and not from Girls' or Women's. I was young and I was active, wasn't I? And denim or even leather seemed OK for a guy. They were like jeans, sort of.

Then I tried putting something in my pocket. Ugh. The pockets were sewn shut.

"That's to keep them flat," Noreen explained. "You don't want bulgy pockets interrupting your shape. You aren't a bulgy kind of guy anymore."

Then we got to the food court, sat down, and the, um, whatever slid up. Way up.

"I told you this was too short!" I complained.

"So cross your legs. Or don't. I guarantee you won't show anything," Noreen reminded me.

"You do have great legs," Mandy noted.

"I feel almost naked sitting down like this."

"Yeah, well, that's the way it goes. Guys cover themselves up in heavy clothes, but they want girls to wear little or nothing. And you're only a guy now for a couple of hours a couple of times week. Consider yourself post-macho."

"But I'm not a girl either."

"So do what you want."

What I wanted didn't include sitting in public wearing a girl's miniskirt and flashing people, but oh well. My red plaid number wasn't much longer and changing back was hardly worth the effort. At least the girls liked it, and my mom's credit card hadn't run out.

A couple of bulgy guys walked by, stared at my legs, and tried to stare higher. I gave them a peek. They blinked a few times, went bug-eyed, and then walked away shaking their heads. A mall cop did the same. A mall cop in a kilt smiled in empathy. A mom dragging along her son in light green tights pointed. A few girls seemed ready to talk but Noreen and Mandy glared them away.

* * * * *

After a while of that Mandy suggested, "Do you want to look for tops?"

I thought Noreen was going to answer but both of them were looking at me.

"Ah, no. I already put too much on my mom's credit card." Besides, what would go with a girl's leather or denim miniskirt? I really didn't want to know.

"Hairdo?"

"What? No. I like it the way it is and it'd take months to grow out."

"New purse?"

"It's a bag."

"Whatever."

"Been there, done that for Mandy. I'm sick of purses. Bags."

"Makeup? Brenda says you're clueless about makeup."

"And planning to remain so."

"Jewelry? Get some new piercings?"

I had to think about that one. "No."

"Shoes? How many pairs of shoes do you have?"

"These plus some red ones at home and all my regular shoes," I replied.

"Well you can't wear red or green every day, can you?" Mandy stated as if it were obvious.

"I still have my regular shoes," I reminded her.

"What are they? Old sneakers? I thought so. Those need to be history. And the ones you have on are just flats."

"You're wearing sneakers," I pointed out to both of them.

"Yeah, but the mall isn't everywhere. You can't wear flats all the time," Noreen told me in dismay.

"OK, let's see what they have," I eventually conceded. After all, the girls had gone to almost a dozen shops without buying anything.

* * * * *

First we tried the men's department at Nichol's again, and they certainly had a lot of styles that would've been unthinkable a few years earlier. I didn't see how being without bits most of the time affected shoe styles but someone apparently did. They had everything from traditional wingtips to sandals, flats, low heels, high heels, and fashion boots. Colors went way beyond brown or black.

High-heeled fashion boots were ridiculous. High heels of any kind were ridiculous. Trying on shoes in any kind of short kilt was ridiculous. I could cross my legs and make the shoe salesman fit my foot in midair, or I could give him a peek, or I could put on each pair myself (except that some stores didn't allow that).

The girls found a pair of low heel strap sandals I could walk in, but my toes didn't look so hot in them. "You need to start getting pedicures," Mandy advised.

Eventually, at a crossover shop, the girls talked me into two pair: some navy blue mules with heel straps and some bright red pumps with ankle straps. Both had thick, one-inch, cushioned heels and non-skid soles. Both seemed ridiculous and precarious. Yet, there they'd been, in the same shop with wingtips and construction boots. Based on that they weren't women's shoes, but they sure didn't look like men's shoes either.

At least I could walk in them. For practice, the girls talked me into wearing the mules for the rest of the day. A few people stared but I dealt with it. Two guys passed by in higher heels than mine, and both had less trouble walking.

And oh yeah, I did eventually buy a couple of shoulder bags: one brown and one black, both in plain leather. The fringe on my mother's old bag was a bit much.

I had no idea what my mom was going to say except that I'd probably spent too much. Then again, the credit card hadn't run out and she'd spent plenty herself.

* * * * *

"Let's go to the ladies' room?" Noreen suggested before we left.

"What is it with girls and the ladies' room?" I asked in return. "Are there stalkers or perverts or boogey men in there?"

"It's just safer being with someone."

"All right, I'll wait outside," I assured them.

"No, come in with us," Mandy pleaded, and I asked what she was thinking.

"Well, you don't have a dick and you can't use a urinal," she replied. "Other separated guys show up and nobody calls the cops."

The women's room, as it turned out, was pretty much like the men's room but with no urinals and more toilets. A couple of other women were there but mostly they just looked at my legs. The toilet seat wasn't too clean but at least it was down. I wiped it off with a wad of toilet paper.

"So now what?" I asked after we'd finished.

"We're going out with friends," Noreen revealed.

"Maybe I could come along," I suggested.

"I don't think so. It's all girlfriends," Mandy explained.

"OK, then, thanks for the afternoon. We'll keep in touch, huh?"

"Sure," both of them agreed, and then I drove home

* * * * *

Mom was surprised at what I'd bought and how much I'd spent but she didn't make a scene. She just told me that she understood I was going through a period of adjustment, and that she wanted to help.

After that I went to my room, looked at myself in the mirror, and puked. Some of it got on my kilt, so I just took everything off, rinsed my mouth, and went downstairs to watch television.

* * * * *

After dinner Izzy called and asked if she could come over. I told her I didn't feel like getting dressed, and she said that wasn't a problem, so I said OK.

It felt strange answering the door naked but Mom didn't care, Dad didn't care, and Izzy's family were nudists. Izzy herself arrived in an artist's smock and beret that lasted about two seconds after I closed the door. Mom and Dad acted surprised but didn't say anything. Mom did, however, head upstairs to appropriate my Package Pen.

Izzy and I watched television for a while, then played video games for a while, and then crawled into bed together. She was a lot less demanding than Brenda and a lot more considerate than Noreen or Mandy. Physically I still got nothing, of course, but at least Izzy seemed to care about me.

Later, during a break, I overheard my mom and dad talking. "I can't believe it," Dad was complaining, "A nice-looking young girl comes into our house, and strips naked, and I was naked, and I got no reaction at all."

"We all have adjustments to make, dear," Mom consoled him, and then Izzy pulled me close again.

* * * * *

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