“Stunning,” I say, my voice surprisingly low, and his cheeks pinken. His gaze meets mine again and he winks at me. Fucking hell, is he flirting? Does he know the effect he’s having on me? And he’s encouraging it? Is he as attracted to me as I am to him?
I clear my throat. “How many more do you have?” I ask, my voice at least sounding normal this time.
“A few. A dress, a couple more pants, and one more skirt.”
“Don’t show me those.” He frowns, but I quickly add, “Let me be surprised when you wear them at home.” That brings a wide smile to his face and he nods.
Ten minutes later he’s out of the fitting room with his clothes draped over his arm, once again in his old jeans and T-shirt combo and worn out sneakers. God, it’s so weird to see him dressed like that now, and I understand completely what he meant when he said those clothes weren’t him. After seeing him in the other pieces, I can’t imagine him in anything else. He was born to wear feminine bottoms and crop tops.
“Let me,” I say and hold my arms out for the clothes.They aren’t light and he’s a string bean. Besides that I kind of like the idea of carrying his clothes for him.
He smirks at me but hands them over. “Where to next, Papa Bear?” he says, sliding his hand through my arm.
“You decide,” I tell him. “Shoes or underwear.”
“Underwear.” I struggle to hold all of his clothes over one arm as he pulls me towards the men’s underwear section. I’m a little surprised we’re here, actually and I don’t hesitate to say something.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
He turns to me and raises an eyebrow, his eyes dancing. “You think I’d look better in something else?”
My cheeks heat and I almost growl at him for being such a brat. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “You know, you can carry these yourself,” I gesture to the pile of clothes in my arms, and he laughs.
“These are fine,” he says with a shrug. “It’s just underwear.”
I narrow my eyes. “But is that what you want?”
He bites his lip. “It’s fine.”
“Charlie?”
He sighs. “Papa Bear, it’s fine. I like the more feminine stuff, but it’s more expensive and I don’t need you spending all your money on me.”
“What if I want to? What if I like spoiling you?”
He smiles and nudges me. “You wanna be my sugar daddy now?” I flush, shaking my head at him.
“Why don’t we wait a bit, huh? Get these for now, and if we decide I’m staying we can revisit the fancy panties?” he suggests. “Besides, if we really want to do it right, we need to get panties that are made for men. The women’s panties don’t fit right. No room for everything.” He smiles at me again and grabs a package of mixed color briefs. “I’ll need these anyway. Practical underwear is good, too.”
I sigh, because I want to give Charlie everything. And I don’t want to wait, but I won’t push him. “Okay,” I say, then we head for the shoes.
There’s more customers in the store now than there were thirty minutes ago, probably because of church letting out. There’s a handful of people in the shoe section other than us, but that’s it. Still, it’s enough to make me a little nervous. I don’t want anyone saying something to him that will take away that breathtaking smile. And I hate that people feel the need to judge others for something just because they don’t understand it or think it’s “normal.” What is normal, anyway? The only reason we subscribe to the whole concept of what is for boys and what is for girls is because that is what society has taught us, and I hate that for him. I hate it for everyone who feels pressured to be anything other than their authentic self. Everyone should feel free to dress how they like and enjoy the things they like without fear of judgment or being shamed or bullied.
I’m honestly feeling nervous myself about what people who walk by us are thinking when they see me holding what are supposed to be clothes for a teenage girl, and Charlie sauntering towards me in a very sexy black heel that will go perfectly with his black pants and white off-the-shoulder sweater, and I hate myself for it. I’ve come a long way when it comes to being accepting, having an open mind, and there not being any such thing as boy’s and girl’s attire, but I’m still learning and I definitely still struggle with what other people will think, even though I don’t want to.
I don’t know if he hasn’t noticed any of the glances, or if he has and is just ignoring them, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone make him feel like less than the amazing person he is because of his choice of wardrobe. So when the middle-aged woman in the same aisle gives him a judgmental stare and then glances at me like I’m a lousy parent for letting my son dress in women’s shoes, I just say to Charlie as loud as I can, “You look amazing, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Papa Bear,” he says, and the woman’s eyes widen. I just give Charlie the biggest smile as he slides out of the dress shoes and searches for some sneakers. He finds some cute white Keds with blue stripes on the side that sparkle. They are so him, and they will compliment his pleated skirt outfit perfectly.
When did I start to care about this stuff so much? I never gave a crap about fashion or going clothes shopping with my wife. I mean, there were certain outfits she had that I liked to see her in more than others, and I enjoyed it when she did her mini fashion shows for me, although, let’s face it, that was more because I got to see her take her clothes off repeatedly, but I would never choose to go shopping with her for a new wardrobe. Yet somehow with Charlie, it feels completely natural, and I’m enjoying myself. I feel like I could do this for hours and not get bored. Maybe it’s just him? Who the hell knows, but I decide I’m not going to question it anymore and just go with the flow.
“I think you might need one more pair,” I say. “Maybe boots?”
He grins at me and a minute later he’s sauntering towards me again in a pair of adorable brown ankle boots, his hips swaying. I can’t wait to see what they will look like with his new clothes because even now they’re incredible. God, how is he not a model? He can work a pair of shoes. I’d watch him all fucking day. Did that sound the tiniest bit creepy? Fuck, I’m so screwed up right now. I feel like I shouldn’t be enjoying this nearly as much as I am, but why? He’s enjoying it too. We’re both happy, and we’re not hurting anyone, though by the way the lady next to us is shaking her head, you'd think we’d committed a crime just by being here.
Charlie turns when he is within about three feet of me and saunters back down the aisle, giving me the perfect view of his cute little tushy. The woman from earlier is glaring at me and I wave at her, making her scowl and mutter something under her breath. I don’t hear it but I have a feeling Charlie must have because his face pales as he slides his old sneakers back on. His handsome face is downcast as he walks over to me with the shoes in hand.
“Hey,” I say. “Look at me.” He sniffles and wipes at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie before his eyes meet mine, and I could just throat punch that woman for making my boy cry. My boy. God that sounds so wonderful. How can I think of him like that when this is only the second day that I’ve had the privilege of knowing him? I don’t know, but he’s crawled inside my heart and I can’t let go. I don’t want to let go. “I don’t know what she said, but it doesn’t matter. Did you have a good time today?”
