dix

Michael's mother stood behind him, her hands filled with make up. She dumped it on the counter in front of a scared-looking Michael.

Her comforting hands held up a brown eye-liner. "This is eye liner, but it works really well for the tail of your eyebrows."

"Mom, what are you doing?" Michael's eyes filled with worry.

She smiled down at him, "No child of mine is going to wear cheap, smeared mascara. Okay? Let's teach you how to do this well."

Mike smiled, licking over his chapped lips. "Okay."

She picked up a fresh set of brushes. "I figured we should start with eyebrows. You'd be surprised how much eyebrows can change." Her hand touched over Michael's dark eyebrows, "Do you wanna do some plucking?"

He giggled as his cheeks reddened with slight embarrassment. "I don't know how."

She turned around, picking up a skinny black eyeliner. "Let's mark your brown line first, then we can get to the painful part."

Her skinny fingers drew a proper arch, stopping the line shorter than Mike's actual eyebrows. She turned her son around, making sure he was okay with the shape they would become.

She warned him of the slight discomfort he would feel as she plucked each individual black hair from his brows. Michael didn't expect it to hurt that much.

"You're being a baby, suck it up," she joked with him.

Michael loved his mother, a lot, but not when she was tearing hair from his eyebrows. "How often do you do this?" He asked.
She took a step back, giving him a minute to take a deep breath. "Usually every other week. It depends. The rest of the times are so much easier, I promise you that."

Ten minutes later, Michael's eyebrows were up to shape. The irritated skin around them slightly unattractive. Ms. Clifford promised the irritation would go down soon.

She held up a new bottle of mascara. "This is good shit, use this."

Michael never heard his mother swear more than a few times. Hearing her throw the f-bomb and such around as a joking manner was something he was not used to.

"Curl your eyelashes with this," she held up a shiny silver eyelash curler, "Then quickly apply this. Not too hard, because it'll start to stick together. You don't want spider eyelashes."

He nodded. Michael backed up, sitting on the closed toilet seat. He listened to his mother teach him about eyeliner and eyeshadow. Concealer and contouring. Lipsticks (matte vs. glossy) and lip liners.

An hour in, Mike knew a lifetime of information. He had a permanent smile upon his lips, and he wasn't sure it was every going to leave. Aka definition of permanent.

"You think you're good? I can always help you out whenever."

Mike nodded. "I think I got it for now, I'll start pretty basic. I still don't really want to go out in public like that."

"You can, Baby. No one is gonna mess with a beauty like you." She leant against the wallpaper-lined walls. "Does anyone else know about this stuff?"

He shook his head. "I know it's the twenty-first century and all, but this stuff still isn't accepted."

She sadly nodded. "It will be, one day. Everyone will realize how stupid it is to put gender upon clothes and make up and colors."

He looked down at his nails, they were torn from color. Every Friday night, he'd paint them a new color, then take it off Sunday night. He just wanted those few days to feel pretty.

"You and Luke are pretty close, right? Do you think he'd be understanding with it all?"

Michael would like to believe that Luke wouldn't think twice about Mike showing up in a skirt, but he doesn't know the spoiled boy that well. "I'm really not sure, Mom. He's so cool sometimes, then he's all stereotypical private school sometimes."

"Your father and I have taken quite a liking to him. Our shop seems to empty when he's not around. I think he'd understand."

"I'm scared," he whispered. Michael was never really scared. He was always the one to kill the spiders, to check the weird sound downstairs. He was the one to deliver pizza in sketchy neighborhoods at 10 PM. Michael was not scared of a lot of things, but, he was scared of the world.

Ms. Clifford walked over to her son, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "He loves you the same way we love you." She stood up, putting her hands on his cheeks. She looked down at her beautiful son, she was constantly proud of him. "Do it when you feel it's right." Michael's mother began walking out, stopping at the doorway of his en suite bathroom, "There's another surprise on your bed, by the way."

Michael stood up once he heard his bedroom door close. He flattened out his sweatpants, pulling at the waistband until they lay nicely on his hips. He left his bathroom, turning off the light behind him.

On his bed was something he never thought he'd see, especially coming from his mother. The striped pink bag of Victoria Secret laid nicely on his pastel sheets. His eyes casted over the bag as he was unable to comprehend everything that happened the last hour and a half.

He dumped out the contents, four pairs of lace-y underwear falling into his hands. He sucked in his upper lip, a smile rising on his face.

Michael quickly stepped out of his sweats, his boxers falling to the floor as well. He grabbed a light purple thong, trying to figure out how to put it on.

He looked down at his dick. How is that going to fit into those?

Regardless, he took the four pairs of new panties, going over to the black-framed mirror leaning against his wall. He slid the lace over his stubble-y legs, surprised at the way it slid so nicely up his legs.

He tucked in his junk, pushing his balls around the very little fabric. He readjusted the back, uncomfortable the way his cheeks literally swallowed the fabric.

Michael turned around in his mirror, his green eyes falling out as he saw how amazing his bum looked. Michael definitely loved his butt.

He put his hand on his butt, grabbing the skin. This was good, this was nice.

In the end, he felt lovely.

(a/n) supportive parents!!!! yay!!!!!!