Chapter 5 - Oh my God, will you sign my boob?

TAYLOR

I needed to escape.  I need to get away from this insanity.  Tiffany was driving me absolutely insane with her clinginess and downright obsession.  All I wanted to do was find Brooke, without Barbie here following me like an obedient poodle. 

After a swift turn into a dining room, I’d managed to evade my stalker.  It was a relieving feeling having that annoying weight suddenly off my shoulders.  I almost immediately spotted Brooke, having some meaningless conversation with this dark-haired man.  He looked considerably older, perhaps even being out of college.  My brow furrowed as I noticed how sophisticated he seemed.  He held a long cigarette in his hand, dressed in all black (I suppose like me).  He hair was semi-long and shaggy, and he was comparable to Ashton Kutcher.  He was nothing but trouble.

I needed to create a distraction.  I needed to somehow pilfer her attention away from Mr. Model and place it on myself.  I needed to think.  Come on, man.  Think of something, quick!  Just think really hard and…

SMACK! 

I was about to excuse myself when I saw some chick’s nostrils begin to flair as she picked her focus up from the floor.  She glared at me like I was the Unabomber and I immediately stepped back.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”  She spat, backing away from my sloshing cup. 

Okay, so it’s MY fault now?  “That’s funny, I thought you were the one running around with her head down,” I pointed out, placing my hands on my hips.  With that kind of attitude I’ll never apologize.

“Fuck you!  Now get out of my way…”

“Hey!  No need to get hostile!”  I exclaimed, putting my hands (and cup) up in front of me.  I don’t know what her problem was, but it was definitely more than me she was angry at.

“Look, Trevor or whatever your name is,” she muttered, trying to contain the tears glistening in her eyes.  She MUST be having a bad night!  Either that or too much alcohol.  “You almost spilled that nasty shit on my clothes and they aren’t even mine!  They’re Brooke’s…”

A smile warmed my face and suddenly I saw this girl in a new light.  She said the beautiful B word.  Brooke…say it and there’s music playing… Hmm, she must be awful close to have been granted permission to wear some of her clothing…perhaps they’re even best friends.  If I could get on this chick’s good side maybe she could get me a date with Brooke.  Then Brooke will see that I’m the fabulous guy she’s been missing all her life.  At least, that’s how I comfort myself on dark, stormy nights alone in my room with only my brothers as company.

“Taylor,” I corrected.  “You’re friends with Brooke?”

She looked disgusted.  “Look, she’s definitely out of your…”

“Hey, Taylor!”  Ashley exclaimed, running up to us.  He smiled when he noticed the girl.  “Oh, hi Abby.”  He turned to face me once again.  “Look, I just met these two college seniors and I know they’d dig us, man!  Come on!”  He quickly departed, giving me a pathetic begging, pleading smile. 

“So, you’re friends with Jason?”  She asked, her tone alarmingly softer.

“Um, yeah,” I began, unable to ignore his desperate silent pleas for help.  “Look, I need to go, okay?  See ya later.”  I spun on my heel and left Abby sputtering behind me. 

“This is Farrah and this is Laura,” Ashley began, introducing me to each female.  They giggled and flirtatiously shook my hand, whispering about my looks or something.  It didn’t really matter to me since they weren’t at all associated with Brooke.

“So, YOU’RE the Taylor Hanson?”  Farrah drawled, playing with her enormous gold hoop earring.  “I must say, you are even cuter in person.”

“Thank you,” I replied, with a fake smile.  Okay, I know this may seem arrogant and ungrateful, but if I have to hear about “how cute I am” one more time (by someone other than Brooke, of course) I swear I’ll spaz out and kill everybody like in the movie Carrie.  Not one person has told me that they like, or even dislike, my music.  They have not asked me my views on the presidency.  They have asked me about my fame, what it was like on a tour bus, how many women I’ve been with (a question I’ve danced out of many times), what kind of conditioner I use, if my brothers are single, if I personally am single, if I’d like any and all types of sexual indulgence with them, and let’s not forget ‘Oh my God, will you sign my boob?’  Yes they asked, and no I did not.

“So, what’s it like being famous and shit?”  Laura asked, twirling a strand of purple hair around her finger.  I inwardly cringed.

“I don’t know.  Okay, I guess.”

“Okay, you GUESS?”  Farrah exclaimed, in sheer disbelief.  “Why, if I ever got famous all I’d ever do is party!”

“That gets old fast.”

“No way,” she replied, shaking her head.  “Not in my book.”  Oh, right.  I forgot.  She WOULD know more than me about parties when you’re famous.  What ever was I thinking?

“So, are you seeing anyone at the moment?”  Laura asked, taking a drag from her cigarette.  I wanted to gag on the toxic fumes.

“Um, no.  Not at the moment,” I mumbled, eager to leave this conversation.  I noticed a pity glare from Ashley.  “Um, but Ash here is totally single too.  When I took him on tour with me, more women flocked to him actually.  It was kind of embarrassing seeing as I’m the famous one and he was just the roadie.”  Okay, so I outright lied.  These morons didn’t even deserve our time anyway, so my guilt is gone.

“Really?”  Laura exclaimed, one eyebrow perfectly arched. 

“Really!”  He replied, grinning appreciatively at me. 

“So, what was it like being a roadie and all?”  Farrah asked, turning away from me and smiling coyly at Ashley.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did you travel all over the world?”  Laura asked, also intrigued.

“Excuse me,” I stated, standing up.  All that alcohol was finally taking its toll on me and I needed to take a leak.  I made my way to the restroom without too much female interference.  I closed the nasty smelling bathroom (smelled like someone must have consumed a tad too much beer and ended up puking his brains out).  It was finally quiet.  Sure, it may be putrid and smoke-filled, but at least there was peace.  I was finally alone to think.

What was I doing here?  I don’t fit in with this superficial crowd of brain-dead socialites.  I feel drained of my sanity…

I leaned over the sink, suddenly perspiring greatly.  My nerves have been completely shot and I believe my lack of stability is due to the lack of alcohol remaining in my bloodstream.  I really am totally uninhibited when alcohol is introduced, therefore I become comfortable in any situation.

“Hey!  You almost done?”  A slurred, deep voice asked, banging on the door.

I turned and glared menacingly at the door.  “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

If only my pulse would stop quickening and my breathing would slow down.  Then I could get out of here.  I need to get Ashley…I feel so claustrophobic.  I need to breathe… Oh God, where’s all the oxygen? 

I’m having a panic attack, that’s all.  I’ve having a complete nervous breakdown.  I stared at my hands that were shaking uncontrollably.  I can overcome this.  I can overcome this.  There is no way I am going out there in this state.

I slumped onto the floor, not really caring about the fellow waiting impatiently outside.  He can go piss in a bush for all I care.  No, I needed my space away from this chaos.

Brooke was the only reason I came tonight, aside from my mother’s threats.  She looked absolutely incredible and was at my fingertips but what could I do about it?  Nothing.  I let a perfect opportunity fall through my hands and now I’m just stuck in a disgusting bathroom sulking.  What a night this has turned out to be.

I brought my knees to my chest and rested my head upon my knees.  Before I closed my eyes to escape this situation, I whispered,

"I wish I could be close to Brooke.”

*****

“Hello in there!”  The deep voice shouted, obviously pissed from having to wait so long.  “Some people need to get in there!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, before grabbing my throat.  What was wrong with me?  My voice sounded so high, almost like a girl’s.  Slowly, I stood up and immediately lost my balance.  “What the hell?”

Oh my GOD!  Why am I wearing all white?  Why do my legs look considerably tan and where the hell are my clothes?  Frantic, I stared at myself in the mirror and let out a high pitched scream.

“Holy shit!  I’m a chick!”  I exclaimed, touching my new black hair.  I stared at myself, equally amazed and repulsed by my reflection.  This wasn’t my body.  This wasn’t my voice.  This was most certainly my mind.

“Hey, um “chick”?  Can you please hurry your ass up?”  The guy begged, sounding downright needy.

“No, no, no, no…” I muttered, over and over again.  This couldn’t be happening to me.  I must still be asleep somehow.  Yes, this was most definitely a dream.

I kicked the toilet seat hard and fought back tears as my foot throbbed with pain.  I looked at the mirror again and noticed I was still the dark skinned, dark haired, hazel-eyed girl with the white top and Capri pants.  Holy shit, I looked like that Abby girl!

I slowly opened the door and stumbled out of the bathroom.  The inebriated guy looked me up and down, whistling.

“Honey, you were definitely worth waiting for!”  He purred, touching my chin.  I threw his hand off and scowled.

“Do I look like a fucking faggot to you?”

He just stared at me as I tromped away as best I could.  My feet were killing me and for some reason, my vision was a little blurry.  Was this chick blind or something?  I needed to get back into my body… No wait, this must be a dream or something.  Yes, this is a dream I am certain to wake from any moment.  That’s right.  Any moment now…

“Abby?”

I flopped onto the floor, holding my head.  I couldn’t see very well, I was sweating uncontrollably, my clothing was too tight, and I think I broke her shoe as I tripped out of the bathroom.  My body felt the urge to cry but I sucked it up.  No man would be caught dead crying like a baby in the middle of a party.  Although, technically I’m really not a man anymore so I guess that aspect could be wavered.

“Abby?”  Brooke repeated, rushing to my side.  “What’s going on?  Are you alright?  Did you drink too much?  You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Brooke?”  I asked, dumbly.  I felt my cheeks redden and my heart started to race.  From the way she was kneeling over me I could easily see down her dress.  The girl was blessed.

“Yeah, honey, it’s me,” she replied, feeling my forehead.  She was so soft, so delicate.  “You don’t have a fever.  I think you just had a little too much to drink.  I hope you’re still okay to sleepover.  I’ve really been looking forward to it.”

“I’m sleeping over?”  I exclaimed, jerking forward.  “Oh my God!!”

“Take it easy, okay?”  She said, with a smile.  “I think the alcohol is making you delusional.”

“Is it just me and you tonight?”  I asked, hopefully.  Oh, please let it be just me and her!  Please!

“That’s it!”  She teased, pulling me to the side of the room where we could talk a little quieter.  “No more booze for you, little lady.  You’re really messed up, you know that?  You saw the girls earlier with their stuff.  Brigitte and Tiffany and Uma and Sandra are all staying over too.  After my parties the girls usually spend the night so they don’t have to go home wasted and we also get to gossip about the evening.  It’s actually kind of fun… or at least it used to be.  But, anyway it’s tradition.”

I tried to comprehend her words but my eyes were driving me crazy.  Abby must have had a pound of make up on her face and the blurry vision was really hurting my head.  The only thing that I could take comfort in was the nearness of Brooke.  She smelled so feminine and I could hardly control myself with her in the glove-fitting dress. 

“Ugh…” I moaned, holding my head.  This was too much.  I couldn’t be in a girl’s body.  Yeah, I’m just really drunk right now.  I don’t remember drinking a ridiculous amount but hey, actually being stuck in a woman’s body was unrealistic.

“Hey, hang in there, okay?”  Brooke encouraged.  “The party’s winding down already and people will be leaving soon.  Then we can get into our pajamas and talk about boys, okay?  Does that sound good to you?”

I grinned.  “Do you have little night gowns?”

She smiled.  “You bet I do.”  I beamed.  “I have the perfect one for you to borrow if you want…” 

I frowned.  “Me?  In a night gown?  Are you crazy?”

“Well someone is starting to sound like they’re feeling better!”  She exclaimed, pulling me towards her again.  She dragged me towards the center of the room where everyone was dancing in what looked like a giant orgy.  “Dance with me, Abby!  Let’s give everyone a show!”

“Okay…” I mumbled, happily.  Brooke slowly turned behind me and I could feel her body move against mine.  I instinctively felt my heart race as people started watching with their jaws open.  She was so sensual, and she wasn’t even trying to be.  I tried to play off her but with this strange new body everything just came out wrong.  If I had been me then I could have ever so smoothly grinded against her as if we were one person.  I could see everyone’s eyes on us… well, mostly on Brooke anyway.  I almost wished that I could have been able to watch the show we were putting on since right now I was a woman.  Hey, maybe this will be a dream where I’m a girl and Brooke’s a lesbian…this might be nice after all.

After a couple hours or so, the party had pretty much died and everyone was leaving.  The house was trashed and you could hear people puking outside.  I guess no party is too glam for vomiting.  I was still in my dream phase where I was in a girl’s body.  I’ve just decided that there’s really nothing that I can do to alter my predicament, so I might as well have fun with it.  I’d just better not decide to share this one with my brothers.

“Oh my God, what a killer party, Brooke!”  Tiffany exclaimed, excitedly.  She was still buzzing from the outlandish amount of alcohol she managed to consume.  She plopped down on the sofa and giggled.  “That was mad fun!”

Brooke smiled and ushered for the girls to follow her.  “What can I say?  I’m a natural.  Now let’s get to the good stuff!”

“What kind of good stuff?”  I asked, chasing her with an elated look upon my face.

“We’re gonna get nasty!”  She exclaimed.  “Dirty, nasty and raw.  We hold nothing back after our parties.”

“Oh goody!” 

“Oh yeah, when we all get involved it gets downright messy,” added Sandra, jogging over to her Polo bag when we got into Brooke’s room.  I looked around in complete awe.  Her room was the size of my family room, den, kitchen and bedroom combined.  And my house could hardly be considered a small house.  We’ve upgraded considerably from the house I grew up in.

All of the girls were now rummaging around in their bags and there left only one untouched.  I assumed that had to have been Abby’s.  It was a yellow canvas bag and inside it held a putrid white nightgown.  There was no way I was going to wear that piece of crap.

“Oh my God, Abby,” Brooke gushed, rushing over to me.  She took the garment from my hands and examined it carefully.  “This is absolutely gorgeous.  You know, I think I saw one a lot like this in my fall Prada catalogue but there’s just something special about this.  It looks so…authentic maybe?”

I smiled charmingly.  “Well, you are more than welcome to wear it if you wouldn’t mind loaning me a t-shirt and some loose fitting shorts.”

Brooke just stared at me with those perfectly colored eyes of hers.  “I could never wear something so nice…” Okay, there must be someone else who found this sentence incredibly ironic.

“No, really,” I insisted, shoving it back into her hands.  “Please wear it.  It’ll look good on you.  I don’t really like to wear that sort of thing.  Hell, I don’t even know why I packed it.”

“Well if you’re sure,” Brooke exclaimed, with a giggle.  “Here, can you help me unzip my dress?”

“Me?”  I asked, excitedly.  YES!!!

She eyed me strangely.  “Yeah, you.”  She turned around and squirmed uncomfortably.  “Now please just take it off.  Ew, I can’t even stand to wear it anymore.”

“Yeah…” I drawled, dumbly.  My shaking hands carefully took hold of the zipper, electricity zinging through me as I accidentally brushed her soft back.  Much to my boyish pleasure, the dress soon fell and I couldn’t help but gape at her beauty.  However, she slipped the nightgown on and the smile faded from my face.

After we had all changed, we grabbed our pillows (and Uma an Evian) and sat in a lazy circle to begin tonight’s main event.  Butterflies raced through my stomach as I contemplated all the various situations that could possibly occur.  I was still quite vague on what we were exactly doing, but whatever it was, the girls were quite anxious to begin.

“Okay, who’s going first?”  Brigitte asked, squirming as she took a bite of some freshly popped popcorn.  I smiled at the thought of food.  My stomach had been flooded with alcohol and the thought of some real food made my stomach gurgle with delight.  I reached in and threw a handful in my mouth.  Hmm, crunchy…

My eyes watered and I fought not to spit the masticated popcorn all over the room.  I finally managed to swallow with as little pain as possible.  “That was fucking gross…” I noticed five glares shot in my direction.  “What?”

Brigitte snatched the popcorn far away from him and scowled.  “What’s your problem?”

“It tastes like ass.”

“Nice language,” Uma muttered, half under her breath.  “Here’s a real class act.”  I ignored her bitchism as best I could.

“Dude, is there something wrong with that crap?”  I asked, wondering why no one else found it as repulsive as I.

“Dude…” Brooke teased, with a smile.

“It’s fat free,” Brigitte explained, as if I was calling the grass purple.  Or as if I were trying to tell her that Justin Timberlake was an ugly homosexual.  Well, personally I think that last one might possibly be true…”

“Who cares about the popcorn anyway?”  Brooke asked, being the mediator.  “Abby’s completely right.  It does taste like ass.”  I gave her a little smile.  This was definitely why I loved this girl.  Well, that and her amazing body.

“So, as I said before, who wants to go first?”  Brigitte asked, stuffing and extra amount into her mouth and chomping on it in my face.  Uma looked completely disgusted.

“I will,” Uma stated, replacing the cap of her water delicately.  She tightened her navy blue silk robe tightly around her waist.  “Did you see Dionne Lisinger’s new hair cut?”

“Eww.”

“Sooo ugly!”

“What did she do to herself?”  Brooke asked, sipping a diet soda.  “I mean, she wasn’t exactly Giselle to begin with but she at least had some frame around her face.”

“So true,” Uma agreed.  “I think she was trying to copy Charlize Theron but she was so sorely mistaken.  Whenever I look at her she makes me want to vomit.”

“Uma, everything makes you want to vomit,” I joked, with an obnoxious laugh.  “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you’re bulemic!”  Everyone stared at me with a mix of disdain and joy while Brooke erupted into laughter.  Uma shot her an icy glare.

“Oh, come off it Uma!”  Brooke exclaimed, between laughs.  “You have to admit, it was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, a real laugh riot,” she muttered, obviously bothered by anyone’s comment on her lifestyle.  From the menacing look in her eyes, I could tell she was not going to let that one go easily.  And I just have one thing to say to that.

Bring it on, beanpole.