Pretty in Punk [ Peterick Crossdressing ]

[ Skirts Are Captivating ]

I've copied and pasted some parts and modified them a little but, yes,  this is {fuckin finally alex you lazy shit} the prologue scene

Patrick:

It's after school now and spending just that one lunch with Josh has made my heart race with anticipation.

I don't talk much because I don't feel very comfortable with my peers in school. Josh was a very nice person to talk to; he's good at listening. I got his phone number, too. I'm just happy I've made a friend that will last.

Since it's Friday and I haven't spent my paycheck from last week, I think it'll be fun to buy something at the mall today.

I know my outfit may get a few stares, but I've learned to ignore their criticism and keep my confidence. I just hope I can find it first...

Pete:

I was not prepared to see Patrick again. Not yet, at least. I saw him with someone and with the way their heads were down on the desk and how they were smiling at each other, I'm thinking it might be a little late for me to...

Well, I wasn't really interested in Patrick to begin with, but-- oh, who am I kidding? I really really liked that one time we were together. And I'm not going to assume he's in a relationship with anyone the next time I see him.

"Mikey!" I call him as he passes by the front of the school. He looks at me and unplugs his headphones.

"Hey, Pete."

"Can you hang out right now?" I ask.

"Well... I don't think so. I need to make time for homework otherwise Gerard will be onto me, haha."

"Oh, I see."

"Maybe tomorrow? I gotta go - I see Gerard coming over here." I smile at the floor, considering a challenge between his brother and me.

"Shit, see you later." I hurry to the parking lot and search for my car. Mikey's brother yells something to me and I laugh as I drive away.

I'm glad I brought my money and my courage today.

Patrick:

I guess not many people have seen a boy in a skirt. You'd also think they haven't used their words in place of their eyes to share their thoughts.

I continue with my purchases, and as the day progresses, the stares seem to die down. Maybe the less-populated stores help, but I gained the confidence to buy a few items to add to my feminine wardrobe.

I pick up a pair of white panties with a bow attached to the back and admire them. These are a keeper.

I may be getting some weird looks, but I was too distracted by the array of silk and lace to mind that. I was only buying this pair, plus some pantyhose to go with the few skirts I had at home. But those will remain home until I'm ready.

Then another pair caught my eye as I headed to the cashier.

Black fabric and thin rear, lace boarding the waist. Pretty tight and unsafe to bend down, I imagine in them. I take the hanger and pile the pair with my clothing.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" The woman asks with an unsteady smile.

"Yes, thank you." I smile, ignoring her concern.

"Your total is $20.42, sir." She delivers, handing me my purchases in a lovely, paper bag. I pay and accept the receipt, giving a smile.

"Thank you for shopping with us," she says and I return her gratitude with a smile before exiting the store.

Pete:

Well, my first and hopefully only stop is at a department store. I beg that I will find this on my own and receive as little attention as possible.

Skirts are found in the women's section, but I am clueless about my own size in this clothing; I wish they'd just made sizes and measurements equal in age or something rather than in gender.

"Oh, do you need help finding a size?" I hear a stranger's voice behind me and my nerves make my heart race.

"...Yes, please," I mumble, then clearing my throat.

"Is this for someone you know, sweetie?" She asks with a confused smile.

"Well... if you need to know, it's actually for me," I bite my nails a bit and blush.

"That's nice! No need to be embarrassed!" She laughs. My face infuriates with pink. "But your size will be different, assuming those pants are in men's size; you'll be a slightly larger size in women's apparel," she explains. But did she really have to differentiate the genders like that?

"Okay," I nod my head.

"I'd try this one, sweetheart. It seems like your fit." I'd hate to be rude, but I'd appreciate if she stopped assuming things. It's just very uncomfortable to me; with this being my first time opening up in public. But how would she have known, I suppose.

"Thank you, miss." I'm able to speak and she walks off after a nod.

I search for more clothes on my own. It makes me picture myself as mature and independent, but I know I'm an internal nervous wreck right now with it being my first time being so open to cross-dressing.

After a few findings, I make my way to the dressing rooms. I'm relieved to see only one arrow that indicates a singular, unisex room.

In all honesty, skirts weren't half bad on me - at least I don't think they are. I think I look better in short skirts rather than long. I've found four above-the-knee skirts that fit like a glove, each distinct in style.

The first was hot pink and plaid with black stripes. The second was a royal purple with lighter speckles, which I loved because I knew tons of outfits to create with it. The third skirt was a little longer and floral, splats of pastel and roses, with a bow waistband. The final one was light blue with black lace underneath and felt wonderfully comfy.

I guess I have to choose between what I can afford...

Next time I can bring more money and hopefully a friend to coo me out of my shell...

Patrick:

I still have cash, and mall visits are rare for me, so I head into another store and skim through offers.

I find a few skirts I love, but rethink when I see the prices.

Then I fall for a pastel blue skirt with a layer of black lace underneath. If the fit is right, this one is definitely coming home with me.

I see arrows pointing to the direction of the fitting rooms and follow them.

Pete:

I thought my decision was made, until the variety of colors tempted me again. The patterned ones are so pretty... but the blue one fit so well. And the classic punk plaid is my style. The length and fit are all so pleasing.

I'm admiring the plaid on my hips in the full-length mirror when I hear a click in the room.

I tense up and gasp, reaching for anything to cover myself up.

It's too late.

Patrick:

I lean my ear on the door and hear no sounds. With a turn of the doorknob,  the door is open for me. But now my eyes are opened wider.

I just walked in on Pete Wentz trying on a skirt.

We both remain still. This lasts for a minute.

"Oh, s-s-sorry. Wrong room," I try to sound sane and content, but a grumble of panic speaks.

I shut the door again and take a moment to process this.