When in Rome: Part 3

As much as it pained Bobby to admit it, over the past few months he had kind of gotten used to guys checking him out. Yes, it was still humiliating, still emasculating, and he still hated it with every fiber of his being, but when it happened every single day, eventually the sting had to wear off. He had learned to put up with boys staring at his legs, or talking to his chest. He’d grown accustomed to turning around and seeing the guilty expressions that meant they had been watching his butt when he walked.

But these Italians were taking it to a whole other level. He’d thought it couldn’t get any worse than those two dumbasses in costumes, but he’d been wrong: on their way to the gelato shop Kimberly had found on Google Maps, some guy had given him a rose and professed his undying love in a mixture of impassioned Italian and heavily-accented English. At the gelato shop, a different guy had absolutely insisted on paying for him. On the way back from the gelato shop, a third guy on a moped had risked his life cutting across traffic just to try chatting him up at the crosswalk.

And that didn’t include the chorus of appreciative whistles and catcalls that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Kimberly was getting some looks herself, but it was obvious the obsession with blondes had not been overstated. He was pretty sure that was what they were trying to say sometimes when they shouted bionda at him. He was less sure about strafiga, but judging from how it had earned the catcaller a swat on the head from a little old Italian lady shuffling past, he could guess.

The fact that the little paper cup of mango ice cream, or gelato, or whatever, was delicious just made it all the more infuriating that he couldn’t eat it in peace. By the time they made it back to the relative sanctuary of the hotel, Bobby was ruing the day he’d ever let the salon stylists put him in a blonde wig. Well, he rued it anyways, but now he was ruing it hard.

He and Kimberly were sharing a room, but when they arrived at the door his mom popped her head out from the neighboring suite, still looking slightly frazzled from the change in timezones.

“There you two are!” she exclaimed. “I was just about to message you. You need to get your makeup off and hop in the shower, Barbie. Traffic is even worse than I remember it, so we should get moving as soon as possible.” She fluttered a hand against her head the way she always did when she had a migraine coming on. “Oh, and you saw the Colosseum! Isn’t it great? So old. Okay, get in the shower, sweetie. Chop, chop!”

Her door swung shut again, and Bobby was struck with the realization that this was really happening: he was about to do a fashion show as “Barbie,” in front of an audience, and it was way too late to back out.

“Don’t worry,” Kimberly said, somehow sensing his nervousness. “You’ll be great.” She fished the key card out of her purse and opened the door to their room. Bobby gave a sullen shrug and walked inside, grabbing his makeup remover before heading straight to the bathroom.

Taking off his “face” always gave him a weird mix of feelings. On one hand, it was a relief to ditch the fake eyelashes, and to look a little bit more like his old self. On the other hand, it was disturbing to see how much “Barbie” stuck around, even without a hint of makeup. Struck by a sudden suspicion, Bobby rummaged through his purse and pulled his passport out of the bottom, flipping once again to the photo of his cocky, macho, fifteen-year-old self.

Yes, the plucked eyebrows and puffy collagen-treated lips certainly made a difference, but it wasn’t just that. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his skin had gotten smoother and clearer -- maybe because of all the moisturizing -- and that the sharper lines of his face had softened a little, even though he had lost weight, not gained it. Could that be another side effect of his gynecomastia?

Hopping in the shower didn’t give him any respite from his worries, since he had to confront the fact that his boobs still seemed to be growing. The guy Kimberly had put him onto, Dr. Skito, was giving him male hormones to counteract his condition, but the little pink pills had yet to kick in -- but maybe, for now, that was actually a good thing.

His goal of crushing Serena wasn’t one he could accomplish as Bobby, and “Barbie” needed to look “her” best if he had any shot of upstaging his big sister. But with the male hormones already starting to circulate in his body, he had a limited window of time to act. If he woke up tomorrow with whiskers, Blush would probably not be impressed.

Putting the issue out of his mind for the time being, Bobby instead shut his eyes and tried to fantasize about a hot chick climbing into the shower with him. Maybe Kimberly -- his ex looked good as a brunette, and they were going to be sleeping in the same bedroom. Sure, she claimed she wasn’t into him anymore, but he’d definitely seen her checking him out on occasion, the same way guys so often did.

He figured some late-night, no-strings fun might be on the table, if only he could get “Little Bobby” to cooperate. He frowned, looking down. Jerking it in the shower had once been one of his favorite pastimes, but right now he wasn’t getting so much as a twitch -- which didn’t bode well for his hopes of a hook-up.

On the other hand, his nipples were more sensitive than ever lately, and when he reluctantly started soaping his breasts he felt a disconcerting tingle of pleasure. He also got a sudden flashback to lying on the couch in Josh Delacroix’s basement, unzipping his skimpy top to give his former basketball rival better access. Blushing at the memory, Bobby turned the water as cold as he could stand it.

A few freezing, arousal-killing moments later, he climbed out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. He secured it under his armpits automatically -- he’d had that drilled into him by his mom, who insisted on modesty in some circumstances, but totally ignored it in others, in a way he figured he would never quite catch onto. As he began blow-drying his hair, he tried to focus on the upcoming challenge.

Not only did he have to be a model, he had to be the best model there: Kimberly had already shown him photos of his main competition, an Italian girl named Bianca Buccino, and she was the kind of hottie Bobby once would have grudgingly rated a 9 or even a 9.5. A year ago, he would have tried picking her up. Now, he was going to have to show her up on the catwalk. Life was pretty freaking weird these days.

“Anything to screw Serena,” Bobby muttered to himself, fluffing out his blonde tresses. “Anything to screw Serena…”

#

Bobby’s mom hadn’t been joking about the traffic. Their Uber got them there just in the nick of time, even though the gallery where the show was taking place had looked pretty freaking close to the hotel on Kimberly’s phone. The space wasn’t quite as big or lavish as she’d been expecting, but she supposed this wasn’t exactly a Victoria’s Secret gig. It was busy, at least: organizers were racing around with clipboards or herding racks of clothing toward the backstage area.

She shot a look over at her ex, who was watching the proceedings with an expression of distaste. It was a look that worked for a jaded seen-it-all fashion queen like Serena, but that wasn’t what Blush was after.

“Try to look excited,” Kimberly hissed, as Bobby’s mom flagged down a woman with a clipboard. “Fresh, fun, and sexy, remember? Be a little more...bubbly.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, but he pasted a winning smile onto his pretty features as the organizer came rushing up. “Hi,” he chirped. “I’m Barbie Vicker -- ”

“Yes, hello, you are Barbie Vickerson,” the Italian woman said, thrusting a form and a fountain pen at him. “Sign here, we are in a hurry, so the others you will sign later, okay? You are needed backstage for makeup and to be measured.”

Bobby’s mom intercepted the form at once. “Go ahead, sweetie,” she said. “I’ll handle the paperwork.”

“Yes, yes, better,” the organizer said. “We are so happy to have you, Barbie, your shoot with Jan Van Antwerp was very nice.”

Bobby’s cheeks went pink at the reminder. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome,” the woman said, now turning to Kimberly and looking her up and down with a critical eye. “And you? You are not walking, are you?”

Kimberly felt her own face go a little bit pink. She knew there was a difference between high-school hot and model hot, but had her ex really outclassed her that badly in the looks department? “Social media coordinator,” she said, through gritted teeth.

“Please, go sit,” the woman said brusquely. “It is crazy enough already with so many lost people running in circles, and…” She trailed off, looking over Kimberly’s shoulder. “Ah, good!” she exclaimed, breaking into a relieved smile. “Our star!”

Kimberly followed her gaze, and her eyes narrowed. A very tall, very busty, and very beautiful Italian girl with flowing jet black hair was making her entrance, accompanied by a whole entourage of admirers and assistants, one of whom was holding her purse and Starbucks coffee cup for her. Bianca Buccino, in the flesh.

Kimberly bit her lip. She’d done her research, and knew Bobby’s main competitor for the Blush campaign was no push-over, but she hadn’t expected quite this much fanfare for a model who had only done a few spreads and was still more famous in Italy for a baby clothing ad than anything she’d done since puberty. Kimberly hadn’t expected her to look even better in real life than on her Instagram, either.

She glanced over at her ex, who had a look of awe-struck admiration on his face -- except, naturally, his eyes were pretty much glued to Bianca Buccino’s rack.

“Backstage, backstage,” the organizer trilled, pushing Bobby gently in the right direction before, seeming to forget their existence entirely, she hurried over towards Bianca Buccino.

“Go on, Barbie,” Bobby’s mom said, smiling brightly. “You’re going to be great. Kimberly and I will be watching from the front row, okay?”

Bobby dragged his eyes away from his competitor’s bust. “Um, right,” he said. “Cool. See you guys later.”

As soon as he was making his way backstage, the smile dropped off his mom’s face. “Our ‘star,’” she echoed darkly, still flipping through the form. “Honestly. She’s barely done anything. She has a great publicity team, and that’s it. We were actually trying to poach one of her coordinators for Barbie, but...” Her mouth snapped shut and she looked up with an awkward smile.

“As in, a social media coordinator?” Kimberly asked, with a slight sinking feeling.

Her ex’s mom looked slightly pained. “At this stage, it’s very important for Barbie to feel comfortable,” she said diplomatically. “So at this stage, you’re actually perfect, Kimberly. She needs your support. But moving forward, well, we’re obviously going to have a professional do her socials.”

Kimberly’s jaw dropped slightly. A deep feeling of embarrassment flooded through her as she realized she should have seen this coming a mile away: she’d gotten so used to thinking of herself as the mastermind behind everything “Barbie” that she’d forgotten her ex’s parents had equally grandiose, if less sinister, plans for their progeny. Of course they weren’t going to actually employ a teenage girl to help manage their new daughter’s image.

“But let’s not think about that now,” Bobby’s mom said cheerfully. “Just enjoy the weekend, sweetie. We’re in Rome, and Barbie is getting her first catwalk experience.”

“On a catwalk sponsored by Blush, who are looking for a new face for their cosmetics line,” Kimberly said pointedly. “And I know their marketing director is around here somewhere. Nino Romano?”

Mrs. Vickerson pursed her lips. “Yes, he’s here,” she admitted, lowering her voice slightly. “But I’m well aware that Bianca’s the favorite already -- the Italian connection, you know. Since this is Barbie’s first real show, I didn’t want to put any extra pressure on her. Not when getting the Blush campaign is such a longshot.”

Kimberly swallowed. “I didn’t just come here to take photos of her in front of fountains or whatever,” she said. “I can do way more than that. I swear.”

“That’s nice, sweetie,” Bobby’s mom said vaguely, pushing the signed form into the arms of an organizer scurrying past. “Let’s go find our seats, shall we?”

Kimberly set her jaw. That settled it: she was getting Bobby the Blush campaign, no matter what, and she was going to make sure his mom knew exactly who was responsible, too.

#

Under other circumstances, Bobby would have thought he’d died and gone to heaven: the instant he got backstage, he was surrounded by some of the hottest girls he’d ever seen in his life, and most of them were rushing around half-naked. The only problem was, he was one of them now. It didn’t stop him from taking a good look around as a wardrobe coordinator dragged him toward the clothing racks.

“Clothes off, please,” she sang, unzipping his top and tugging it up over his head before he had a chance to follow her instructions on his own. Bobby was grudgingly impressed -- it was a really finnicky zipper. Then she unbuttoned his skirt and yanked it down his tanned legs. He gave a stifled yelp of alarm. There was one way in which he was definitely not one of the girls, and he was suddenly very grateful he’d done such a thorough tuck job.

That didn’t stop the wardrobe coordinator from taking an appraising look at his crotch. “Hm,” she murmured. “Okay, is fine.”

Bobby flushed. He’d wrapped his arms around himself instinctively as the air conditioning chilled his exposed skin, but now he felt the sudden urge to cover his crotch from further scrutiny. In the end, he didn’t get to do either.

“Arms out, please,” the woman said. “I will measure you, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Bobby chirped, trying to reset with Kimberly’s “bubbly” advice in mind.

The woman wrapped a measuring tape around his hips, waist, and finally his bust. The cold touch of the tape made him wriggle slightly. A leggy redhead in a skimpy silk thong swished past a moment later, making it extremely hard not to turn his head.

“Hm,” the wardrobe coordinator repeated, now reading the tape measure with a disappointed look on her face.

“Um, is everything okay?” Bobby asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes, fine,” she said. “You are just small. In your boobs. Your boobs are small.”

Bobby’s face grew hot, especially since several heads in the vicinity had turned: a gorgeous black girl gave him a pitying look, and a stunning brunette busy putting on a garter belt snickered slightly. He stared down at his chest, and for the very first time, the foreign additions to his frame that usually seemed so big and distracting actually looked kind of...small.

He looked around the backstage and found several of his fellow models looking right back -- or more specifically, looking at his boobs. He’d seen plenty of guys staring at his chest, and the cheerleaders at school liked to “check in” on his breast development once in a while, but the way he was being looked at now, brazen, clinical, and then dismissive, was very different. These girls were competitive, and in this particular area, he’d clearly just been written off as no threat at all.

Bobby did not like getting written off. He looked down again, and for exactly one topsy-turvy millisecond he actually wished the breasts bobbing in the silky cups of his bra were just a little bit larger. Just enough to wipe the smirks off the other girls’ faces. Then he blinked, coming back to his senses. He was a guy, and guys did not want, or need, boobs of any size.

“My bad,” Bobby said sarcastically. “So what am I going to wear, anyways? If you can find something that fits my small...”

“We will start you with this,” the wardrobe coordinator interrupted, holding up a lacy scrap of fabric Bobby knew, from resentful experience, was a V-neck, teddy-style babydoll. Sometimes he worried that all the slots in his brain he used to use to keep track of important shit -- NBA records, shooting percentages, assist-to-turnover ratios of his favorite point guards -- were getting refilled with an intimate knowledge of women’s clothing and lingerie.

“Cool,” he said, trying to look at least halfway excited at the prospect of wearing the garment. “What goes over it?”

The woman stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, you are funny,” she said. “Nothing goes over it! If something goes over it, who can see it?”

Bobby blinked, then took another look around the backstage. There were no over-the-top costumes or elegant gowns or really any kind of clothing to be seen -- nothing but underwear. He swallowed as he realized why his mom had taken him for a full-body waxing before their flight. He was doing his first show, and it was a freaking lingerie show. No wonder everybody was half-naked.

He looked from the babydoll in the woman’s left hand to the lacy thong in her right, face suddenly burning. “Um, where do I change?” he squeaked.

“You change wherever you can find space,” the wardrobe coordinator said, with a very Italian shrug. “I must get the other girls ready. I will be back in five minutes, okay? Five minutes.” She waggled five fingers, as if to make extra certain he understood how counting worked, then handed him the lingerie set and disappeared.

Bobby was left swaying on his high heels, clutching the babydoll and thong. His head spun for a second and he took a deep breath, trying not to let panic set in. He was supposed to get changed, as in, take off his current bikini-cut panties and replace them with the thong, right here in the middle of the action. Where anybody could see him. Where anybody could see the little patch of medical tape keeping his junk crammed away and out of sight.

Bobby briefly considered making a run for it. The brunette who had snickered at him earlier was now having her makeup done, but she was watching him in the mirror with a slightly amused look on her face -- did she know? She definitely knew. Everybody knew.

Bobby was no stranger to women’s locker rooms, thanks to his miserable trips to the gym or to exercise classes with Serena, but he’d always managed to change in a private stall. Here, that wasn’t an option. But the minutes were already ticking away, and he had to get into the lingerie set before the wardrobe woman came back.

Trying to look nonchalant despite his red face, Bobby ducked behind the clothing rack. It held only lingerie, meaning everything was sheer or lace or otherwise see-through, but the little concealment it provided was better than nothing. Another model was busy finding a new bustier. Bobby gave her a pained smile, and as soon as she was gone, he took a final look around -- all clear -- and started wriggling his panties down his hips. Feeling totally ridiculous, he crouched down, awkwardly stepped out of them, and felt an immediate chill on his tucked-away manhood.

Halfway there. Bobby quickly stepped into the thong, still squatting awkwardly to avoid detection, then snapped it into place. He gave a huge sigh of relief, stood up -- and nearly collided with the most perfect rack of cleavage he’d ever seen. He blinked stupidly, momentarily entranced by the sight.

“Barbie Vickerson!” a voice trilled. “Oh my God, it is so good and nice to be meeting you in person!”

Bobby followed the voice upwards and discovered that the beautiful boobs’ equally beautiful owner was none other than Bianca Buccino, his competitor for the Blush campaign. Her jet black hair was cascading down her back in perfect waves, and she was wearing a silky pink robe that wasn’t quite up to the task of restraining her breasts.

“Uh, hi,” he said, making an enormous effort to keep his eyes on her face instead of on her boobs. He realized he was still holding his discarded panties in one hand and stuck them behind his back, blushing furiously. She had no doubt seen him crouching down here like some kind of weirdo and had come over to let him know.

“Hi,” Bianca echoed, wiggling her fingers in a little wave, still smiling. Bobby braced himself for a snide, Serena-esque follow-up, but instead the girl seemed genuinely happy to see him -- did she not know they were rivals? Trying to regain some dignity, he decided to play a classic ball-buster card.

“Sorry, but, like, who are you?” he asked innocently.

Instead of responding to the jibe by going into “bitch, I’ll kill you” mode, the way Serena or the cheerleaders at his school would have, Bianca clapped her hand to her cheek. “Oh my God, I am sorry,” she said. “You must think I am crazy. We follow each other on Instagram, but maybe you do not see my posts so often? I am Bianca Buccino.”

“Oh,” Bobby said, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Right.”

“I loved your shoot with Jan!” Bianca continued. “Especially the kiss, where you are, like, an American cheerleader in this sexy cheerleader outfit? And the sexy guy is lifting you up and kissing you?” She rolled her eyes back dramatically. “Oh my God, so hot.”

Bobby flushed at the memory. “Um, thanks,” he said.

“Is he an American model?” Bianca asked innocently. “I would love to work with him, you know?” She winked. “Anyways, I am so happy to meet you, and I think you are so brave! I cannot believe you were boy, you know? You are hot.”

Bobby felt his face grow even hotter. “You too,” he squeaked. “I mean, you’re, um, you’re really hot, too.”

Bianca beamed at him. “Oh my God, you’re so sweet and nice,” she said. “And this is your first show, right? Exciting! Why are you hiding back here, anyways? Is there…”

Bobby grimaced, and Bianca’s eyes suddenly widened in realization. She snapped her fingers loudly, making him flinch, and the wardrobe coordinator appeared as if by magic.

“Ciao, Bianca,” she said. “C'è un problema?”

“Yes,” Bianca said firmly. “I need a second changing curtain for my brave, lovely friend. This is Barbie Vickerson.”

The woman frowned, not comprehending. “She is shy?” she asked skeptically. “She is a model!”

“Yes, and she is trans,” Bianca said, her cheerful voice suddenly becoming icy. “And she would like some privacy, so please, go get her a fucking changing curtain and have it ready by the time she needs to do her second walk. Vai!”

The wardrobe coordinator went pink in the face. “Of course!” she blurted. “Scusa, scusa. I’ll look.”

As the woman hurried away, Bianca turned back to him with a smile, clapping her hands together. “Was that good?” she asked innocently. “I am practicing my swearing in English.”

“That was great,” Bobby said, with total honesty. “Like, perfect.”

Bianca gave a squeal of excitement, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in a way that set her decolletage jiggling. Bobby wasn’t sure, but he thought he might just be in love. His enjoyment of the moment got cut short, however, when he caught sight of the brunette model who’d snickered at him earlier.

The girl had grabbed one of the organizer’s clipboards and was now holding it over her breasts, looking down at the perfectly flat surface with an exaggerated expression of dismay. Several of the other models were giggling, and even the one who’d given him a sympathetic look earlier was cracking a smile.

“Don’t mind them, Barbie,” Bianca said, following his gaze and giving the other models a disapproving look. “It’s just because you are famous.”

Bobby gritted his teeth. If these models really thought they were better than him just because they had bigger boobs, he was just going to have to show them otherwise. His end goal was still crushing Serena, sure. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t crush a few other stuck-up girls along the way.

#