2T4U/Jack/Aaron Sissy/Attic/Force Change
"Well, yeah. I mean, those clothes," you point to Aaron's sperm-coated pajamas, "just aren't right for you, you know?" At his confused grimace you continue. "They just aren't, well, cute enough."
With irony, he frowns cutely are the mention of the word "cute". With a pout - a cute pout - he begins to whine: "But, Jaaack! I don't want to be cute! I'm a boy! Boys aren't - they aren't . . . supposed to be . . . cute." What began as a bluster dies down to a pitiful murmur, and you wonder if he is simply lashing out at the countless memories aunts, mothers, and grandmothers, specters of embarrassment and unwanted attention, all pinching his "cute" cheeks and telling him what a "cute wittle boy" he was. Though the final murmured declaration seems betray a secret curiosity, affirmed with a blushing face now carefully studying the floorboards. Does he actually want to be cute? Like, girly cute, not little kid-cute? This might be easier than I thought.
Smirking, you ruffle his hair, coaxing a slight smile from the contact. Emboldened, you slide your fingers through his soft golden hair, as he sighs; then drag your fingertips across his cheek, as he blushes brighter; before sliding your hand under his chin, tilting his face up toward yours, as he fidgets adorably, gazing searchingly into your eyes. Fuck, I'm smooth. Why don't I get laid more often? "Says who? Why can't boys be cute? Girls can be cute, why can't you?" Furrowing his brow for a moment, his dainty lips part to reply, but you cut him off. "Doesn't matter! They're wrong. You're damn cute and you deserve to wear something as cute as you are, got it?"
Gasping in a most unboyish fashion at your mild swear, or perhaps at the forceful tone of your pronouncement, his brain seems to finally process what you just called him: damn cute. That definitely isn't what an aunt would call him. Glowing redder than he was in the bathroom minutes ago, he tries to turn his face away but you hold his chin still. Instead, he looks down toward your waist, his fidgeting beginning anew. Though his rocking hips are adorable, and subtly sexy, that isn't quite the acknowledgement you were looking for.
"I said, you're damn cute and we're going to find you something to cute to wear, because you deserve it, got it?" He purses his lips at your authoritarian tack, not pleased with being bossed around, but his wiggling hips betray his unspoken approval. Finally, he nods and offers a quiet "okay". That was easy. "Are you going to whine anymore about needing cute clothes?" Quickly and sheepishly he shakes his head.
"Good! Now then, where were those boxes?" Methodically you pan your head around the dim space, wishing the sole hanging bulb provided more light than three and a half matches. Eventually, you spot one near a far wall. As you approach you find two others, all conveniently labeled: "underthings", "shorts & shirts", and "dresses & skirts".
Which box should you look into first?