“What did you do with your hair?” she asked.
“What did Mother do with my hair you mean?” I replied as a nervous smile swept my face. “She curled it.” I said as I checked the time. “I think we’re late for C&C Studies.” I added.
“Shit!” Bekah exclaimed as she too checked the time. “Should we skip it?”
“Well we’ve missed half of it already so we may as well miss the rest.” I replied. Bekah nodded so I pulled my cigarettes from my jacket pocket and removed two from the pack. We sat in silence for a moment, smoking.
“I suppose in a way, you’re quite lucky.” Bekah suggested in a thoughtful tone. I replied with a slightly perplexed look. “Well…” she began as she re-lit her fag. “…you know what it’s like to be a girl more than most guys do.”
“I know what it’s like to dress as a girl.” I replied. “No idea what it’s like being one.” I added before drawing on my cigarette. “But I see what you’re getting at.” I felt slightly embarrassed after confessing so much to Bekah but it also felt good getting it off my chest, even if it was a highly edited version of the events detailed above. She didn’t need to know every last little thing, but I suppose for those of you reading this, it’s only fair that I tell you exactly what happened to Vincent…
As mentioned, my brother Vincent is in sixth form studying for his A-levels and has a very good chance of getting into Oxford. He lived as Sonia for just under two years and went back to being Vincent aged thirteen when his voice began to break. I guess that shattered the illusion of ‘Sonia’ in Mother’s eyes and things at home went back to normal… well sort of. Sonia had gone, along with most of her prissy dresses and her girlie pink bedroom became Vincent’s ‘lad-pad’. However Vincent did continue to attend Malham Hall High School which meant that he continued to dress as a girl every school day.
In spite of Mother seeing sense regarding Sonia, she still insisted that our petticoating would continue on a part-time basis. I stopped moaning when Mother informed me that I’d be joining Vincent at Malham Hall High School. “There are grants available so I could make it happen ‘if’ necessary.” she told me. Whether this was an actual fact or an idle threat, I’ve never been sure. But I wasn’t prepared to test her.
Part-time petticoating meant that I continued to change into my girl’s uniform after school everyday. It was a routine I was used to and my brother wore his uniform too, so it wasn’t exactly the end of the world. When I grew out of one uniform it was handed down to my brother and another was purchased in my size. When I’d outgrown one pair of school shoes I was bought another (although often from charity shops)… and Mother made sure I always had a clean pair of knickers, knee socks or tights to wear too. It wasn’t ideal but it wasn’t that bad either… it was the odd occasion that Mother suggested we wear one of our ‘Sunday’ dresses that I didn’t like. These were the dresses we each received every Christmas and every birthday. It wasn’t always a Sunday on which we had to wear them, but it was often a dreary rainy day as Mother said we were the next best thing to sunshine. I recall being bright red with embarrassment on those days so maybe she was onto something. Sometimes it was a weekly event, sometimes monthly, but the days when Mother exclaimed “Why don’t you boys put your Sunday dresses on today!” seemed to come often enough. One particularly miserable Whitsun break, I recall we wore a ‘Sunday’ dress most of that week.
Since Vincent stopped pretending to be ‘Sonia’ and Mother stopped pretending she had a daughter, she fussed over us in equal measure on the days we wore our dresses. I got first hand experience of how it felt having to sit for ages whilst Mother added curls, ribbons, slides and clips to my hair. I may have looked ridiculous but the process felt kind of nice. I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling guilty for teasing Vincent when he first became Sonia. I detested him for just going along with it, but it was only through being petticoated myself did I realise how easy it is.
