Laura went for a shower.
Mum apologized for being pushy,
before asking if I’d rather she spurned me.
“Noo,” I replied.
“I just didn’t think you’d encourage me quite so much,” I said.
“I’m trying to do the right thing, Marty…
the last I want is to get this wrong.” Mum said.
“I know… and you’re not doing anything wrong,” I said.
“If anything I’m the one who’s wrong.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong, Martin,” Mum said, looking me directly in the eyes.
“I don’t want to you even thinking that.” she insisted.
“It doesn’t say ‘ladies only’ on a lipstick or mascara,” she informed me.
“It doesn’t say ‘no boys allowed on the door of Tammy Girl or Dorothy Perkins,” she added.
“Plus… girl’s clothes are a lot more varied and interesting…
I’d hate to be stuck in a shirt
trousers
or jeans
and a T-shirt for my whole life.”
“Yeah.” I glumly agreed. “Thanks, Mum.”
I said, smiling and feeling more guilty than ever.
She really is going to hate me if she finds out why I really changed my FaceBank picture.
Laura hollered my name when she was out of the shower so I took myself upstairs.
I hung my head as the hot torrent of water splashed against the back of my neck.
I sighed repeatedly, each deeper than the last as if somehow hoping one might free me of the guilt that hangs heavy in my gut.
If only I hadn’t lit that fire all those months ago.
If only my stash tin was in my pocket when I fled.
If only I hadn’t confessed to Laura.
If only I said I’d changed my profile picture for a dare…
that’d easily explain why it had to stay up for a month and Mum wouldn’t think I’m a closet cross-dresser.
I tipped my head back and let the torrent of water cascade through my long dark hair and anticipated getting dressed as a girl again.
I enjoyed it the first time but had I known why Laura wanted to give me a make-over,
I’d have been a lot more hesitant.
After washing,
rinsing and conditioning my hair,
I washed the rest of myself and tried to imagine having no hair on my legs.
Thankfully I got myself out of that…
at least for now.
After shaving my face,
I exited the bathroom and entered my bedroom to find some clothes laid neatly on my bed;
a pair of black spotty cotton shorts and a white top,
plus a pair of black tights.
I got cold feet and gently knocked on my sister’s door.
“I don’t think I can do this today.” I nervously told her.
“Oh don’t back out,” she whined.
“I thought choosing some shorts would make it easier than say… a flowery dress.”
“But… tights.” I grimaced.
Laura reminded me that I didn’t want to shave my legs.
I sighed and said that I felt like I was diving in at the deep end.
“Nah… it’s just a pair of shorts and a top… you’re dipping your toes in,” she said.
“Come back when you are dressed.
You don’t have to knock.”
I’m as nervous as hell as I pulled on some clean underwear.
Today the boy shorts and cropped vest are pale blue
but other than the color,
they’re identical to yesterday.
They hugged my hips and chest as I sat and struggled to get my first pair of tights on.
A fortnight ago Laura only transformed me from the waist up.
Today it’s going to be head to toe…
but at least she didn’t give me a skirt or dress to wear.
Then again,
these shorts are equally girlie in the way they hang and flounce from my waist.
The top is white,
thin, and simple.
The outline of the lacy crop top beneath is visible.
Its sleeves are short and gathered,
and it has two long thin laces which I guess tie in a bow behind my back.
I don my robe before first peeping out of my bedroom door to check the coast is clear,
then scurrying across the landing to my sister’s room.
“You look ace Marty.” she grinned when I removed my robe.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said as she beckoned me to her dressing table.
“Neither can I,” she said as I timidly sat.
“Just remember how much you enjoyed it last time.”
“That was before you told me why you were dressing me up.”
I dryly reminded her as she gave me some hair gel and a wide-toothed comb.
“I can’t do everything myself!” I exclaimed when she told me that I’d have to do everything myself.
“I haven’t got a clue how to plait hair.”
“But you told Mum that you did, so you’re going to have to learn… quickly,” Laura replied.
“It’s easy enough,” she said,
before coaching me to do exactly what she’d done two weeks previously.
After combing in the gel,
I was all fingers and thumbs as I separated my hair into ten or twelve equal sections,
tying each off with a bobble close to my scalp.
Plaiting each section wasn’t easy at first,
especially trying to keep the plaits really tight…
but I surprised myself as I soon got the hang of it and after maybe half an hour,
I looked like Medusa.
Then I wrapped each plait around itself into a small tight bun and secured them with a couple of bobby pins.
“How are you getting on?” Mum quietly asked, creeping into Laura’s room as I’m applying my foundation.
“Mum you’re supposed to be downstairs.”
Laura impatiently told her.
“You look like Bjork.” my mother grinned as I turned my head.
“I’m gonna get him to do my hair,” Laura said, before ushering my mother out,
saying something about her giving me stage fright.
“It’s bad enough having Laura watching over me.”
I added as I opened the eye-shadow palette as if I knew what I was doing.
“OK… sorry.” Mum smiled as Laura shut the door on her.
I had half an idea of what needed to be done;
foundation all over, eye-shadow on the upper lids,
eye-liner on the lower ones, mascara on the lashes,
a bit of blush on the cheeks and lipstick on my lips.
Only this time I had to learn to do it all myself because stupidly,
I’d told my mother that I’d done my own make-up a few times before I changed my FaceBank picture… and Laura’s right,
one day my mother will expect to see me applying my own make-up.
“This isn’t the last time I’m gonna have to do this is it.” I said after applying my mascara, finally without flinching.
“No.” Laura agreed.
“Mum’s dead excited…
the best bet is just to play along for a few weeks or months and then lose interest and say it was just a phase.”
“And in the meantime… Mum’s bought me more girl’s underwear and some frocks and skirts and shoes and make-up of my own.”
I dryly supposed.
“She’s more likely to start rummaging through all my old things and giving you my hand-me-downs,” Laura said.
“She’s already mentioned it to me.”
“Really?” I grimaced as I prepared to apply my blusher.
My sister nodded.
“I really should hate you for making me change my profile picture.” he sighed.
“Well, you couldn’t get away scot-free after what you did.
I figured it’d be a humiliating yet harmless punishment for you…
and it wasn’t me who talked Mum into thinking you really are a cross-dresser.” she said.
“You did that all by yourself.”
“Don’t I know it,” I grumbled, looking down at myself; my simple little top, girlie spotty shorts and opaque black tights.
Mum’s going to love seeing me dressed like this.
“Still…” I said as I put the blusher brush down.
“…it’s better than Mum knowing the truth.” I gulped.
“True,” Laura replied.
“You don’t hate me do you?”
“No,” I replied. “I just wish you’d thought of a different forfeit,” I said.
“Yeah.” Laura agreed as she began rummaging through all her lipsticks.
“So do I in a way,” she said.
“Do you want to wear pink again?”
“I guess.” I gulped. “I’ll need some breasts as well.”
I said, glancing down at my flat chest.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask.” Laura grinned.