The days and nights passed and my weird dreams continued.
Not every night but I’d have three or four out of seven.
Writing the details down in my dream diary became a habit and my descriptions gradually became more and more eloquent.
My mother particularly enjoyed reading one in which I’d been chosen as one of the six ‘attendees’ to the May Queen,
and the fact I was a boy didn’t seem to matter.
I wore a cream dress with a lilac floral print.
It had short puffed sleeves trimmed with white lace and I wore a garland of daisies in my hair.
“I can just imagine you and the other girls laying floral tributes at the May Queen’s feet.”
my mother said as I blushed.
“It’s anything but charming Mum!”
I retorted when she described it as just that.
“It’s a lot more charming than some of your other dreams.” she replied,
reminding me of the common ‘forced’ or ‘punished’ dreams.
“This one seems like you’re having a relatively nice time.”
“Yeah… ’til I woke up and felt like a freak.”
“You’re not a freak Peter.” my mother insisted.
“You’re clearly very imaginative and creative.”
I felt patronized.
There’s nothing normal about dreaming about dressing as a girl and Mum knows it.
The whole point of this ‘dream diary’ exercise is to bring an end to my weird dreams,
but my mother seems to be enjoying my dream diary a little bit too much. I
began being deliberately vague when writing my dreams down,
which did seem to curb my mother’s enthusiasm…
for a while anyway.
Then, one Friday afternoon, Mum tells me she’s got a surprise for me.
“What?” I asked.
“Remember this?” she said,
showing me the very rough sketch of the brutal training bra I’d drawn.
An audible gulp was my only reply.
“Well…” she said. “…I got you one made.”
My jaw dropped as she showed me an almost perfect representation of the bra I’d dreamt about,
even the pale blue color was right!
She was clearly proud of the fact that she’d found a proper corsettier to make it.
“But… why?” I asked.
“I was intrigued by it.” she replied.
“I can’t wait to see if you can get it off or not.” she grinned.
With my jaw still on the floor, I simply couldn’t speak.
“I got you some big knickers too.”
She showed me a pair of control knickers in the same pale blue as the bra.
In spite of the fact I hadn’t sketched them,
they’re very similar to those I wore in that particular dream.
“I don’t have to wear them do I?” I asked,
fearful of her reply.
“I didn’t buy them to look at…” she smiled.
“…well… not for you to look at anyway.”
“But…” I gulped.
“…I can’t wear that.”
“Of course, you can,” she replied.
“No one will know but me and you,” she assured.
“But… that’s not the point Mum.”
My mother shrugged and asked me what ‘the point’ was.
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that I really didn’t want to wear that bra,
or any bra for that matter.
“Bringing your dreams into reality won’t do any harm Peter… and you never know, it might do some good.” she explained.
“You do want these dreams to stop don’t you?” she asked,
tapping the cover of my pink girlie dream diary.
“Yes but… if it means dressing like a girl in real life,
I think I’d rather just dream about it.” I replied.
My mother said she understood, but that didn’t stop her from talking me into giving the bra a try.
Right there in the kitchen,
I removed my school shirt and tie.
It wasn’t at all easy to get on since it consisted of a collar and multiple cross-over straps.
The simplest way was collar first,
then squeezing my arms through the network of straps.
Mum fastened it for me,
then adjusted all the straps to ensure it was snug, yet comfortable.
“Horrible,” I replied when asked how it felt.
She checked the collar for tautness and loosened it a little.
“Is that better?” she asked.
I gulped and nodded.
“It’s still really uncomfortable though,” I stated.
Its taught chest band gripped my body so tightly I could barely get my fingers beneath it.
The numerous straps that crisscrossed my upper back held my shoulders in such a way that it was uncomfortable to slouch,
and the band that wraps around my neck kept my head upright
“Bras weren’t really designed for comfort.” my mother informed me,
although I didn’t believe her.
“Can I take it off now?” I asked after a few minutes.
A wry smile swept her face. “I’d like to see you try.” she grinned.
