When I went to the bathroom, I saw my cousin’s bedroom door open and couldn’t resist a look inside.
I had really taken a shine to Michelle as in looking up to her as she was older. This obviously was not reciprocated as she took no notice of a boy like me who was naive for his age and not very boyish.
Michelle was somewhat rough for a girl of that time, often seen as the leader of her girl gang on the council estate. Standing in her room, I saw her navy blue school uniform on top of the wash bin and suddenly gave in to the urge to try it on. The uniform consisted of a crisp white blouse, a navy blue pleated skirt, a matching navy blue blazer with the school emblem on the pocket, and a pair of navy blue knickers. I pulled on her navy blue knickers and skirt.
Just then, my auntie burst in – her face a mask of horror! Aunt Gloria was a stout woman in her late 50s, with short curly gray hair and piercing blue eyes. She always wore floral print dresses that seemed to be a staple of her wardrobe, and her face bore the stern expression of someone who had seen and dealt with a lot in her life. She gasped loudly, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. She removed her slipper, a typical lady’s house slipper of the 1970s with a blue design fur round the front and a thick rubber sole, grabbed me by the hair, pulled me over her knees, and smacked my bottom very, very hard until I wept.
Each strike of the slipper echoed through the room, the sharp sound mingling with my cries. Aunt Gloria’s face was stern, her grip unyielding as she delivered each blow with a force that left my skin stinging and red. The pain was intense, and I could feel the heat radiating from my punished flesh. She didn’t stop until I was sobbing uncontrollably, my body shaking with each sob.
After the spanking, Aunt Gloria stood me up and began her lecture. “Peter, what on earth do you think you’re doing? This is absolutely disgraceful! Boys do not wear girls’ clothes. It’s shameful and completely inappropriate. What would your mother think if she saw you like this? You need to learn to behave like a proper boy, not prancing around in your cousin’s uniform. This is not how a young man should act. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
Her words cut deep, each one laced with ridicule and disappointment. “Do you want people to laugh at you? Do you want to be the laughingstock of the neighborhood? This kind of behavior is unacceptable, and I will not tolerate it in my house. You need to grow up and start acting like a boy, not a silly little girl. Do you understand me?”
She continued, her voice rising with each sentence. “This is not a game, Peter. You need to understand the seriousness of your actions. Wearing girls’ clothes is not just about the clothes; it’s about how you present yourself to the world. You need to be strong, confident, and masculine. This kind of behavior will only lead to ridicule and shame. Do you want to be known as the boy who wears girls’ clothes? Think about how that will affect your future. You need to change, and you need to change now.”
I was later to learn that Michelle was no stranger to this type of discipline. Apparently, she had received her mother’s slipper on many occasions and at times her father’s belt.
Far from curing me, I have dreamed about the situation and tried to re-create it ever since, but have never had the chance or opportunity.
