I wasn’t going to argue with her. In fact I daren’t argue with her. I tried to challenge her and her petticoating ways when I was a teenager, supposedly man enough to stand up for myself and deliver a resounding no when she insisted I wear knickers instead of my own undies. But that was quickly met with a relentless spanking, after which I begged for my knickers. I recall the shame as I realised that that wasn’t what she wanted to hear as her paddle came crashing down on my raw backside, again and again until eventually I begged for a nappy instead. No fourteen year old should be put in nappies both day and night…. but what I since realised is that there’s no point in defying my Aunt Katinka as she will always have the upper hand. Like Keyser Söze… she has the will to do what other people won’t… especially me.

At work on Friday, a number of my colleagues taunted me about the catalogue. A couple of the women stood up in my defence… sort of. They were most likely teasing when they said that men can wear nice underwear if they want, or that it’s OK if ‘some’ men want to wear women’s clothing. But those same so-called supporters also said that they wouldn’t let their husbands or partners wear such feminine attire. Too much attention was on me on this relaxed Friday afternoon as the office wound down for the weekend, and having been asked directly, I had no option but to admit to wearing a flat-bra. A handful of the women pestered me into removing my jacket as a handful of the men looked on. Everyone snorted and sniggered at the bra shaped object that is clearly visible beneath my thin white blouse. Comments ranged from cute and pretty to freak and faggot, but even the positive comments sounded like insults to me. All the attention drew me away from my work and to end an awful afternoon, my line manager was not happy that I’d failed to complete my latest mundane task by the end of the day.

With a heavy heart, I made my way back to my Aunt Katinka’s house. When asked how my day had been, I confessed to it being less than pleasant. I told my Aunt that they made me remove my jacket so they could all have a laugh at my bra, but she belittled my take on it and said, “They’re probably just not used to seeing a boy wearing one.” Why she insisted on calling me a ‘boy’ when I’m twenty six years old I don’t know. But what I do know is that I daren’t challenge her about it. She also quizzed why it had taken me until now to remove my jacket at work. I explained that I was embarrassed about my underwear and felt it was best to keep it concealed. “Well give them time.” she advised. “They’ll get used to it, just as you have.”

“I’ve hardly got used to it!” I silently screamed. But looking down at my blouse, or more through my blouse, the outline of my bra is already a familiar sight. Its taught grip around my chest and over my shoulders is ever present and although not uncomfortable, it’s nice to take it off when I get ready for bed. I asked if I could go and change out of my work clothes.

“Of course.” my aunt replied. I went to my room and swapped my feminine work trousers for a pair my own cargo pants. I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled on the T shirt my aunt had given me and changed my sweaty knee highs for a clean pair, then slipped my feet in to my trusty baseball shoes. I was glad the week was at its end as I trundled downstairs.

“Up the workers!” my aunt said, grinning and raising her fist as I entered the loungeI smiled and looked down at my T shirt with its vibrant socialist slogan. “Maybe I should wear this at work.” I suggested. “I could do with a bit of solidarity.” I told my aunt about the dull menial tasks they’d been giving me at work and the unreasonable time scales they expect me to meet. I know I’m just the assistant but the monkey work I’m given puts none of my skills, experience or training to good use.

“They must have seen something in you to give you the job in the first place.” my aunt told me. “And there’s always something menial that needs to be done.” she added. She advised me to just stick with it and explained that as the office newbie, the mundane tasks will naturally fall on my lap. “Give it a few months and it’ll be you delegating the boring jobs to the next newbie.”

“Yeah I guess.” I replied, forcing a smile through my frown. “I suppose I should have offered to bring some work home with me.”