“It makes perfect sense.” I informed him. “It’s a very elegant dress whether you like it or not.”
“Why is it called a ‘tea’ dress?”
“I dunno… maybe it’s what a lady might wear when taking afternoon tea or something.” I guessed. After a couple of moments I grinned and said, “Shall I take some pictures are are you gonna stand in front of the mirror all evening?”
“Oh er… yeah.” Peter bashfully replied. He stood by the wall, I suggested a couple of poses and snapped away, getting from, back and side images, plus a few close ups of the lacy details and subtle polka-dot pattern. Next I put him in a plain cream dress; a little shorter than the bellow-the-knee tea dress. This is followed by a green velvet dress with short sleeves and a lace collar. “I remember you getting this for Christmas one year.” he said as I zipped him into it. “I always thought it must be really boring, getting nothing but clothes but you were always over the moon.”
“If I was a boy and got nothing but clothes, it would be really boring.” I figured. “Nothing but jeans, trousers, shirts and jumpers.”
“Yeah.” Peter sighed as I handed him the black Mary Jane’s to wear. “At least we don’t have to spend ages and ages trying to decide what to wear.” he cockily stated. “But then again… our clothes do all look pretty much the same.”
“Exactly.”
I took a few pictures of him before choosing another outfit that would go with his thin cream tights. A short plaid skirt and a fitted white jumper. I swapped his barrettes for a paid Alice band and once again, he looked at his reflection before I could take the photo. “I guess this is what you’d call the ‘preppy’ look?”
“Yeah kind of.” I replied. “You like?” I asked.
“Hmmm… it’d look better with black tights, or at least thicker ones.”
“That’s exactly what I’d wear, either opaque black or knitted white tights.” I said. “You’re quite good at this.”
“It’s not exactly rocket science.” he smugly replied. I offered him some knitted white tights but he declined. I took the pictures and told him to change. “How many more are there?”
“Er… five… three frocks and two skirts.”
“Phew… the end is finally in sight!” he grinned.
“Then you have to go back to being a boring boy for the rest of your life.” I said in a menacing yet jovial tone.
“Or until you next have another clearout and you rope me into being your mannequin again.”
“There is that.” I smiled. I put him back into a pair of thin nude tights and gave him a rather drab shift dress to model and a pair of high heeled court shoes. He sneered at his reflection. “What’s up?” I asked. “Is it the heels for the dress?”
“The dress… it fits like a sack.” he said, running his hands over it’s loose waist.
“Looks OK though. They’re easy to wear when they’re not too fitted.” I replied. “Careful in those heels.” I said as he tottered to his position.
“I am being.” he claimed, adding “They don’t feel too bad now I’ve worn them a few times.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that after spending all day in them.” I knowingly replied.
“Are they that bad?”
“Sometimes… you get used to them.” I said. “No choice really since some employers insist on women wearing heels.”
“You’d think that wouldn’t be allowed.”
“I know, but it still happens apparently.” I replied as I raised the camera and took a picture. “One from the side.” I instructed. “And the back.” I said. “One more from the front for luck.” I added. He grinned and I pressed the button. “Perfect.”
Next came another shift dress with a Peter Pan collar, followed by a smart skirt and spotty blouse. “Is it normal to be able to see the bra?” he quizzed. “Shouldn’t I wear a camisole or something?”
“Depends how modest you want to be. It’s not really showing on the photos… look.” I said, handing him the camera.
“It’s weird seeing me looking like that.” he commented as he flicked back through the recent pictures. “That shift dress doesn’t look too bad.”
“Which one? The grey or the blue?”
“The grey one that felt like a sack.” he replied, returning the camera.
“Yeah it does… you probably won’t believe me but you look OK in most of ’em.” I claimed. “The nice ones anyway. It’s a shame you can’t really wear them.”
“You mean like… and it be normal?”
“Yeah… like, girls can be tomboys if they feel like it and no one’s bothered… but when a boy chooses to be a bit girlie, everyone’s like ‘oh my gosh!’ as if the world’s coming to an end.” I explained. He reminded me of the school in Kent I’d mentioned and wondered if that would be perceived as normal. “I dunno… I guess so, they’ll be wearing it daily and they’ll be seen daily.” I figured.
“Yeah maybe.” Peter replied. “I can’t imagine it though.”
“You don’t have to imagine… you could wear one of my old school skirts when you’re doing your homework after school and we’ll see how long it takes for it to feel normal.” I suggested.
“I might pass on that.” he replied. “I might forget what I’m wearing and answer the door to one of my mates.” he said. “Anyway you’re supposed to be selling them, not giving them to me.”