Peter reluctantly accepted her terms with nothing more than a glance coupled with the slightest nod. She unfastened the buttons on the back of his dress, teasing him that he’ll be able to do them himself before long. Once down to his underwear, his mother looks him up and down, wonder why on earth a boy would wear a bra for a moment before telling him to remove the stockings. She holds out her hand expectantly as he pulls down the first stocking. “I see you’ve shaved your legs!”
He looks up at her, so guilty, so ashamed. He gulps as he hands her the second stocking, hanging his head as she inspects it.
“Well at least you’ve not laddered them.” she said as she carefully wrapped them around her hand. “But stockings like this are not for a girl your age so you wont be wearing them again.”
After his bath, Peter dried himself on the pink fluffy towel. His legs felt fantastic and for moment, he forgot about the ordeal he was going through. All of a sudden he stopped enjoying them and cursed him self. He dried his hair before wrapping the towel around him, grabbing the knickers and bra he’d spend the day wearing, he quickly exited and trotted to his bedroom. Through nothing more than habit he began to close the the dor, then thought better if it. Checking the landing was clear, reluctantly slid his hand beneath his frilly pink pillow and slowly removed his night clothes.
He told himself it could be worse as he unfolded the blue gingham garment. He lifted it and let it drop, noticing a second garment drop onto his duvet. “I’m not wearing them.” he told himself before he pushed his arms into the sleeves. He pulled it down and looked at his reflection, and after looking at himself from this way and that… he decided it was too short for him not to wear the matching knickers.
Of course he didn’t willingly go down stairs. Only after his mother came, finding him sulking on his bed in his blue baby-doll style nightie and long, slim hairless legs did he shamefully walk into the sitting room. Jenny almost fell of the sofa laughing before being pulled up by her mother for teasing. When Peter was told it was time for bed, it wasn’t soon enough. Under any other circumstance, he’d have protested a 9pm curfew, but having spent the longest 90 minutes of his life; wearing a short baby-doll nightie in front of his mother and sister, he was glad to be going to bed so early.
“you can turn off the landing light Peter…” his mother says, briefly halting his escape, “…but make sure you leave your door wide open.” she reminded him.
Peter flicked the landing light off as he entered his new bedroom. He cursed himself as he approached his pink ballerina bed. Dread flooded through him as he pulled back his duvet and climbed inside. He sank into the soft mattress and laid his head on the frilly pillow. Everything seemed softer than in his room, and even with his eyes closed, he could sense the encompassing pinkness. The nightie was short, the knickers frilly, his thigh was silky and smooth. He opened his eyes and looked up at the pink walls, a fairy castle on one wall and a Disney Princesses poster on the other. Over the dressing table hangs a cheap painting of a ballerina which he can just about make out on the half-light. The dressing table itself, even in relative darkness oozes femininity. He roll over to turn his back on it, and realises that this nightie needs rearranging with almost every movement. It’s like it was designed to ride up! But no matter how much he tried to hate it… it was just as thrilling as anything.