The following day, I awake and have breakfast, wearing my frilly nightie of course. Mum asks me if I’m looking forward to seeing Sarah this afternoon. On the one hand I am, on the other I’m not, seeing as she saw me in my school uniform and will no doubt have a host of questions to ask. I ask mum if I can wear my boy clothes. She says yes. I go to my room and remove my nightie and bloomers, then open my underwear drawer. “Mu-um!” I hollered from the top of the stairs, “Where are my undies? My boy’s ones.”
Mum appeared in the hallway. “I put them in my room.” she replied.
“OK.” I asked. “Why?”
“Because you’re only supposed to wear proper underwear.”
“But…” I moan.
“But nothing Peter. If you’re going to see your friends, I’ll let you wear your boy things… but the rest of the time it’s girl’s underwear… understand?”
“OK.” I murmured before going back to my room, back to my drawer and pulling on a pair of knickers followed by a matching training bra; both white with a yellow flower pattern and elasticated lace trim.
~oOo~
We both commented in the things that had changed and the things that hadn’t as we drove through our old neighbourhood. If it wasn’t for a chance meeting with Peter and his mother on Station Road the other day we wouldn’t even be here. When I was a seven year old girl, Peter was my best friend in the entire cul-de-sac. We got up to all sorts together and since he dresses like a girl for school, I’m keen to catch up.
Our old house looked more or less the same as it always did. Mum and I walked down the road a little to have nosey, before backtracking to Peter’s house. Him mum answered the door, welcomed us in and told me that Peter was in his room. “Go and give him a knock.” she said.
I trotted up the stairs, knocked and waited. “Hi Peter.” I said as he opened the door. I looked him up and down. “I half expected you to be dressed as a girl again.” I said as I walked in and glanced around his bedroom. “What are you up to?” I asked.
“Not much, just lurking on the internet.” he replied.
“Hey are you on FaceBook?”
Peter shook his head. “No… I’m not allowed.”
“Oh that’s a shame… why not?”
“Mum says I’m too young.” Peter replied “But I’m not exactly eager to join up.”
“I love it!” I said before launching into my well rehearsed monologue about the joys of FaceBook; sharing jokes and gossip, photographs, even pop videos. “I’ve not got like ‘hundreds’ of friends but it’s good to catch up with people I don’t see everyday.” I paused. “You know, have chats and share photos.”
“I get why people like it…” he said optimistically. “…but could you imagine my profile?” he grinned at me. “Name: Pete Jackson – Age: 12 – School: St Ursula’s; the mixed school for girls… and here’s a photo of me in my uniform.”
“Yeah I see what you mean… is that what they call it then? A ‘mixed’ school for girls.” I asked.
Peter nodded. “It used to be a girls boarding school… founded in 1863. It was very posh and very strict and at some point about thirty years ago, they started accepting boys.” he explained. “But since it was still a private girl’s school, the boys had to wear the same uniform as the girls, and we still do.” he shrugged, as if it was a logical explanation.
“That’s weird.” I replied. “Do you like dressing as a girl then?” I asked, wondering if that was the reason he goes.
“Not really.” he replied. “I’d rather not but you get used to it… as you probably know.” he added with a smile.
“Yeah I noticed on Saturday.”
“I meant, you being a girl… get used to wearing a skirt all the time.” Peter corrected. “I was totally crapping myself on Saturday.” he said. “I thought we’d be allowed to come home in our own clothes… but no… we must look presentable at all times, both in and out of school.” he seemed to quote from the rule book. “Wearing my uniform in Beckford was the last thing I wanted to do.”
“I didn’t recognise you at first.” I replied. “If your mother hadn’t said anything I’d have just thought you was a girl.”
Peter gulped and looked at me. “A real one?”
I nodded. I wasn’t trying to flatter him although I know it sounded like I was. “You looked nice, pretty even…” I stated, “…but, why do you have to dress like a girl if you don’t want to?.” I asked. “I’d understand if it was like a er…” I routed in my mental dictionary for a PC phrase, but couldn’t find one, “…tranny school… you know, for boys who want to be girls but…” I drew to a halt.
“They call it Petticoat Discipline.” he replied. I watched him begin to blush. “They keep saying ‘a petticoated boy is a perfect boy’ and that it’s a better form of discipline than the threat of corporal punishment… not that any schools use the cane or slipper any more.” He paused. “I guess it’s just school tradition these days.. but I think it works… there’s no fights, no bullying that I’ve seen and nobody gets sent out of class for being disruptive.” he told me.
“Maybe they should try it at Central High.” I smiled. “I’m sure there’s a few boys who’d deserve a bit of ‘petticoat discipline’.” I mused. “So what about the girls? Are they as well behaved as the boys?”
“Yeah I guess. Some can be a bit bitchy but mostly they’re OK.” he replied as I looked around his room.
It was like a normal boy’s room with model aircraft hanging from the ceiling and books about spaceships and tanks on the shelves. The only thing that looked out of place was the pair of black Mary Jane’s lined up next to his trainers. “Are those your school shoes?”
Peter glanced at them, gulped and said “Er.. yeah.”
“They’re quite high aren’t they?” I said, as I picked one up for closer inspection. The blocky heel was a good two inches high, maybe two-and-a-half. “I’d never be allowed these at school.”
“Yeah… I think they’re to stop us running away.” Peter said. “I’m joking.” he added, before saying that petticoat discipline is simply putting boys in girl’s clothes and girl’s shoes are part of it.
I wondered if they wore knickers too. “I bet you’re better than I am in heels.” I said before putting the shoe back where I found it. “Oh you’ve got a handbag too.” I said, noticing a leather handbag hung on the back of his door.
“Yeah… that’s for school… surprise surprise.” Peter sighed.
“Sorry… it must be boring for you… all this school talk on your week off.” I said.
“No it’s OK… I visited my friends on Saturday who don’t know about all the girlie stuff. They kept asking me about boarding school and I was worried I’d slip up and they’d find out…”
“Oh they don’t know?”
“Of course not.” Peter exclaimed. “If they new what kind of school St Ursula’s is, they wouldn’t be my friends any more.”
“Maybe… but surely they’d understand it’s just the rules. It’s not as if you choose to do it.”
“They’d be too busy taking the piss to understand anything.” Peter replied. “The less they know the better.”
“Well you’d better hide your shoes and handbag then.” I advised as I scanned his room for more evidence.
“Yeah.” he said, biting his lip. “In fact I’ll do it now.”
He unhooked his handbag and picked up his shoes, then opened the wardrobe. “Is that a dress?” I asked.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.”
“Why not?” I asked, trying to get a better look around him. “I’ve already seen your uniform so a dress isn’t going to bother me.”
“Yeah but…” he replied. “I dunno… I didn’t want one but mum bought it for me.” he gulped.
“Can I have a look?”
“OK.” he said. “I’m not going to try it on though.” he insisted as he removed it from the rail.
I stood up and took hold of the hanger, turning his frock this way and that before looking at the other contents of his wardrobe. It all looked male enough. “Just the one then?” I asked.
Peter nodded and sighed. “Yeah.”
“That’s a shame.” I said. I held his frock against myself and shooed Peter out of the way of the mirror. “If this was my only dress… I’d be pestering my mum for another… and another… and another!” I smiled as I gave it back. It wasn’t the nicest or trendiest frock… far from it in fact. It’s the kind of dress a porcelain doll would wear, with puffed sleeves, lace trimmed yoke, pan collar and buttons up the back. “Have you worn it?”
He nodded and frowned. “Yeah. We visited Gran on Sunday and mum wanted me looking ‘nice’.” he admitted as he hung it back on the rail. “But one is definitely enough.”
“What did your gran say?”
“Well she said I looked ‘nice’ but I think she was just saying that.” he replied. “Too prissy, I think she called it.”
“At least you’ve got a nice uniform.” I said, spotting his Douglas tartan skirt clipped to a hanger. I took the liberty of removing his skirt and holding it against myself.
“What’s yours like?”
“Navy blue.” I replied. “It wouldn’t be too bad but it’s like… this long.” I placed my hand just above my knee. “It’s totally unflattering.”
“We’d never be allowed to wear them that long.” Peter said. “No longer than the tips of the fingers is the rule.” he parroted. “No shorter than the tip of the thumb.” he added.
I hung his skirt back on the rail next to his blazer. “This is nice too.” I said as I admired it. “Our blazers aren’t fitted like yours, they just hang like a rigid square… exactly like a man’s jacket.”
“Whereas mine’s exactly like a girl’s.” he moaned.
“And looks all the better for it.” I insisted. “You might not like it but I think you’ve got the nicest school uniform I’ve ever seen.”
“Not when you’re a boy it isn’t.” Peter replied.
“Believe me Peter, it looks good on you.” I assured. “Not so sure about your frock mind.” I added as I took hold of the pale blue fabric before letting it drop. “Nobody would look good in this.”
Peter screwed his face up. “Is it really that bad?”
I nodded. “It’s vile.”
Peter frowned and closed his wardrobe. I sat back on his bed. Peter grabbed hold of his pillow. “Is it as bad as this though?” he asked in a derogatory tone.
“Is that a nightie?” I exclaimed at the neatly folded garment. “Wow it’s like a babydoll!” I grinned as I unfolded it. “This is cute!” I almost squealed as I imagined a boy wearing it. “It’s got little knickers too.” I gushed, holding the frilly satin panties against myself.
“Yeah.” Peter moaned. I looked up it him and he was crimson with embarrassment. “Guess my dress ain’t so bad after all?”
“No your dress is horrible Peter… but this is gorgeous… very girlie but gorgeous none the less.” I insisted as I admired the lacy details and soft baby pink fabric. “Even I don’t have nightwear like this and I am a girl!”
He forced a smile through his bemused expression. “And I do but I’m not a girl… go figure!” he frowned as I began to re-fold his nightie “You won’t tell anyone will you?” he asked, clearly concerned.
“No of course not.” I said honestly. I punctuated my reply with a reassuring smile, then placed his nightie back on his mattress and he replaced the pillow. “But I’m totally jealous of your nightie… and your uniform.” I added, glancing at his wardrobe. “But you can keep your dress.” I smiled.
“Thanks.” he humbly replied. “Shall we go down stairs?”
There was an almost pleading tone in his voice. “Sure.” I said. “And don’t worry… your secret is safe with me.” I promised.
“I was beginning to wonder whether or not you’d appear Peter.” Susan’s mother, Judith said as she and Peter joined them in the kitchen. “Susan been chewing your ear off?” she asked with a grin.
“No we were… just talking.” Peter replied as he pulled out a chair.
“Your mum’s been telling me all about St Ursula’s… how are you finding it?”
“It’s OK.” Peter replied. “It’s just a normal school really.”
“So you don’t mind the petticoat discipline?”
“Well, it was weird at first but… you just get used to it.” he replied. “I thought my legs would be freezing in just a skirt and socks but…”
“You could wear tights though.” Sarah added.
Peter shook his head. “Knee socks only.” he replied.
“You can wear tights when winter kicks in.” Peter’s mother said.
“As long as they’re not those horrid navy blue tights I have to wear.” Sarah moaned.
Judith case her daughter a smile. “Ever since she saw Peter’s uniform she’s been feeling hard done by.”
“Too right.” Sarah replied. “If I had a nice uniform I wouldn’t mind wearing it, but navy blue tights, navy bland knee length skirt, no heels and the most unflattering blazer known to man.” she complained. “And they’re so strict about it.”
“They’re strict about Peter’s uniform too love.” her mother reminded her. “He even has to wear make-up every day!”
“You wear make-up everyday?” Sarah asked. “In class?”
Peter nodded. “That’s what the handbag’s for…” he replied. “Well, make-up and stationery.”
“You must be very good at it.” Judith asked. “It looked nice on Saturday.”
“Thanks.” Peter smiled. “At first I made a right mess and it just looked weird.” he said. “But I’ve had plenty of practice and…”
“And now you don’t feel dressed without it?” Judith smiled.
“Well… it is a bit weird not wearing it.. but only because I’m used to doing it first thing every day.” Peter replied. “But no.. I’m enjoying the break.” he smiled.
“I wish I could wear make-up at school.” Sarah moaned. “In fact I wish I could wear it at home.” she stated.
“You’re too young for make-up Sarah.” her mother stated. “Peter wears make-up because its part of his petticoating routine.” she added, pre-empting her daughter’s obvious reply. “Not because he’s too eager to grow up.”
Sarah screwed her face and cast Peter an envious glance. Peter smiled back. “I don’t think you’re too young Sarah.” he said. “If I’m old enough to wear it when I’m not even a girl, you should be old enough too.”
Peter’s mother cast her friend Judith one of those looks before saying, “Well that’s you told Jude.” she giggled. “I was wearing make up at Sarah’s age and it didn’t do me any harm.”
“Really?” Judith asked. “My mother wouldn’t….”
Sarah stared at Peter. Her heart was almost melting as he fought her corner. She visualised his face as it looked on Saturday; pale pink lippy, subtle eye make-up and a light dusting of powder. He spotted her staring at him. “What?” he mouthed.
“Thank you.” she silently replied.
“…but she was old fashioned… I had my hair in ribbons ’til the day I left school.” Judith continued. “It’s almost as if she hated the idea of me growing up.”
“My mother hated me growing up too…” Peter’s mother replied. “…but being a punk didn’t help…”
“You were a punk!” Peter exclaimed, just before his jaw hit the floor.
A huge grin swept his mother’s face. This was followed by a slight flushing before she described in detail her ‘Cleopatra’ eyes, blood red ‘Morticia’ lips and purple hair that was green, blue or red on several occasions. The biggest revelation was that she had a mohecan aged fourteen, and her mother didn’t even know! “It was quite wide so I just combed it in a centre parting for school and home… then when I went out I’d spike it up at a friends house, wear loads of make up and go round the pubs.” she admitted. “…not that I’m condoning that… I was young and stupid!” she added for good measure.
Neither Sarah nor her mother could believe that Peter’s mother used to be a punk, and demanded photographic evidence. To her knowledge no photos existed, so the vision remained a purely mental one.
“So what was you into mum?” Sarah asked.
Judith was more normal. She liked Wet Wet Wet and Paul Young, had a dreadful perm and highlights from hell and wore clothes her mother approved of. “Thinking back… I’d rather have been a punk like you Patsy… something a bit more out there.” she reminisced.
Thankfully for Peter, the conversation swung to their parents reminiscing over their youth and coming of age. Even when he’s not being petticoated, there’s too much chat about him being petticoated. At least at school he can just get on with it and not have endless discussions about what it’s like wearing a skirt, how he copes walking in heels or wearing make-up. All that goes unsaid at school and petticoated boys are so ubiquitous, they’re almost unnoticed.
“What kind of music do you like Peter?” Judith asked, dragging him out of his thoughts.
“Er… dunno really… one of the boys in my dorm has a radio but I don’t get to choose the station, plus it’s always a bit too quiet to hear properly.” he replied. “As long as it’s not Beiber or One-Direction, I’m not too fussed what I listen to.”
“I like One-Direction.” Sarah announces.
“Too girlie for me.” Peter replies. “Who’s that…. can’t remember the name but it’s just loads of noise… squillex or something?”
“Scrillex.” Sarah corrects.
“That’s quite good.” he says.
“It is just noise.” Sarah insists. “…and he’s a weirdo.”
“I’ve only heard it on the radio.” Peter replies as he thinks this must be a record… almost five minutes without petticoating being mentioned!
“I used to like that Boy George.. people said he was a weirdo too.” Judith added.
Peter and Sarah were clueless who Boy George was, and after a brief description, Sarah said, “I didn’t know boys wore make-up back then.”
Both Joyce and Peter’s mother said that lots of boys wore make up back then, with a variety of results. They named some of the New Romantic bands and gave a yeah or neigh as to whether they wore their make up well or not. It was mostly neighs. “But their make-up was very glam Peter.” Judith stated as she sensed his discomfort. “Not natural like yours.”
“They are very strict about how it’s applied aren’t they love.” Peter’s mother added.
He nodded. “Although some of the boys will never get the hang of it… no matter how long they spend trying to get it right they just can’t.” he says, thinking of the main culprits. “Some of the girl’s aren’t much better either.” he adds.
“I wish I was allowed to wear make-up.” Sarah hinted.
“You’re pretty enough without make-up dear.” her mother states.
“But I’d be prettier with it.” she retorted with a grin.
“Well…” Judith began thoughtfully. “Since Peter put me in my place… maybe.”
Sarah’s face lit up. “Really?! Ah thanks mum.” she grinned, looking up at Peter.
“I said maybe.” her mother stated. “And definitely not for school.”
“Oh.” Sarah sulked.
“Look at it this way Sarah… you can barely get out of bed in time for school… let alone give yourself enough time each morning to put your face on.” Judith said. “I’m sure it’s more of a chore than a pleasure for you isn’t it Peter?”
Peter didn’t reply immediately. “I don’t know.” he said thoughtfully. “We don’t have a choice so in that sense it is a chore, it’s just part of the routine and I like that I can do it well.” he explained. “It’s like my uniform I suppose… I’d rather not have to wear it but I don’t mind the fact that I do.” he said. “Anyway, there’s a lot more to school than just petticoating, we do English and maths, science and history, design and tech, IT, domestic science…”
“It’s just a normal boarding school with a not so normal uniform isn’t it?” his mother added. But sensing that Peter would probably appreciate a conversation change, she asked, “Are you still doing social work Judith?”
“I’m in education welfare now.” she replied, “Which is one reason I’m being so nosey about Peter’s petticoating.” She then waffled on about her case load of persistent truants, bullies and the bullied and those who are frequently absent due to illness. “There’s one boy with absolutely nothing wrong with him but his mother is convinced he’s sickly…”
“Like Münchhausen’s?” Peter’s mother asked.
Judith nodded. “Exactly like Münchhausen’s… so that’s a tricky case. Then there’s the trawling around town, rounding up the truants and practically dragging them in to school… which is like playing cat & mouse with them. And once I’ve got them in school, half of them will just walk out again. And then there’s the bullies. Some of them even bully their teachers!”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.” Peter’s mother said.
“Maybe you should make the bullies wear skirts like Peter?” Sarah suggested.
“Some of them already do.” her mother stated as a look of puzzlement swept her daughter’s face. Sarah had clearly got the wrong end of the stick, so for clarity her mother added, “Girl’s can be just as big a bully as the boys… in fact some are worse than the boys.”
“Yeah I guess.” Sarah replied, thinking about one particularly nasty girl in her class.
“I suppose there’s not much truancy or absenteeism at St Ursula’s Peter?” Judith asked.
Peter shook his head. “If someone’s sick they can be excused from class by the nurse.”
“And bullying?”
Again Peter shook his head. “None that I’ve witnessed or heard of.” he replied. “Whether that’s because it’s a fee paying school or a result of us being petticoated I’m not sure.” he said. “But saying that, I can’t imagine any boy acting tough and threatening whilst dressed as a girl… or nicking off.” he mused.
“Your mum did say it keeps truancy down.” Judith smiled. “I can see it working for the boys, but I can’t think of an equivalent that would work for girls.” Judith replied thoughtfully.
Both Peter and his mother knew the answer, but wisely kept quiet. After an hour or so, Judith and Sarah prepared to leave. Judith promised to keep in touch, as did Sarah.
~oOo~
“That was nice wasn’t it?” his mother said as they waved Judith and Sarah off.
“Yeah.” he replied. “Apart from….” he paused.
“What?”
“Just… so much talk about Peter’s uniform and Peter’s make-up and Peter’s petticoating.” he replied. “I didn’t expect to be the centre of attention.”
“The other day you said it was weird not talking about it.” his mother smiled. “And Judith & Sarah certainly didn’t think you were weird did they?” she said. “Petticoat Discipline may be a little out of the ordinary but it’s a long way from weird.”
“Apart from the nappy in my drawer.” Peter flippantly retorted.
“Which you’ll be wearing if you take that tone again.” mum stated.
“Sorry.” he gulped. “And thanks for not saying anything.” he said, forcing an appreciative smile.
“What? About the nappy?” his mother asked. “Why would I?”
“When Judith wondered about ‘an equivalent to petticoating for girls’.” he replied.
“Ah. No.” she smiled. “Things like that and your nighties are best kept between us I think.”
“I showed Sarah my nightie.” Peter admitted.
“Did you? What did she say?”
“She liked it.” he said. “She hated my dress though.”
“You showed her that too?” his mother quizzed.
“Well, she spotted my school shoes and handbag and I figured I’d better put them away… then she spotted the dress when I opened my wardrobe.” he replied. “Vile… I think she called it.”
“Well it’s not the kind of dress I’d expect Sarah to wear.” Mum said, “But it’s perfect for you.”
“Hmm.” Peter groaned, clearly not convinced.
“Well, now our guests have gone I think it’s high time you wore it again.”
“But I wore it yesterday.” he frowned.
“Petticoating should be a daily undertaking Peter… you know that.”
“I’ve got my proper undies on.” he replied. “Surely that counts?”
“Only to an extent.” his mother says as a mournful look sweeps his face. “Go on… a petticoated boy is a perfect boy… and all this moaning is less than perfect.”
Peter’s head sunk just a little as he went to his room. He stripped down to his underwear and stepped into his dress. He did as many of the buttons as he could before returning to the kitchen.
“That’s better.” his mother smiled.
“Can you do the rest of the buttons please?” he sheepishly asked.
“Of course.” she replied. A warmth filled her senses as she fastened him into his dress. She knew full well it was a long way from a ‘nice’ dress and would never have bought it for a girl. But for a petticoated boy, it’s perfect. “There you are.” she said as she fastened the final button and turned him around.
“Thanks.” he said, but didn’t really mean it.
“It’s not so bad once it’s on is it?” his mother said as she looked him up and down. “Do you want to put some make-up on too?” she suggested.
Peter spent the rest of the afternoon milling about in his dress. He listened to music, flicked through magazines, watched a little TV and generally tried to find some normality in the discomfort of wearing his ‘vile’ prairie dress. Although this discomfort was more down to his fear of one of his friends calling round unannounced, rather than a physical discomfort caused by his attire.
As usual after supper, Peter washed and dried the dishes. He couldn’t help but look at his reflection in the window above the sink, and gulped as he observed his very girlie silhouette. He knew that petticoating would play a minor role in his home life too, as his teachers had made that perfectly clear. Wearing a nice frock to visit his grandmother has a certain logic to it, but wearing one just to mill around at home seemed pointless. On the other hand, it does feel nice when the light, full skirt swishes around his legs. Eight weeks at St Ursula’s and eight weeks of petticoat discipline is certainly having an effect on him.