Peter’s mother wakes him earlier than normal on Monday morning. She tells him to go and take a shower, and in the meantime, she gets his uniform ready. Peter returned from the shower clad in the pink and white dressing gown his grandmother had given him for his birthday some three or four months previously. He looks fearfully at the uniform his mother has neatly laid out on his bed. “Can’t I wear my normal undies?” he asks when he notices the white lace-trimmed vest and matching underpants.
“No Peter,” she replies, passing him his underpants.
“But… what if somebody sees them when I’m going up the stairs.” he asks, “That skirt is loads shorter than my dresses.”
“That, my dear is the precise reason I want you wearing nice ones.” his mother smiles.
Peter pulls on his lace-trimmed underpants before removing his dressing gown. Next, he pulls the lace-trimmed vest over his head before stepping into the skirt. Like a typical boy, he fastens it at the front before turning it around. He then pushes his arms into the short puffed sleeves of his blouse and buttons it up. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pulls on his ankle socks with the rose pattern in the knit. Finally, he slips his feet into his dainty ballet pumps and stands up.
His mother looks him up and down and tells him he looks lovely. “How does it feel?” she asks.
Peter looks down at himself. “Like I’ve forgotten to put my trousers on,” he replies. “Does it have to be this short?” he asks as his fingers hang several inches below the hem of his skirt.
“It’s not that short Peter.” his mother insists. “Plus it’ll be nice to get some sun on those legs, it’s a lovely day.”
Peter looks out of his bedroom window and gulps; the sun is shining, the birds are singing and a gentle breeze rocks the trees. He looks down at himself once more. “Do I really look OK?” he asks.
“You look lovely Peter,” she reassures. “Like a schoolboy should.” she smiles.
The first proper sight Peter gets of himself is in the mirror in the hallway. His pale skinny legs are almost entirely exposed, save for a few inches at the top and he quite rightly feels half-naked. He spends a few moments trying and failing to get used to it before going to the kitchen.
“How do you like it now you’ve had a proper look?” his mother asks as she butters some toast.
“I hate it.” he sulks, “It’s far too short and everyone can see my vest through this… it’s too thin,” he says, pinching at his blouse.
“It’s nice being able to see your vest.” his mother replies. “Almost as nice as it is seeing your legs for once.” she chirps before placing a plate of toast on the table for him.
Peter pulls out a chair and sits, scooping what little there is of his skirt beneath him. Once sat, the pleats cover only half of his lap and he makes another comment about how short it is.
“It’s fine Peter… just keep your knees together and nobody will see anything.” his mother advises.
Once he’s finished his breakfast, his mother tells him to put his tie on as he’ll have to set off shortly. As usual, he ties it in front of the mirror in the hallway but cant shop glancing down at his short pleated skirt and pale legs. “Let’s have a look at you.” his mother says as she appears. Peter turns to face her and she straightens his tie and collar, before pushing her fingers through his fringe. “One last thing and then you’re ready,” she says before putting a simple white band in his hair to hold his fringe off his forehead. “Perfect.”
Peter looks back at his reflection and moans, “Do I have to wear that too?”
“Of course.” she smiles. “You want to look nice don’t you?”
“Not that nice.” he moans, noticing a small white bow on one side of his headband.
“Well I do.” his mother states, passing him his school bag. She kisses him on his forehead and tells him to have a nice day, before opening the front door for him.
As Peter steps outside he’s a bag of nerves. He nervously looks around before swinging his bag onto his shoulder and step by terrifying step, he walks to school. Goosebumps form on his legs as the gentle breeze caresses them. If he didn’t feel so humiliated it would feel quite nice. As he nears his school, he hears jeers and taunts from some of the boys along with coos and wolf whistles from the girls. He’s practically petrified as he enters his form room, greeted by an uproar of taunts, applause, and jeers. “Well done Peter.” his teacher says. “It’s good to see you’ve finally joined the modern world.”
Peter forces a smile as he pulls out his chair, holds his skirt beneath him, and carefully sits down.
Some of the boys loudly whisper “sissy”, “girlie boy” and other insults. The teacher silences them and after a brief pause she points out that the boys who still insist on wearing trousers are now in a minority. Some of Peter’s friends distanced themselves from him, but that was only an extension of a void that started after his birthday party back in the spring. The two who did attend his party were OK with him, although neither of them had to wear a skirt for school… yet. One thing Peter did notice is the girls who bullied him now smiled at him, even complimented him.
Peter’s sense of shame didn’t ebb as the day progressed, but he had expected to receive more taunts and teasing than he ended up getting. His skirt was lifted twice by a couple of girls, which he could have done without… especially since they made no secret of his ‘pretty’ underwear.
When he arrived home his mother asked him how school was. “OK I guess,” he replied, before asking if he could change.
“After you’ve finished your homework.” his mother replied.
“Oh but I’ve got loads.” he moaned.
“Well, the sooner you start the sooner you’ll finish.”
When Peter finally finishes his homework, he goes to his bedroom to change out of his uniform. Within a minute he’s back downstairs, still in his uniform. “I can’t find any pants.”
“Put a dress on then.” his mother replies.
“But I don’t want to wear a dress… I want to wear pants.”
“You don’t have any pants, Peter, so it’s either a dress or you can keep your uniform on,” she replies.
“Oh but…” he moans, almost in tears.
“But nothing Peter… it’s high time you stopped dressing like a girl all the time, so from now on it’s boy clothes only.”
“But I don’t feel like a boy unless I’m wearing pants.”
“And you don’t look like a boy when you do.” his mother retorts.
The next morning is dull and drizzly. Peter’s mother suggests he should wear knee socks today, but seeing the pretty diamond pattern up the sides, he’s naturally reluctant. Nevertheless, mother knows best and Peter does as he’s told. After all, it’s only a pair of socks and not the end of the world.
On Wednesday however, it almost is the end of the world when he unravels his towel before his swimming class, only to find an all-in-one swimsuit with a little built-in skirt. Some of the other boys wear the same style and some wear a standard all in one costume, whilst the few remaining ‘old-fashioned’ boys still wear trunks, and proudly so. The girls wear two-piece tankini-style costumes and think the boys who insist on baring their chests are Neanderthals; throwbacks from a bygone age. As Peter steps out to the poolside in his tiny swimming dress, he hopes a shark will jump out and take him. Instead and predictably the ‘old’ boys jeer whilst the girl’s wolf whistle, point, and stare. “You’d have nice pins if you shaved them!” one girl shouts.
That evening when Peter arrived home he says, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d bought me a swimming costume?”
“I thought you’d have known,” she replies. “Was you expecting trunks?”
“Well… yes… I was,” he replied as he cast his mind back to the shame he felt.
His mother asked him if any of the other ‘modern’ boys still wore trunks, knowing full well that none of them would. “So don’t be surprised on Friday when you find a PE skirt and gym knickers in your bag,” she added, glancing down at his legs and commenting on his nice tan.
He grabs his skirt and looks down. “Do you think I should shave them?” he asks.
“Yes.” his mother replies.
He drops his skirt and looks at her expectantly as if to ask, “well… how do I do that then?”
His mother reads his expression like a book. “Well don’t ask me… I’ve never shaved, why would I?”
