Peter declined and we headed downstairs. Me in my jeans and a sloppy top, him in my old school shirt, skirt and knee socks. We perched at the breakfast bar and waited for the sizzling bacon to cook and eggs to fry. I poured Peter a cup of tea and slid it toward him, before pouring one for myself and Mum. “Is that supposed to happen?” he asked, noticing the imprint of his lipstick on the rim of his cup.
“We’d rather it didn’t.” I said. “…but it always does.”
“That explains why you’re always reapplying it.” he said. I smiled and he grinned. “I guess us boys have got it easy.” he added. “We don’t have to wear make-up, heels, bras, short skirts, style our hair, shave our legs…”
“Yeah but we like wearing make-up, heels and skirts. We like being able to style our hair in a different way each day.” I said. “And if you shaved your legs you’d know how nice they feel… and when we can’t be bothered we wear pants or tights.”
“Yeah I guess.” he replied. “You’ve certainly got a lot more choice.”
“Well now you’ve had a taste…” Mum optimistically said. “What’s been your favourite so far?”
“None of it.” Peter dryly claimed.
“All the really nice things are to come.” I said. “Yesterday was all jeans, T-shirts, jumpers and leggings… so far today we’ve only done my old school stuff.” I explained, eyeing my brother’s attire. “Isn’t there a school in Kent where the boys have to wear the girl’s uniform?” I vaguely recalled.
Peter screwed his face up and recoiled, casting me a perplexed expression. Mum thoughtfully furrowed her brow. “I remember that on the news… it’s in Ashford isn’t it?”
“Why would the boys have to dress like girls?” Peter quizzed as he nervously glanced down at his skirted lap.
“To stop them from being too boisterous in class.” Mum suggested. “I don’t think they had to wear skirts but culotte shorts.” she added.
“What are those?” Peter asked.
“A skirt with legs.” I informed him as Mum put a bacon & egg bun in front of each of us. “They’re horrible… thanks Mum.”
“Thanks Mum.” Peter said.
We tucked into our snacks and topped up our tea and chatted about this and that before Peter and I headed back to my room. “I must say Peter, you do seem quite comfortable.” I said as I followed him up the stairs.
“I feel anything but comfortable.” he claimed. “You can’t see up this can you?” he asked.
“No.” I chuckled.
We entered my room and the first thing that Peter said was “I guess I’ll have to redo my lipstick.”
I grinned and told him that’s what I mean about him seeming ‘comfortable’. “You haven’t even looked in the mirror yet you know your lippy needs reapplying.”
“Only because it was all over the rim of my cup.” he claimed.
“You also smoothed your skirt beneath yourself when you sat, you kept your knees together and you walk quite well in those shoes.”
“They’re not exactly high.” he said, claiming that they’re nothing compared to the stilettos he’d already worn. “…and who wouldn’t keep their knees together in a skirt this short?”
“True.” I said as I handed him the lipstick and a small vanity mirror.
“So what’s next?” he asked after reapplying.
“Well… this lot.” I said, gesturing to the host of skirts, frocks and tops he’s yet to model. “Do you want to choose something?”
“Nah you choose.” he replied. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
I removed a floral dress with angel sleeves, a broad flouncy hem and an orange satin sash. Peter grimaced and said it was horrible. “I know!” I agreed. “That’s why I want rid of it.” I gave him a pair of thin nude tights to wear and apologised for making him wear such a horrendous frock. “One of the downsides of being a girl is when your Mum buys you something like that and you have to wear it.”
“At least I’m getting paid.” Peter said as he looked at himself. I quickly took three photographs; front, back and side before giving him another frock. “This isn’t much better.” he groaned.
I agreed and told him it’s best to get the worst out of the way sooner rather than later. “I do appreciate you doing this for me.”
“No worries, so long as no one finds out.” he replied, biting his lip. I assured him they wouldn’t. He donned frock after frock and I admired his fortitude. It can’t be easy for a fourteen year old boy wearing his sister’s cast-off clothes but he’s doing me a really big favour. I guess if he or Mum were capable of taking a decent photograph it would have been me on the other side of the camera… but with so many clothes that I’ve no intention of ever wearing again, I’m kind of glad I’m not.
I put him in a white long sleeved skinny top with a boat collar and a powder blue dungaree dress. He looks down at himself and says “At last, something normal instead of floral.”
“Yeah, I used to love that dress… doesn’t quite fit me any more.” I replied. “Go and fetch your Converse.” I advise. He pops to his room and returns wearing his own baseball shoes. “You actually quite suit that.” I tell him.
“I can imagine wearing it if I was a girl.” he replied.
“Can I put this in your hair?” I asked, presenting a powder blue Alice band with a small off-centre bow attached.
“Really?” he sneered. “Just as I feel relatively normal you want to put a bow in my hair?”
“I always used to wear this with that.” I claimed. “It’ll complete the outfit.”
“OK.” he sighed. He sighed some more as I arranged his short boyish hair around it, and even more as I suggested he pose with his thumbs hooked in the belt-loops. “Surely you’ve got enough.” he moaned after the fifth or sixth photograph.
“Sorry… I’m indulging ‘coz you do look nice in that.” I admitted.
“Maybe so, but give me something else to wear… I want this over with sooner rather than later.”