I put him in a pencil skirt and a sheer polka dot blouse, followed by a little black dress with spaghetti straps. Next came a mini tartan kilt which I paired up with a punky vest and a big pair of boots. I wasn’t selling the boots but they did complete the outfit. “Right… I think we need to adjust your make-up for the rest of it.” I said.
“Is it tea dress time?” he asked.
I nodded and told him that he needs to look pretty rather than ‘edgy’, which means pale pink lips and a more natural looking eye make-up. “I know it seems pointless since we’ll be cropping your head off but…”
“Yeah I know.” he replied. “It feels more normal with it than without it, if that makes sense.”
“Sure does bruv.” I smiled. He perched at my dressing table and removed his make-up. “Do you want to do it or shall I try?”
“You do it.” I said. “You did a decent job last time.”
“OK, just tell me what to use.” he said, glancing at the vast array of cosmetics.
“You want a pinky powder, and a pale eye-shadow palette.” I said, pointing them out.
“Powder first?” he knowingly asked. I nodded and smiled. “Dunno what I’m gonna say when my mates ask me what I did this weekend.” he grinned as he carefully applied it.
“Just tell ’em the truth… you stayed in and hung out with your sister… that’ll sound boring enough to deter them from asking for details.”
“True… although this is anything but boring.” he replied. “I’m actually enjoying it in a weird sort of way.”
“Me too.” I said. I directed him in the modest application of some beige eye-liner, followed by sandy shades of eye-shadow and a nutty brown mascara. I suggested he chose his own lipstick and after looking at a variety of pink one, he chose a subtle pale pink. “Perfect.” I smiled.
“It’s quite amazing how you can completely change the way you look.” he said once he’d finished. “Half an hour ago I looked like a goth and now I’m the complete opposite.”
“Yeah.” I agreed. “I’m glad I’m not a boy.” I added, glancing at the dress that awaited him.
“Having tried some of the things Mum used to make you wear, I’m kind of glad I am.” Peter claimed. “Did you chose that or Mum?”
“Mum did but I really like it… just a bit too small for me now.” I told him. “Here, put these on.” I said, handing him a pair of ivory fifteen denier tights.
“They’ve got dots on.” he observed as he rolled them up his legs.
“So’s your frock.” I grinned. I put a couple of bow barrettes in his hair, gave him a pair of ivory shoes with kitten heels and put a cream clutch bag in his hand. “Perfect… all dressed up and nowhere to go.” I said as he approached the full length mirror. “What do you think?”
“Er…” he said as he looked at his reflection, then down at the dress. “I can’t say I like it but I feel really elegant.” he gulped. “…if that makes sense.”
“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.”
