We chatted for a while before I returned to my room. I intended going directly to bed but couldn’t help but boot up my laptop and search for some pictures of the popstar she fancied. Whilst many of his outlandish outfits looked both terrible and terribly dated, others looked quite good.
The next day, soon after lunch, Peter and I prepared to begin again. “Are you gonna do my make-up again?” he asked.
“Do you want me to?” I asked.
“Well… if I’m gonna dress like a girl I may as well look like one.” he half-heartedly replied, deliberately trying not to sound too keen.
“Fair enough.” I replied. “Although I think this will look better without.” I added, holding up a short grey knife-pleated school skirt and a white blouse. A perplexed expression swept his face, so I explained. “You wouldn’t be wearing make-up at school because it’s not really allowed.”
“Yeah but… I’ll look too much like me without it.” he claimed.
“I’ll be cropping your head off the pictures.” I reminded him. “Do you want black or grey tights?” I asked.
“Er… black I guess.” he replied. I rummaged through my drawer to find a nice pair. “Actually… can I try grey.” he asked.
“You can try white knee socks if you want.” I suggested. He declined, claiming he’d have to shave his legs. I told him that I wasn’t being serious. He donned the skirt, a white shirt and some grey tights. “What shoes do you want?”
“Those ballet pumps I guess.” he shrugged. After slipping his feet into the flat black shoes, he faced himself in the mirror, twisted his hips this way and that to swish the skirt. “Are these warm enough in the winter?” he asked. “Don’t they get really wet when it rains?” he quizzed. “Are they clammy in the summer?”
I answered his questions as best I could; in winter we tend to walk a bit quicker to keep warm, and standing with our legs close together also helps. Trousers also get wet when it rains and like tights, they soon dry out and in summer we either wear thinner tights or socks. “Do you like it?” I asked. “The skirt.” I added.
“Not really… just wondering what it’d be like wearing one for school everyday, rain or shine, summer or winter.”
“Mum said last night that she thinks it’s a shame that boy’s don’t get to wear the same variety of clothes that girls wear.” I told him.
“She said the same to me when she was faffing with my bra.” he replied. “Er… I mean your bra.”
“And what do you think?” I asked.
“I dunno… it’s a bit weird.” he gulped, looking down at himself. “Especially the bra.” he added. “But then again, if boys did wear skirts and frocks we wouldn’t wear bras.”
“True.” I said as I picked up my camera. “You ready?”
He took his position and I took a couple of photographs. “Can I see?” he asked as a reviewed them. I handed him the camera and he had a good look. “I’d look better with make-up, I think.”
“You look OK.” I replied. “How does it feel?”
“OK I guess.” he shrugged. “I quite like these shoes… they’re really comfy.” he confessed.
“You could wear them as slippers, around the house.” I suggested. He grunted in agreement and I told him he could have them if he wanted.
“Oh I dunno… Mum might think I’ve gone weird if I started wearing girl’s shoes as slippers.”
“Would she ‘eck.” I insisted.
Peter wasn’t so sure and reminded me that I’m supposed to be selling this stuff rather than giving it away. “What’s next?” he asked.
“Make-up?” I said. Peter frowned. “You did say you’d look better with some.” I reminded him.
“Yeah I guess.”
I pulled out the chair to my dressing table and told him to sit. “Why don’t you have a go?” I suggested, handing him a compact.
He didn’t seem too keen but took it from me. “What do I do?” he shyly asked. I coached him through the process, explaining that less is more when it comes to a natural look, otherwise he’ll look like a porcelain doll. After applying the powder, I had him apply a touch of eye-liner; brown rather than black, then some eye shadow and some transparent mascara. “What’s the point if it’s clear?” he quizzed.
“It separates the lashes and makes them more defined.” I said. “You’re actually quite good at this… for a beginner.”
“I dunno if that’s a good or a bad thing.” he sheepishly replied before casting his eyes over the array of lipsticks on my dresser. “Which one?” he asked.
“Whichever you like.” I said.
“Which one did I wear last night?” he asked, picking one up. “Was it this one?”
“No but that’s nice… try it.” I replied.