One day, when my mother sent me to my sister’s room with a pile of her laundry, my curiosity got the better of me and I borrowed a frilly nightie. Wearing it was as horrible as I’d imagined, and it looked as bad as I’d expected… but it was somehow strangely frilling too. I replaced the nightie before it was noticed missing and felt relief that I hadn’t been caught by my mother or sister, and that I’d satisfied my curiosity.
A few days later I saw the girl at the skatepark in her usual trainers, cropped pants and sweatshirt, with her hair hanging loose and no make-up. I brought up the subject of her girlie outfit, but without teasing her. I said it must be horrible being a girl having to wear ‘all that stuff’. She said she liked being a girl… but agreed about ‘all that stuff’, adding that it was only once in a blue moon that she had to dress like that. I pointed out that she’d also have to wear a skirt everyday for school too, and that must be equally horrible. She said she could wear trousers for school if she wanted to, but quite likes wearing her skirt, it’s plain and short and comfortable… especially in the summer
I couldn’t really fathom why, as a tom-boy who hates all that girlie stuff, she chooses to wear a skirt for school when she could wear trousers. I pondered the concept, but not by choice mind… I didn’t like wondering what it must be like wearing a skirt for school instead of trousers, but for some reason, I just couldn’t help it. There’s only one way I know how to get rid of these thoughts and when the first opportunity arose, I took my chance.
“Perry!” my mother shouted from the hallway.
“Yes?” I replied from the top of the stairs.
“I’m just taking Jemima in to town… you’ll be OK on your own for a while won’t you?”
“How long will you be?” I asked.
I felt my heart begin to race as I watched the car disappear down the road. I had about an hour before they returned. Within ten minutes I was dressed in my own school shirt and tie, with my sister’s tartan skirt and a pair of thick black tights on, along with my own school shoes. My legs looked and felt so different clad in nylon. I went to the kitchen and got a can of Coke from the fridge, then returned to my room. I sat on my bed and looked at my lap. I ran my hands over the tights before smoothing the skirt. I imagined dressing like this at school and it being the most normal thing in the world… but I knew it was anything but normal. I removed the tights and returned to the kitchen… for no other reason than to see how it felt wearing such a short skirt with bare legs. It felt a world away from my trousers, and I felt so exposed, so thrilled. By the time my mother and sister returned, her skirt was back in her wardrobe and her tights were placed deep in her laundry basket.
I spent the rest of the evening worrying that my sister would notice something was wrong, but I’d made sure I’d covered my tracks as best I could. That night I lay in bed, satisfied that I’d got away with it and content that I’d finally experienced, just a little, what it was like to wear the girl’s school uniform. I cast my mind back to the few minutes I’d spent wearing her nightie and wondered what it would be like to actually sleep in one, all night long, before cursing myself for having such thoughts. I’d hate to be a girl but if I was… I’d be a tom-boy. I wouldn’t have a sickly pink room like my sister Jemima or a wardrobe full of pretty dresses. I’d be like the girl from the skatepark who only wears a dress when her mother makes her wear one… and even then I wouldn’t enjoy it.
“You shall remain dressed exactly as you are until I’ve decided what to do about this” my mother stated as her eye’s dropped to see the semen dripping on to the floor. She turned to my sister and told her to go to the kitchen, before tuning back to me. “Right young man… come with me!”
Mother took me by the arm and pushed me into the bathroom, locking the door behind us. She ordered me to remove the knickers and wash them in the sink. “And try not to get any of that filthy stuff on those stockings!” she spat as I carefully pulled them down.
I washed the semen out of the knickers in hot soapy water as my mother stood scowling over me. Once done, she told me to wring them out and put them back on. “But they’re still damp.” I moaned.
“Well they’ll dry out eventually.” Mother replied, before taking hold of a J-cloth with one hand, me with the other and barging me back to my sister’s room. She ordered me to clean up the mess I’d made on the floor, before hanging up the clothes I’d been trying on, which were now scattered around Jemima’s bedroom floor.
