The weather in Tuesday is atrocious, so Peter spends his time doing his homework. He also spends the entire day, from breakfast ’til bedtime wearing his dress. His does throw a little strop at teatime when he’s not allowed to change, but the threat of a night in his nappy soon curbs his whining. So sensibly, he decides it’s best to put up and shut up.
At St Ursula’s the class on Wednesday morning is domestic science, which largely involves them hand washing their underwear, blouses, nighties and socks, and once dry, ironing the nighties and blouses. Much to Peter’s disappointment, this is to be done at home too. It seems pointless hand washing when there’s a perfectly good washing machine, but his mother reminds him that rules are rules and he does have a routine to stick too. One by one they adorn the kitchen radiator to dry. “How you getting on?” his mother asked.
“OK.” he replied in a mournful voice. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if it was just the white knickers and training bras he wears at school… at home they’re pink, yellow, lilac and patterned with flowers and hearts and butterflies.
“Andrew just called, he said he’d come round this afternoon.” his mother told him.
“Round here?” Peter asked.
“Yes.” his mother smiled, anticipating his next question. “You can change after lunch if you want.”
Peter looked down at his dress. “What if he comes early?” he asked.
“Then he’ll see how pretty you look.” his mother smiled.
Peter pleaded to be allowed to change into his boy clothes sooner rather than later, but she flat refused. He grew increasingly nervous as the clock ticked ever closer to lunchtime. His mother made him a sandwich which he wolfed down, then asked again if he could change. His mother told him to remove his make up and nail varnish first, and only then would she let him out of his dress. Knowing he couldn’t undo the buttons himself, he had no choice but to comply with her wishes. He’s barely out of his dress when the doorbell rings. His mother answers the door whilst Peter quickly removes his bra, pulls his jeans on over his knickers, pulls on a t-shirt, checks his room is free of evidence then goes down to meet his friend.
Andrew is in the kitchen and Peter is clearly flustered when he enters. “Do you want a glass of pop Peter?” his mother asks, having just poured one for Andrew.
“Yes please.” Peter replies as he nervously glances at the host of knickers and training bras hung over the radiator. He moves Andrew in to the sitting room, out of view of his ‘proper’ underwear.
Like everyone else, Andrew is keen to hear all about boarding school. Peter gives him the edited version of the truth. Unlike John and Michael, Andrew thinks boarding school sounds ‘cool’ and wished he could go. “No you don’t.” Peter thought before swinging the conversation in Andrew’s direction. What’s his school like? What does he do at the weekend? As they sat chatting in front of the TV, Peter noticed that he had a pair of his girlie socks on; white with lilac stripes and and a scalloped hem. He tucked his feet beneath him and hoped they wouldn’t, or hadn’t been noticed. After a couple of hours, Andrew went home, thankfully ignorant of Peter’s petticoating regime.
Peter sauntered in to the kitchen after seeing his old friend out. His mother asked if he enjoyed Andrew’s visit and Peter said it was. “He thinks boarding school sounds cool.” he told her. “But I didn’t tell him about the uniform so…” he paused, “…I reckon he’d change his mind pretty quickly if he knew.”
“Well I’m sure you’re not the only boy who enjoys being petticoated.” his mother replied.
“I don’t exactly enjoy it.”
“And you don’t exactly hate it either.” his mother pointed out, before telling him to check if his laundry had dried, and if so to put it away in his knicker drawer. “Oh and put your dress back on.” she said as he carried his neatly folded bundle of underwear out of the kitchen.
“Oh..” he moaned, dropping his shoulders. “I’ve only been dressed as a boy for a couple of hours.” he reminded her, hoping this period of respite would last until bedtime.
“I know… but you look so nice in it… and you’ll forget all about it once it’s on.” she smiled.
Peter placed his clean underwear in his ‘knicker’ drawer as his mother insisted on calling it, before stripping out of his boy clothes and stepping once again in to his one and only dress. After fastening as many of the button as he could, he went downstairs and asked his mother if she’d fasten the rest.
He looked down at himself as his mother slowly fastened him inside it. Sarah’s words echoed in his skull… ‘If this was my only dress I’d pester my mother for another… and another… and another.’ “Mum?” he asked.
“Yes?” she replied.
“Nothing.” he murmured. He just couldn’t find the words.
On Thursday, Peter went ten pin bowling with John and Michael, plus their mutual friend Thomas and a few other kids he didn’t really know. They were accompanied by John & Michael’s mother; Mrs Pierce, and one of her friends, a woman called Sandra and mother to one of the girls in the group.
When asked what he’s been up to during his half term break, Peter has no choice but to be a little creative. Having so little to tell yet so much to hide, Peter felt more timid than ever.
Mrs Pierce can’t take her eyes off Peter. He’s by far the most polite and well spoken of the boys, probably due to his regimented boarding school, but she also notices some odd mannerisms. Sandra and Mrs Pierce chat whilst the kids bowl. “Is Peter a close friend of the boys?” Sandra asks.
“They all went to primary school together, then Peter went to Park Crescent and mine went to Beckford Comp in year seven.”
“Didn’t you say he was at some boarding school?” Sandra asked.
“Yeah… he was getting bullied at Park Crescent so his mum moved but him to a private boarding school.” Mrs Pierce explained.
“Well it’s good if you can afford it.” Sandra said.
“I dunno… If mine went to a boarding school I’d have to have them back at the weekends.” Mrs Pierce said. “I think it’s bit selfish when parents pack them off for months at a time.” she sneered. “And he’s definitely changed.”
“In what way?”
“Not sure… I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Mrs Pierce replied as she watched him bowl. “His mannerisms, his walk, his stature all seems a bit…”
“Prim & Proper?” Sandra suggested.
“More or less… I guess that’s to be expected from a posh boarding school though.” Mrs Pierce mused as Peter took his seat. “He’s a lot more timid than he used to be…” she adds noticing how he sits, always with his knee together.
Every now and then when Peter found himself alone in the crowd, he wondered what it would be like in the same situation with the same people, but not wearing his boy clothes. Had his mother insisted her wore his dress today, maybe he wouldn’t have to keep so much hidden within.
Whilst approaching the alley with bowling ball in hand, he imagined he had his frock and heels on… in his mind’s eye they clapped loudly on the floor boards. His skirt swished around his stockinged legs as he swung and let it go. He visualised a strike and him leaping into the air in celebration, only for his knickers to be revealed as he lands quicker than his dress. Reality kicked in as his bowl dropped into the gutter… again. “Pete you’re rubbish at this.” Michael said.
“My frock got in the way!” was Peter’s imaginary excuse. “It’s a lot easier on the Wii.” was his actual excuse.
He’d glance at the two girls in the group every now and then and wondered if he’d ever be able to dress like they do; boot-cut jeans or shorts & leggings with a skinny-fit tee or a strappy top. He knew full well that had he worn his dress, even they’d laugh at him. But imagined Mrs Pierce and Sandra would, like his mother, insist he looks nice. Maybe it’d catch on, he wondered. Maybe Mrs Pierce would be as enthusiastic about petticoating as his own mother and all of a sudden, John and Michael are being thrust into frocks too.
“You look deep in thought.” A voice said. Peter snapped out of his day dream and turned to see Sandra, the mother of one of the girls and godmother to Michael and John. She engages Peter in conversation. “So you go to boarding school Peter… is it like Hogwarts?” she smiles.
“A little bit.” he replies, before telling her about the steam trains, the secluded valley, the spooky woods, the river and the crags. “But no magic lessons or quiddich.” he adds with a coy smile.
“It sounds idyllic.” Sandra says, before asking him the name of the school and its general location.
“It’s in North Riding.” he replied. “St Ursula’s.” he reluctantly added.
“That’s a lovely part of the world.” Sandra replied. “Beats being in the city all the time eh?”
Mrs Pierce cant help but repeatedly glance at Peter as he chats to Sandra. He seldom parts his knees as he shuffles in his seat. She glances at the other boys, all legs akimbo, feet on chairs and far more relaxed in their posture. The two girls are more upright and hold their heads high, just like Peter. They also sit with their knees closer together in spite of the fact they’re not wearing a skirt or dress. She casts her mind back to Saturday when she wondered if she could see a trace of make-up on Peter’s face, before telling herself she was just being silly and reading into things that weren’t there.
After they’d all eaten, they were bundled into Sandra’s people carrier and one by one, dropped off at home. Mrs Pierce asked Peter if he was going back to boarding school on Monday. He nodded, but said it would be Sunday afternoon he’d be going back. She asked him if he was looking forward to it, and had he enjoyed his half term break. He said yes to both points. “Well you’ll have to visit over Christmas… I guess that’s when you’ll next be back in Beckford?”
“Yes… I’d like that.” he replied. “See you at Christmas guys!” he smiled before trotting to his front door and waving one last time before they drove off.