“Is it comfy?” she asked before stating that it looks comfy.
“It’s OK I guess.” he replied. “I always know it’s there.” he said as his fingers traced one of the shoulder straps. “…even with a top on.”
“I see your knickers match.” she smiled. All of Peter’s ‘pants’ are the same style; high waist and low leg and their high waist clears that of his jeans by a good few inches.
“Yeah.” he shyly replied as he felt himself begin to blush. Like his training bra, his knickers have a narrow band of elasticated baby-pink lace around the waist, and a little pink bow on the front.
“Here.” she said, handing him his T shirt.
“Thanks.” he said before pulling it on. “Oh, thanks!” he said again as she held the pack of make-up wipes so he could take one.
“Can I kiss you?” she asked once he’d removed his lipstick.
Peter gulped and coyly said, “You didn’t ask last time.” He smiled. They embraced and kissed. It wasn’t a full on snog, nor was it a quick peck. It was a proper kiss, just the right length. “I wish we didn’t live so far apart.” he said as their gaze lingered.
“Me too.” she said. “We can chat online and I dunno, maybe I could come and visit sometime.”
“Yeah.” Peter replied. “Noel and Mark wanna come in the summer.” he informed her. “We’ve got a spare room.”
“Maybe I could come at Easter.”
“I’ll run it by my folks.”
“Me too.”
They both glanced at the clock. It’s 5.55pm and Peter’s dad is due imminently. Their eyes met once more and Peter sought assurance that there was no trace of the lipstick he’d worn. She assured him there wasn’t before kissing him again, this time it was just a peck. She removed her arms from around his waist, promoting him to do the same. He sat on her bed and pulled on his socks, then donned his pullover. “Is this song on Donnie Darko?” he asked as the music grabbed his attention.
“Yes.” Carol replied. “Here.” she said. “Something to remember me by.”
“Oh er no I er…” he hesitated as she held out the lipstick he’d worn.
“Go on.” she smiled. “I’ve got loads and this shade suits you.” she said.
“Thanks.” Peter said as he took it from her. He could feel himself blushing as he pushed it into his pocket. He glanced at the frock he’d worn and smiled. “And thanks for letting me try that… it did feel nice.”
“Told you it would.” she proudly replied just as a car horn peep-peeped outside. Presuming it’s Peter’s dad, Carol looked out of the window. “White BMW.” she said.
“Yeah that’s him.” Peter frowned. “I guess this is it then.”
“For now.” she said.
They went downstairs where Peter thanked and said goodbye to her mother, before pushing his arms into his overcoat and saying his final goodbye to Carol. She kissed him on the doorstep and watched him walk away. Both of their hearts were pounding.
~o0o~
They drove though Slough’s numerous sets of traffic lights and one way system that would eventually take them back to the Travelodge. His dad made small talk and asked after Noel and Mark before asking how Carol was. “OK. Yeah. Good. Fine.” Peter said. Another silence ensued.
Eventually, after several sets of traffic lights, Peter’s dad cautiously asked, “So… what did you do? You and Carol? When Noel and Mark went to the pictures?”
Knowingly, Peter glared and said “Nothing Dad!” before claiming they “…just talked and listened to music and… talked and stuff.”
“What music did you listen to?” his dad asked.
“Er… the Cure and…”
“Really?!” his dad replied. “I saw them live in ’89.”
“Cool… never heard ’em before.” Peter replied before naming the other CD Carol had played him.
“Echo & The Bunnymen!” his dad exclaimed. “I’m impressed… I thought you kids only listened to grime these days.”
“Not all the time.” Peter replied. Although he does listen to a lot of grime most of the time. “Have you got any?”
“What?” his Dad asked.
“Echo & the Bunnymen or The Cure?”
“Not any more… I sold my vinyl years ago.” he replied. “Not that it would be much use… kids these days wouldn’t know what to do with a proper record.”
“Without a record player it’s useless anyway.” Peter replied.
They finally arrived back at the Travelodge and just like his Dad, Peter didn’t miss the traffic or all the traffic lights either. It took longer to get from Langley to central Slough than it’d take to get from Butterworth to Rugby, a journey a good three times longer. They took the elevator up to their room where his mother and sister were waiting. “Have you eaten Peter?” his mother asked. “Oh thank goodness!” she exclaimed when he said he hadn’t. “We’re starving.” she said and they promptly headed out to eat.
“So how was Carol?” Kate asked.
“She’s good.” Peter replied.
“So what did you get up to?” his sister quizzed.
“Not much, just talking.” he said.
“When are you going to see her next?” Kate asked.
“I dunno… she mentioned maybe coming up at Easter.”
“Really?!” Kate grinned. “Did you hear that Mum… Peter’s girlfriend might be visiting at Easter.”
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Peter insisted.
“She did give him a big kiss when he left though.” his Dad informed them, grinning and winking at his son.
“Ah she is! I knew it!!” Kate grinned.
Peter didn’t deny it but he could feel himself blushing as they waited for the lift. All the time his fingers are playing with the lipstick in his pocket. “What do you fancy?” his mother asked his dad. “Pub grub, fast food or Chinese?”
“Er… pub grub I reckon.” their Dad replied. They went to a nearby pub and ordered. Peter’s dad chatted with their mother about work. Kate tried to prize some more details out of her brother, but he was being coy. The details he revealed included the music they listened to and her interest in Educational Petticoating. The details he kept to himself were the fact he’d worn one of her dresses and some lippy and that the lipstick he’d worn is currently in his pocket. He knows he’s going to have to mention it at some point, but not now. They talked about the possibility of his friends visiting in the school holidays but his parents could neither approve nor confirm the idea without contacting their parents first.
~o0o~
The next morning, they booked out of the Travelodge and headed back up the M1. They were back in Butterworth by lunchtime and the light covering of snow had all but disappeared. Peter checked tomorrow’s forecast which said it would be sunny yet chilly. He contacted Alan to check that it’s still OK to visit and it is. Alan has some work to do in the morning but that should be done by around 11.00am, so lunchtime would be good. The arrangement was made and Peter would either cycle over or be driven by his mother. He’s keen to cycle but his mother feels it might be a bit too cold and doesn’t want him riding back after dark. “I’ve got gloves and I can wear some trackie bottoms over my shorts.” he says. His sister Kate is within earshot and suggests a pair of leggings would be better than baggy tracksuit bottoms. “I haven’t got any though.” Peter replied.
“I’ll give you some of mine.” Kate offered. Peter wasn’t keen but she convinced him, since it’s not out of the ordinary for a cyclist to wear figure hugging attire. “Haven’t you got some black dance tights?” she quizzed. “Those would do too.” she suggested.
Peter shook his head and Kate seemed perplexed. “I’ve only got pink ones ‘coz I’m still in the beginner’s group.” he reminded her. Kate offered to loan him some of hers but Peter declined. “I think leggings would be better.” he assumed.
“How about tights under your shorts and leggings on top?” his sister suggested. It sounded like as good an idea as any to Peter and a while later, Kate knocked on his bedroom door with a pair of thick black dance tights and some black leggings. “Are they OK?” she asked.
The leggings are Adidas ones with three white stripes running down each leg and feature the distinctive Adidas logo above one ankle. “Yeah they’re cool.” Peter replied. “Thanks Kate.”
“You’re welcome.” she said, before stating that they’re one of her ‘good’ pairs of leggings and she definitely wants them back. “You can keep the tights… I’ve got loads of pairs.”
“Cheers, thanks sis.” Peter says. “I’ve never had black tights before.”
Throughout this brief moment in her brother’s room, Kate eyes have been panning and scanning and nosin’ around. His pink satin ballet shoes hang from his wardrobe door knob. His green school blazer hangs from the back of his door. Books and films fill a shelf whilst model tanks and aeroplanes adorn another. On the foot of his bed is a neat pile of fresh laundry; knickers and training bras in both bottle green and white plus several pairs of bottle green tights. His dressing table, unlike hers is mostly free from clutter, save for a small selection of hair slides, barrettes and hair-bands. “Is that a lipstick?!” she asked, noticing a small yet distinctive cylinder on his dressing table.
“Er… yeah.” her brother said as she briskly crossed his room. “Carol gave it to me.”
Being a nosey big sister, Kate picked it up, removed the lid and twisted it. “Hmm.” she said. “Have you tried it?” she asked. Peter reluctantly admitted to wearing it for a short while the previous day. “Is it nice?”
“I dunno… Carol said it was close to my natural shade so…” he shrugged.
“Can I see?” she asked, offering it too him.
“Maybe another time.” Peter said.
Kate persisted and again Peter declined, claiming he wasn’t ‘dressed’ for it. Kate said his clothes didn’t matter. “I’ll maybe wear it when I’m doing my homework, with my uniform on.” Peter said, suggesting it’d maybe help prepare him for Year 10. “Can I have the lid please?” he asked.
Kate smiled and handed him the lid. “Sweet that… your first gift from your girlfriend.” she said as Peter put it back on his dresser.
“We only kissed… she’s not necessarily my girlfriend.” Peter meekly replied.
“Well even if you’re just good friends… it’s still a sweet gift.”
“Yeah.” Peter agreed. He could feel himself blushing again.
“So…” Kate began as she nudged his hair-slides with the tip of her finger. “…apart from wearing lipstick… what else did you and Carol get up to?” she cheekily asked.
“We just talked and listened to music and stuff.”
“And stuff?” she parroted, raising her eyebrows.
Peter bashfully insisted that they didn’t get up to anything and reminded her that he’s only thirteen. He admits to them kissing a couple of times, but insists that there’s nothing more to it. “Did you show her your bra?” Kate teases. Peter grimaces and the answer is clear. “Did she show you hers?”
“No.” Peter replied. In that instant he cursed himself for missing the opportunity. ‘Now show me yours’ is what he should have said when he’d shown Carol his. Hindsight… it always comes too late!
Later that evening, Carol sends Peter a video chat request and he accepts. “Hiyaaa!” she cooed when his face filled the screen.
“Hi Carol.” he bashfully replied.
“What are you wearing?”
“Er… jeans, hoodie.” he said as he briefly stepped back from the camera.
“Lipstick?” she asked.
“Er… do you want me to?” he gulped. She didn’t, particularly. “What you up to?” he asked.
“Not much… just thought I’d check in and make sure you got back OK.”
“Yeah.” Peter replied. “Gonna ride out to my friend’s house tomorrow. It’s a good six miles away.” he proudly exaggerated.
“Cool.” Carol typed. “Not a girl I hope!”
“Nah… Alan.” he typed before telling her that he and Alan were both newbies back in September, so had something in common. He tells her his parents have a stable and lives out in the sticks. “Fields all around.” he added.
“Sounds great.” Carol replied. “ Can’t believe half term’s almost over… a week just isn’t long enough.”
“Yeah… mid-term should be longer.” Peter said. “A fortnight at least.”
“Yeah.” Carol replied. “Why do you keep saying mid-term?” she asked. “Is that what they call it up there?”
“Nah it half term up here too.” Peter replied.
“So why do you keep saying mid-term then?”
Peter didn’t instantly reply. He chose his words cautiously and delivered them quickly. “Because there’s another story called half term so I have to say mid-term in this one.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Weirdo.” she grinned. “Hey you didn’t answer my question yesterday!” she said.
“What question?”
Carol smiled and said “Do you wear a tutu for ballet class?”
She grinned as Peter grimaced. “Sometimes… not always.”
“What do you you wear?”
“A leotard and dance tights.” he humbly replied, wondering if he should tell her about the control knickers that the boys also wear under their leotards. This constricting garment is designed to flatten their boyish bulge as much as possible and is the single most uncomfortable thing he’s ever worn. Saying that, one does become accustomed to its presence after ten minutes or so, but possibly though numbness more than anything else. Carol asked a question. “The leotard or tights?” he replied.
“Both.” she smiled, knowing full well he was delaying.
“Black leotard and pink tights.” he glumly informed her before standing and walking away from his laptop’s camera. “…and these.” he said, returning with his pink satin ballet shoes.
“Cute.” she grinned.
“I don’t have to ask you not tell Noel about these do I?”
“Course not.” she assured. “I can’t imagine you doing ballet.”
“Neither can I. I’m terrible at it… still in the novice group after six months.”
“Oh… well you’ll just have to stick at it.” she said. “Maybe one day I’ll be watching you perform the dance of the sugar plum fairy.” she chuckled.
Peter chuckled too, but markedly more nervously. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I know… it’s just a nice thought.” she said as she cast him a coy grin. Peter gulped and smiled back. “So… you do ballet…”
“Yeah.”
“…and play hockey and netball.”
“Yeah.”
“Any other classes like that?” she asked.
“Not really.” Peter replied. But he knew what she was getting at so added, “We do needlework.”
“Sewing and stuff?” she asked. Peter pursed his lips and nodded. “What kind of stuff?” she asked. “Dresses?”
“Nooo.” he replied. “Just basic stuff.” he replied, listing a pencil case and a drawstring bag. Peter cast his mind back to his first needlework class back in September. He learned to thread a needle and replace a shirt button, then for his first homework assignment, he stitched the ribbons onto his ballet shoes. He also had to stitch all the name tags into every item of his uniform, including all his underwear, but thankfully this was done at home rather than in class. He’s made a pencil case and a drawstring ‘dance’ bag, both of which have his initials embroidered on, a traditional cross-stitch sampler which he gifted to his grandmother at Christmas, and an apron too, which was one of his mother’s Christmas gifts. This term he’s made a cross-stitch tablet case, a shaggy rag rug and is currently learning how to knit a scarf.
Peter’s about as keen on his needlework classes as he is his ballet class. He can see why it’s important to know how to replace a button on one of his blouses or repair a ripped seam or loose hem, but what’s the point of knitting a scarf if it takes weeks when one can be purchased for peanuts? His dad suggested that when the zombie apocalypse comes there’ll no more factories and no more shops, so he’ll be glad that he learned needlework otherwise he’d be fighting zombies in the nude. His dad also suggested that a well executed pirouette could take out a few zombies too, making ballet an essential skill, and that a pair of knitting needles would also be a handy weapon.
“Sewing and knitting are handy skills.” Carol said.
“Yeah I guess.” Peter replied. “According to my dad they’ll be essential when the zombie apocalypse comes.” he chuckled. “If only to stab the zombies in the face with my knitting needles.”
“You’d be like a knitting ninja.” she grinned. “In a leotard.” she added. They chatted and chuckled for a while longer before Carol said, “Right… I’m gonna go… just wanted to make sure you hadn’t died in a car crash.” she grinned.
“Nope… I’m home, safe and sound.” Peter replied.
“Cool.” she said. “Catch up next week?” she suggested.
“Yeah sure.” Peter enthused.
“Great. Speak soon hon.” Carol replied. “Thinking of you.”
“You too.” Peter replied before her image quickly disappeared. He bit his lip, grinned and repeatedly thought ‘she called me hon’, ‘she called me hon’, ‘she called me hon’. That night, before climbing into bed, Peter carefully applied some of the lipstick that Carol had gifted him and went to sleep with a smile on his face.
~o0o~
The next day, Peter wakes early and on visiting the bathroom, he notices that there’s barely a trace of his lipstick left. He washes up and makes sure there’s absolutely no trace of it before going for breakfast. His mother asks if he’s still going to cycle to his friend’s house and Peter says he is. “Well make sure you wrap up warm… and I want you back before dark.”
“I’ve got lights.” Peter reminds her.
“Yes but they’re not very bright… they’re only good for being seen with.” his mother tells him. “On those unlit roads they’ll be next to useless.”
“Yeah I suppose.” he replied. His mother asked what time he’s going. “Lunchtime.”
“Well… back by five… that gives you plenty of time.”
“OK.”
After having a long hot bath, Peter pulls the thick black dance tights over his freshly shaved legs. He’s always enjoyed pulling his tights over super smooth skin and the fact that his tights aren’t bottle green makes it all the more enjoyable today. Next he pulls on his cycling shorts and matching jersey before pulling the black Adidas leggings on over his shorts and tights. He eats a couple of tuna sandwiches followed by a couple of slices of malt loaf to give him a decent energy store for what feels like an epic journey. He knows it’s not that far to Alan’s house but it’s the furthest he’s ridden on his own so. “Those leggings suit you.” his mother says as he chomps his sandwiches.
“Kate loaned me them.” Peter replied. “I’ve got dance tights underneath so I should be warm enough.”
“Hopefully.” his mother replied.
“I’ll just have to pedal faster if I’m not.” Peter said. His mother smiled before telling him not to go too fast because it could be icy. “I won’t.” he replied. Peter set off at twelve noon sharp. His mother told him to be extra careful at the motorway junction since the cars are usually going faster then expected and they’re often accelerating too. “I will.” he said.
“And put some Lypsyl on or they’ll get chapped.” his mother advises. Even before they moved up from Slough, Peter regularly applied Lypsyl in the winter months. It’s not glossy and he never considered it a ‘girl’ thing… but now he’s got some actual lipstick, he does take a little more care when applying his Lypsyl.
Peter cut through some snickets and ginnels to get to the edge of town, past the Whittle roundabout and the busy main road. A cycle track runs alongside this and takes him over the M1 motorway and he’s soon riding through the village of Walton, after which he turns right heading down the long lane that leads to Alan’s house. This long flat straight road gives him the opportunity to change up a few gears and see just how fast his road bike will go. It’s fast! Maybe the ‘go faster’ stripes on his leggings are helping. Who knows? The next village comes into view and Peter quickly realises that he’s ridden right past Alan’s house. He slows and turns, riding back up the lane, this time keeping an eye out for his destination rather than just trying to ride really really fast.
Alan’s mother answers the door to a boy with very red cheeks. “You must be Peter?” she says. Peter is directed around the back of house where there’s a garage that he can put his bike in. “You’ll find Alan in one of the stables… just give him a shout.”
“OK.” Peter replied. “Thanks.” He makes his way around the back of their sizeable house and parks his bike in the garage alongside a couple of other bikes, old ones, rusty and dusty and clearly unused. He crosses the yard toward the stables and hollers “Alan! …you about?”
“Hiya.” Alan says as he emerges from one of the stables. He’s wearing some tatty navy blue overalls and wellies. “Did you ride over?” he asked.
“Yeah.. only took fifteen minutes.” he said as he checked the time on his phone.
“Cool. Fast bike then?” Alan asked.
Peter nodded proudly. “Just gonna text my mum and let her know I’ve not been crushed under a truck.” he said as his thumb quickly tapped out a message.
“Okeydoke.. I’ve just gotta finish bringin’ the bails out… come in.” Alan replied.
Peter followed his friend into the stable. “Where are the horses?” Peter asked.
Alan’s sister has taken a group of kids pony trekking so most of the horses are out. “I’ll show you Viking.” he says as he fills a hay rack. Alan leads Peter past a row of vacant stables to one which is home to huge white and brown horse called Viking. Peter’s bit overwhelmed by its size and keeps his distance whilst Alan feeds it a couple of carrots. With a little prompting, Peter pats its head.
Next to Viking’s stable is a small barn half filled with bails of hay. He helps Alan carry one into a stable and watches whilst Alan fills the hay rack and spreads the rest of the bail on the floor. “Just a few more then we can go in.” Alan says. “Are you warm enough?” he asked.
“Yeah I’m boiling after my ride.” Peter claims as he unzips his fleece and tells Alan about riding his bike so fast that he completely missed the house and almost ended up in Kilburn.
“Is it a road bike?” Alan asked.
“Yeah. A Giant!” Peter proudly stated. “I’ll show you when you’ve done.” he suggested as they returned to the barn and grabbed another bail of hay. “Do you do this everyday?” Peter asks as he helps Alan manhandle one into each of the vacant stables.
“When I’m not at school.” Alan replied.
“On your own?”
“Usually.” Alan said. First he mucks out, which means shovelling the horse shit and piss ridden hay out of each stable. That takes an hour or so, then they’re hosed and scrubbed before fresh hay is put in. His final chore it to make sure the water trough is filled with water and tops it up using a huge long muddy hose. Peter keeps clear as he wants to avoid getting any muck or mud his sister’s Adidas leggings. “Can I see this bike then?” Alan asks as he turns off the hose.
Peter details the spec; twenty-seven gears, fully indexed, triple compact with a nine speed cassette, Shimano groupset, aluminium alloy frame and forks. “Is one of these yours?” he asks looking at the two rusty and dusty BSOs behind his own ‘machine’.
“Err… I use that one.” he said, pointing to some more bikes on the other side of the large double garage-come-workshop. “It used to be my sisters.” Of those three bikes, only one looks like it’ll fit Alan and only one looks like it used to be his sisters. “I only use it for popping to the shop in Kilburn.” he sighed.
Peter was uninspired by the glittery lilac ‘shopper’ with a plastic basket on the front. “It’s better than no bike.” Peter said.
“It gets me to the shop and back.” Alan shrugged before saying he was getting cold and suggested they go inside.
Alan and Peter enter the house via the boot room where Alan gets rid of his wellies and overalls. Beneath he’s wearing a wintry woolly jumper and much to Peter’s surprise, a pair of thick black tights and short denim shorts! He doesn’t say anything. He wouldn’t know what to say if prompted. Best bet, he thinks, is to carry on as normal. Alan asks Peter to remove his footwear before taking him into the house where he formally introduces Peter to his mum. “You’re the boy who started school the same day as Alan?” his mother asked.
“Yes.” Peter replied. That was a scary day and Alan was the only one in his class who was also new to EP, so they naturally stuck together. Alan’s mother asked if he enjoys going to Butterworth High before asking where he’s from originally. “We moved up from Slough.” Peter tells her, before saying that he and his sister were born in Hampshire, moved to Slough when he was seven. “My dad’s from Bristol and my mum’s Scottish.” he added.
“I see… so you’ll have a good range of accents at home?”
“Yeah.” Peter smiled. He recalled when Keith and Paul (friends from school) first came to his house and they couldn’t get their heads around a family with different accents. Dad speaks in a thick west country accent, Mum speaks soft Scottish, Kate has retained her Hampshire accent and Peter’s is a distinct south east accent.
“Those leggings are nice.” Alan’s mum says.
“Thanks. They’re my sisters.” Peter replied. Alan’s mother quizzes if they’re warm enough on a day like today. Peter tells her that he’s got a pair of tights on beneath them. “…and cycling shorts.” he adds. “If anything I’m a bit too warm.”
“Well take that fleece off.” Alan’s mother suggests. “Why don’t you show Peter your room and I’ll bring a hot drink up?” she says the her son.
“Er… OK.” Alan replied.
“Oh…” his mother says, grabbing a pile of clean laundry. “…and take these up whilst you’re at it.”
Alan takes the bundle of laundry and Peter follows him up the stairs. “I like those shorts Al.” Peter says.
“Er… they’re my sisters.” he claimed as they reached the landing. “Well, they were.” he drew Peter’s attention to the bundle of laundry and said, “I’ve ended up with a lot of my sister’s hand-me-downs since I started at Butterworth High.”
Peter glanced at the neatly folded items and amongst the blacks, blues, greys, whites and browns, he spotted some pink, lilac, a bit of lace and a conspicuous strap hanging out. “Yeah you said last week.” Peter said, recalling their walk home from school last Friday.
Alan paused. “Yeah… just wanted to remind you before you see my room.” he cautiously replied.
Peter expected the worst and prepared himself for a pink palace. “This is OK.” he said as he stepped inside. The walls are clad in a pale green stripy wallpaper and a forest green carpet covers the floor. Spearmint green curtains hang at the windows and a matching bedspread covers his wrought iron bed. There’s a bit of flounce on the curtains and the bed has a lacy valance, but it’s not that bad. Peter’s eyes pan around the four walls and the furniture. Pictures hang depicting countryside scenes, horses and farm life; cheap prints of vintage paintings, the sort one’s grandmother might have. The furniture is ornate and possibly antique; painted to match the room in white and pale greens. On one wall is a wardrobe and besides this, a clothes rail. That’s why Alan reminded him about his sister’s hand-me-downs, Peter realised as he scanned the items on the clothes rail. Almost everything looks like its either a skirt or a dress, although there are some jeans, jumpers and jackets too. From one end of the shiny steel rack hangs a small selection of bags; handbags to be precise. A four foot wide row of shoes fills the void beneath the rail. “Are they all yours?” Peter gasped.
“Unfortunately.” Alan replied. “They’re my ‘Sunday’ dresses.” he glumly added. “Here.” he said, drawing his friend’s attention to something far cooler. “I’ve been building it for ages.”
“You made that?!” Peter exclaimed.
“Still am.” Alan replied, before delivering a very long list of what still needs to be done.
“That’s well cool!” Peter says as he has a good close look at the model sailing ship. He daren’t touch it though. “I’ve built model kits but nothing like this.. just plastic Airfix stuff.”
“This is the same really… it’s just balsa instead of plastic.” Alan claims before showing off a balsa wood bi-plane that he’d previously made. “I should paint it really but…”
“Nah… it’s looks good seeing the wood.” Peter replied.
Alan agreed. “How was Slough anyway?” he asked. “Did you see your old mates?”
“Yeah it was cool.” Peter replied. He described the Travelodge and how the town centre felt far too full now he’s got used to small town life, playing Battlefront on the X Box and actually doing well for a change before sheepishly moving on to Carol.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Peter nodded before saying, “I dunno… she lives ninety miles away and she didn’t actually say ‘will you be my boyfriend’ …but we did kiss a few times.” Peter replied. “I’ve never had one before so…” He paused before asking Alan if he’s had a girlfriend before.
“Sort of.” he replied, explaining that he had a friend called Sally and they used to hang out all the time. “…and now we don’t.”
“How come?” Peter asked. Alan told him a woeful tale of friendship and betrayal that would have been worthy of writing if he hadn’t used the words ‘bitch’ and ‘cow’ quite so frequently. “She sounds horrible.” Peter said.
“She never used to be.” Alan glumly claimed. “Or maybe she was and I never noticed.” he shrugged as he glanced at the rail containing his skirts and frocks. “She made sure that everyone knew about those.”
“Bitch.”
“Yeah.” he moaned as someone knocked on his door. “Yeah?” he said.
Alan’s mother entered carrying a tray with two mugs of hot chocolate and a plate full of biscuits. She placed it on his dresser. “Have you shown Peter your Galleon?” she asked. Alan said he had and Peter enthused over it. “Don’t forget to put your clothes away Alan.” his mother said.
“Yeah I’ll do it later.”
“You’ll do it now.” she replied before leaving.
Alan got off his bed and passed Peter a mug and the plate of biscuits. He began sorting his pile of fresh laundry, separating the T shirts and tops from the underwear, tights and socks. “God I hate these.” he said as he put his pink ballet tights to one side.
“Me too.” Peter agreed. “I hope we get out of the beginners group soon.”
“So we can learn tap! and jazz!! ??” he enthusiastically, dramatically and possibly sarcastically asked.
“It’s gotta be better than basic ballet.” Peter sighed. “It’s so boring.”
“Yeah.” Alan sighed as he bundled a pile of underwear into a drawer. “I’d prefer it if we didn’t have to do any dance classes.”
“Yeah.” Peter replied. “Do you think it helps though… with coordination and stuff?” he asked before telling his friend about how he was all-of-a-sudden really good playing Battlefront when he was previously terrible at video games. Alan presumed that their ballet classes are unlikely to affect his hand/eye coordination and thus improve his gaming skills. “Maybe it was just my lucky day.” Peter presumed as a wry smile swept his face. He recalled the moment that Carol planted her lips on his.
“Clapping games might.” Alan added as he put a small pile of T shirts and tops away before picking up his mug and slurping it. “Still hot.” he said. “Mum makes the best hot chocolate.”
“Mmmm.” Peter agreed, having another slurp. “It’s like proper coffee shop stuff.”
“She does put a bit of coffee in it.” Alan said as he put a hoody on a hanger. “..so it’s more of a mocca.” he added as he put the hanger on his rail. “Hey look at this.” he said, removing a brown furry jacket.
At first glance it looked like cheap brown fake fur jacket, the sort that only a girl would wear. “That’s well cool!” Peter exclaimed when he realised it was a Chewbacca jacket.
“Thought you’d like it.” Alan said. “It’s a bit girlie but…”
“Was it your sisters?”
“Yeah.” Alan replied as he put it back alongside the skirts, tops and frocks. “They all were.”
“So… how often do you have to wear the dresses?” Peter asked. “Every Sunday or…?”
“Nah… they’re just called ‘Sunday’ dresses because they’re nice… supposedly.” Alan said.
“When do you wear them then?”
“Whenever they want me to look nice.” Alan replied. “If Mum had her way I’d have been wearing one today.”
“Why?”
Alan mimicked his mother’s voice and said, “Because you should always make an effort when you’ve got visitors.” in his own voice he added, “She seems to think that all the boys at Butterworth High wear dresses at home.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.”
“What?”
“If your mum’d made you wear a dress.” Peter said. “I wore one of Carol’s on Wednesday.” he informed his friend. “I quite liked it.” he admitted. “Is that weird?” he asked.
“Not really.” Alan replied. “I like some of mine… well… some are better than others.” he added. “Given the choice I’d never wear any of them out of the house though.”
“Yeah. I guess it felt OK because it was just me and Carol. It’d have been totally weird if anyone else were there.” Peter replied, before cautiously asking if Alan wears his out of the house.
Alan slowly nodded. “It shouldn’t matter because I wear my school uniform often enough.” he said, returning to his rail. “But there’s a big difference between that…” he removed a frock. “…and this.”
Peter bit his lip as Alan showed him a garish lime green dress with bright flowers and short bulbous sleeves. Alan sneered as he replaced it. “This one’s far worse though.”
“Eugh.” Peter grimaced as Alan withdrew another frock. “It wouldn’t be too bad if it didn’t have those swans on.”
“Or the see-through sleeves.” Alan sighed.
“I think its better than the green one… marginally. But I think I’d refuse to wear either of them.” Peter claimed.
“Yeah.” Alan agreed. “Easier said than done when you’ve got your sister or mum going… oh go on… it’s nice… oh go on …then they choose something much worse and you go… oh OK then.” he said. “Sometimes it’s just easier to wear what I’m told in the first place.” he sighed.
“Yeah.” Peter agreed. “I guess I’m just lucky that my Mum hasn’t looked at my sister’s old clothes and thought… some of these might fit Peter!” he said. mimicking her soft Scots accent. “Saying that… I will be wearing her old school skirts and blouses when they fit me.” Peter added.
Alan didn’t reply save for a bit of a grunt, but that’s pretty much what happened to him. It was the end of summer and his sister was having a clear out. A huge pile of cast-offs accumulated on her bed and he recalled how she and his mother bickered over what to keep and what to throw. Mum’s idea of nice differed from her seventeen year old daughters, and Alan’s mother’s logic was one of there’s plenty of wear in it, it’s too good for charity, it still fits so we’ll keep it. Alan recalls his sister’s retort exactly; Well there’s no point keeping them unless you’re keeping them for Alan… because there’s no way I’m wearing any of those. Alan also recalled his mother’s reply which unfortunately for him was an enlightened ‘oooh I hadn’t thought about Alan’… so her old and unwanted clothes became his new clothes, whether he wanted them or not. “Sounds like my sister’s back.” Alan said as the sound of hooves on tarmac grew increasingly louder.
The boys looked out of the bedroom window and waited for the pony trekking group to come into view. “Can you ride?” Peter asked as one after another crossed the yard and entered the paddock.
“Yeah course.” Alan replied.
“Is it easy?”
“When you know how… bit like riding a bike, but all horses are different.” Alan said. He pointed out one horse which is a bit feisty, another which is lazy, one which is his favourite and one that he refuses to ride. They chatted about this and that as they watched the riders hand back their steeds. One by one Alan’s sister leads the horses back to the stable and the riders loitered and chatted.
“Is that Ben Johnson?” Peter asked as one removed his riding helmet.
“Yeah… and his sister Beth.” Alan said, pointing out a girl with long curly blonde locks. “She’s gorgeous!”
“Does she go to our school?” Peter asked. He doesn’t recognise her and she is undoubtedly gorgeous, so he should have noticed her by now.
“Nah, the academy.”
“Oh.” Peter replied. “How come they don’t go to the same school?”
“Dunno… maybe his folks transferred him the better of the two schools, just like mine did.”
Peter also cast his mind back the end of summer when his mother seemed to be enjoying the process of getting his new school uniform a little too much. Everything he needed was purchased in the last week of the summer holidays; uniform, shoes, PE kit, school bag, etc. He would have preferred bottle green knee socks but his mother insisted on buying white ones with a pelerine knit which he felt were too girlie for a boy. Her logic was ‘it doesn’t matter if you’re boy, you want to look nice’. When he said he didn’t want to look ‘nice’, his mother’s reply was ‘I want you to look nice’. Same with his underwear; she could have got him the regulation ‘big’ pants without the narrow bands of lacy trim but his mother bought the ones with the lacy trim because ‘they’re much nicer and no one’s going to see them’. She was wrong about that. The girls have a habit of flicking the boy’s skirts up and yelling ‘he’s wearing frillies!’ if their underwear has lacy trim. If not they declare them ‘boring!’. It’s a small consolation that seemingly many of the boys wear ‘frillies’ and that the girls generally approve, as does his mother. “I sometimes wonder if my parents really tried to get me into the academy or if they’re just saying they did.” Peter mournfully wondered.
“Well Butterworth High is a better school.” Alan shrugged. “…even if we hate the uniform.”
“Yeah.” Peter replied. “I actually don’t mind the uniform these days.” he said. “It’s just green tights and white knee socks I hate… it’d be better if we could wear black tights.”
“It’d be better if we didn’t have to do dance classes.”
“And supervised play!” Peter grinned. “Even the girls hate that!”
“Double dutch is good.” Alan stated.
“I can hardly do one rope, let alone two.” Peter said. “It’s good to watch though.”
EP schools differ from mainstream schools in many ways. The boy’s uniform is the most obvious difference, and a closer look at their PE curriculum reveals netball, hockey and tennis rather than football, rugby and cricket. Then there’s the dance aspect of PE; classical ballet is the core subject and after reaching Grade 2, students may also study tap and jazz (and occasionally line dancing, street dance, ballroom or country dancing). One subtle difference is how the teachers tend to use the noun ‘child’ rather than ‘boy’ or ‘girl’. At Peter’s old school the teachers would say ‘good morning boys and girls’ but at Butterworth High it’s always ‘good morning children’. It took Peter a good month or two to notice that one.
One not-so-subtle difference between EP schools and mainstream schools is the idea of ‘supervised play’. Rather than loitering, lurking or sitting around chatting with their friends, children are encouraged to be active during their break times. Fortunately, not every break time is supervised play time at Butterworth High. Out of their fifteen breaks each week (three each day), around five are supervised. It’s a seemingly random process which sends a wave of sighs around the classroom during morning registration when the names of the children who’ll be partaking in supervised play are read out. It’s usually around seven to ten children from each class and they’re allotted either the morning, lunch or afternoon slot. Lunch is the worst one because it’s forty minutes of supervised play rather than fifteen, and a ‘double-dose’ isn’t unheard of (where a child is given both a morning and afternoon slot on the same day).
When break time begins and the children filter out into the school yard, those on supervised play go directly to the playground supervisors (a couple of teachers and a handful of Prefects). The group of twenty to thirty children are separated into smaller groups and spend their break time playing hopscotch, skipping (with and without a rope), duck duck goose (and other tag type games) and even clapping & rhyming games. An active child is a healthy child, is one mantra that justifies this practice. An active body means an active brain, is another. Supervised play is as unpopular with the girls as it is the boys, but at least the girls know the games, rhymes and routines. The main problem for the boys is that all the activities are traditional girl’s games and they’re all novices. It’s not easy hopping and skipping in heels and with their little pleated skirts bouncing about it’s more than a little embarrassing too… but thankfully the yard at Butterworth High is enclosed within the buildings so it’s only teachers and pupils who are witness to this idyllic vision of an English school yard. Supervised play is a good incentive to be well behaved though, since bad behaviour can result in every break time being a supervised play time. Both Peter and Alan agreed that supervised play is one of the worst aspects of Educational Petticoating. “Tell you that’d make things at the high school infinitely better.” Peter said.
“What?” Alan asked.
“If the academy was an EP school too.” Peter said. Barely a day goes by when one or more kids from the Academy don’t taunt or tease the high school boys. From the safety of their long pants and flat shoes the academy boys will happily jeer and sneer at the high school boys, even those much older and bigger than themselves… and should a high school boy give chase, they can’t give chase very quickly thanks to their footwear.
“Ahhh that’d be poetic.” Alan gasped. “All the kids who gave me grief when I was transferred… I’d love to see the looks on their faces.” he imagined the prospect… in fact he wallowed in it. “I wonder if…” he began.
“What?”
“Nah nothing.” Alan grinned.
“Go on… what?” Peter prompted. “You wonder if…”
“OK… it’d never work but… I wonder if the headmaster of the academy started getting loads of letters from ‘concerned’ parents… Dear Headmaster…” Alan began, mimicking a parental voice, “…in light of the fact that the Ofsted rating for the academy is ‘average’ and that of the high school is ‘excellent’, isn’t it about time you considered introducing Educational Petticoating to Butterworth Academy?” He stopped and grinned before continuing, “As a concerned parent, my child’s education is of paramount importance… far more important than his uniform and…”
Alan ran out of ideas. Peter took over and adopted a similar ‘grown-up’ voice. “It’s a well known fact that truancy rates in EP schools are virtually nil and regular ballet classes are essential for growing boys, since they’re ever so clumsy…” he says in a faux-female middle class accent “It’s also a well known fact that bullying is a major issue at Butterworth Academy and education experts all agree that educational petticoating is a proven method of discouraging bullying, especially amongst the boys.”
Alan laughed and asked if it was true. “I dunno.” Peter replied. “The truancy bit is, according to Carol.”
“Your girlfriend!” Alan grinned.
Peter became bashful and peered into the yard. The gabble of pony trekkers had long gone. “One of the junior schools in Slough’s going to trial EP after Easter.” Peter eventually said.
“Really?”
“Apparently.” Peter replied. “My mate Mark’s little brother goes… he’s eight and crapping himself.”
“I bet he is.” Alan said. He explained that when the high school switched to EP three years ago, his parents were considering sending him then. “In a way I wish they had. It wasn’t much fun being at the Academy when everyone knew I was being transferred to the ‘girls’ school.” he mournfully recalled.
All the kids at the academy refer to Butterworth High as the girl’s school and in a way, its mere existence works as an excellent deterrent for really bad behaviour. Plenty of academy boys get themselves suspended but they all know that expulsion means one thing and one thing only. To Alan’s knowledge, no boy has been expelled from Butterworth Academy since the high school adopted EP. A few though, like himself have been transferred. In Alan’s case it was a simple case of his parents wanting him to go to a better school. One boy in the previous academic year was getting bullied at the academy and was transferred to the high school. Peter suggested the bullies should have been transferred instead. “That’d have been pretty much the whole class.” Alan replied. “Can’t be much fun getting so badly bullied at one school, only to go to another where you have to dress like a girl.”
“Can’t be much fun for Mark’s brother either… our uniforms aren’t too bad… tights aside.” Peter said. “At Castleview the girls wear those red gingham dresses in the summer and grey pinafore dresses in the winter.”
Alan bit his lip. “We didn’t have a uniform at my old junior school.” he said.
“Where was that?”
“Just down the lane in Kilburn.” Alan informed him, cocking his head in its general direction. Peter begins to respond but a knock on the door draws their attention. They turn as Alan’s mother enters. “You boys OK?” she asked, before asking if Peter was planning on joining them for supper this evening.
“Er… I’ve gotta be home before dark so…”
“Okeydoke.” his mother said. “You’d be most welcome and I could have driven you back…” she says.
“Oh er…”
“Yeah stay.” Alan prompted. “What we having?” he asked his mother.
“Well… thing is…” his mother began, “Your sister’s just told me that we’ve been invited up to Burrowbeck Farm for supper with the Proctors’…” she said before apologising to Peter.
“Shall I go?” he meekly asked.
“No no!” Alan’s mother chirped. “We’re not going ’til six or seven.” she checked her watch. “You’ve got a good hour or two.” she smiled.
“Oh, cool.” Peter smiled.
Alan and glanced at Peter and smiled nervously as his mother perused his dress rail. “Have you been showing Peter your dresses?” she asked as she rehung two of the frocks so they wouldn’t crease.
Alan grimaced as his mother opened his wardrobe and had a bit of a rummage. “Mum what are you doing?” Alan asked as she removed a couple of frocks.
“Finding you something to wear tonight.” she replied. Both dresses are similar in style, only one is a Burberry check and the other, a red plaid. Both have white collars and cuffs.
“Well… can’t you do that later?” he asked. “I’ve got company.”
“Oh I’m sure Peter doesn’t mind.” Alan’s mother said as she quickly decided which she liked the best. She smiled at Peter as she put one back and laid the other on Alan’s bed before removing a white slip from a drawer. “All the boy’s from Butterworth High…” she crouched to grab a pair of shoes. “…wear dresses.” she claimed.
“Not all of them.” Alan insisted as he glanced and frowned at Peter. “Do I have to wear that again?” he asked.
“Hmm-hmm.” his mother replied as she crouched, opened a drawer and removed a pair of thick white tights. “Or black tights?” she asked.
“I’d have rather chosen something later Mum… you know… when…” Alan gulped and glanced at his friend and wondered what he must be thinking.
“If I let you choose we’d be here all night.” his mother replied as she tossed the white tights onto the frock. “Do you chose your own dresses Peter?” Alan’s mother asked.
“Errr, not really.” Peter sheepishly replied. “I don’t actually…”
“Oh hello!” Alan’s sister interrupted as she appeared at the wide open bedroom door. “I didn’t realise you had company.”
Alan sheepishly introduced his big sister to Peter, and Peter to his sister. She briefly said hello before glancing at Alan’s bed. “Oh not that one Mum!” she says before rummaging in his wardrobe. “This one’s much nicer.” she says, removing a leaf green frock with a frilly white yoke.
“It doesn’t really matter Bronte.” Alan’s mother said. “It’s only the Proctors.” she claimed. “Anyway I think this one’s nicer.” his mother stated, defending her original choice.
“Nah, it’s too plain.” his sister retorted. “And he’s always wearing it.” she added. “Definitely this one…with those lacy ivory tights.”
“He’ll want thicker tights than those.” his mother claimed. “It’s February.”
Peter and Alan were both speechless as his mother and sister bickered over his outfit. “Are they always like this?” Peter discreetly asked. Alan nodded and rolled his eyes.
“It’s only twenty minutes away… he’s hardly going to die of exposure.” his sister replied. “He hasn’t worn this for ages.” she stated as she held it against herself.
Alan’s mother and sister squabbled in the background whilst Peter asked Alan where they’re going. “Burrowbeck Farm… by the golf course.”
“In Butterworth?”
“No, Kilburn.” Alan replied. “Can’t walk to Butterworth in twenty minutes.”
“If I had to wear one of those I’d be insisting they drive me.” Peter claimed.
“The only blessing is I’ll be wearing an overcoat.” Alan replied. “…and wellies.” he added. Peter raised an eyebrow and Alan explained that the farm is at the end of a track that’s always muddy in the winter. “So I’ll be taking the shoes in a bag.” he added, nodding at the heels his mother had chosen.
A couple of moments later, his mother and sister had finally made their minds up and informed him that he’d be wearing the green dress. “You’ll need a shower too… you smell like the stable.” his sister said.
“So do you.” Alan retorted.
“Which is why I’m going to have one first.” Bronte smugly stated. “Are you going to do your own make-up or do you want me to do it for you?”
Alan began to blush. “Can you do it?” he asked.
“You’ll never learn unless you do it yourself.” his mother said as she put the plaid dress back and dug out his lacy tights.
“I know but…” Alan humbly replied. He glanced at his friend and rolled his eyes. Peter responded with a slightly bemused yet supportive smile, before casting his eyes over the ensemble on the duvet. “Sorry ’bout that.” Alan said once his mother and sister had gone.
“I didn’t know you wore make-up.” Peter said.
“Bronte says I need to learn how to do it properly ready for Year 10.”
“That’s ages away.” Peter retorted, adding up the months. “Is it hard?”
“It’s not easy.” Alan retorted. “See what I mean about my Mum though… assuming we all wear dresses.”
“Yeah… I didn’t get chance to try to explain before your sister came in.”
“…and the whirlwind started.”
“Yeah.” Peter chuckled nervously. “That was quite mental.”
“It’s also quite normal.” Alan dryly replied.
Peter cast his eyes over the leaf green frock. It’s knee length with a frilly hem and long sleeves. The shoulder and chest section is white broderie anglaise with frilly trim around the yoke. “I think I’d have preferred the other one.” Peter said.
“Yeah but I do wear it loads. It’s Mum’s current favourite.” Alan informed him as he hung it from his wardrobe and stuffed the tights and slip under his pillow. He sat on his bed and kicked the shoes beneath it before asking “What were we talking about before they barged in?”
“Errr….” Peter replied. They both thought for a moment until Peter raised a finger. “Sending fake letters to the Academy from ‘concerned parents’.”
“Of course!” Alan replied. “Apparently it was pressure from parents that got the high school to try it.” he said. “Maybe there’s some parents pressuring the academy already.” he wondered, before adding. “A few more wouldn’t hurt.”
“If we could get hold of some addresses we could send fake letters from the Academy to parents.” he suggested. “Dear Parent…” he began. “In order to provide the very best educational environment for our students, we’re considering Educational Petticoating on a trial basis. Please read the enclosed leaflet…” he paused and grinned. “We could grab some of those ‘Petticoating for Schoolboys’ leaflets from reception and enclose them.”
“We could say something like… Although Educational Petticoating is not currently compulsory at Butterworth Academy… blah blah blah …parents may give EP a try on a voluntary basis. Please contact us for more information, or simply send your son to school wearing the girl’s uniform.” Alan grinned. Peter laughed out loud. Alan did too. “We could make our own pamphlets and put the Academy crest on them… make it look official.”
“We could… but it’d never work.” Peter said. “They’d suss out it was a scam in a jiffy.”
“It’s a good idea though… and you never know… a few extra letters to the headmaster could be enough to swing the balance.”
“Hmm… maybe.” Peter mused. He told Alan about the grammar school in Slough that voted on it last year and the outcome was something like 48% for and 52% against. He did a quick mental calculation and figured that if all the parents and teachers voted, it probably wouldn’t be more than a thousand votes. “…so… 480, 520 difference of 40 votes… it wouldn’t take much to swing it.”
Alan thought intently. “It wouldn’t would it.” he agreed, although he presumed the numbers would be bigger at the Academy. “It’s only a 3% swing whichever way you look at it.”
“It’d be less than that… more like 1.5.” Peter reckoned before explaining the calculation.
“You’re going to have to start coming over to help with my maths homework.” Alan suggested.
“Yeah… I can imagine what I’d look like cycling over here in my uniform.” Peter chuckled. “I’d have to borrow your sister’s bike.”
“At least it’s got a basket to put your books in.” Alan grinned. “I’ll ask my dad if we can fix up one of the other bikes ready for summer.” he suggested. “We could ride up to the airfield or along the canal.”
“Is there a canal near here?” Peter asked.
“Yeah… t’other side of Kilburn… past the reservoir.”
“What’s it called?” Peter asked. “You’re joking?” he exclaimed when Alan replied. “That goes through Slough!”
“It goes all the way to London.”
“Wow… I had no idea.” Peter seemed enlightened. It’s on that very canal that Carol told him that she had a crush on him. He enjoyed a little romantic vision in which he takes her there… if she ever comes to visit.
It wasn’t too much later when Peter decided he’d best set off home. It’s four-thirty, sundown is less than an hour away and he doesn’t want to ride in the dusk any more than he wants to ride in the dark. Alan escorted him to the garage where they had a brief look at the bike he’s considering fixing up, before sheepishly asking Peter if he wouldn’t mention anything about his sister’s cast-offs at school. Peter assured him he wouldn’t as he straddled his bike and prepared to leave. “See you Monday mate.” Peter said.
“Yeah, see ya… and thanks for coming over.” Alan replied.
Peter was home by five and his mother was glad that he’d had a nice time and even gladder to have him home in one piece. “I do worry about you on those country lanes.” she said.
“They’re safer than the roads around Slough and I always cycled those.” Peter reminded her as he warmed his hands on the Aga.
“And I worried then too.” his mother said as she put the kettle on the hotplate. “I found a lipstick on your dressing table.” she added, asking if it was one of his sisters.
“Er… no… Carol gave it me.” Peter humbly replied.
“I see.” his mother replied. “Does it look nice?” she asked.
“Errr…. I dunno.” Peter replied. “Carol said it did.” he added.
“Well you know you’re not allowed make-up at school until Year 10.” she said.
“Yeah I know.” he sheepishly replied. “Then I’ll have to wear it every day.” he moaned.
“And so will all your classmates.” his mother reminded him. “So what’s Alan’s house like?” she asked. “Is it big?” she asked.
Peter described the paddock and stables, the huge garage, the kitchen and Alan’s bedroom, although he spared her the details. “He’s making a model galleon out of wood… it’s not finished but it’s well impressive.” he enthused.
“Is Alan the one who wears dresses, or am I thinking of Keith?” he mother asked. “Keith’s got that nice bob hasn’t he?”
Peter’s mother was always getting his friends mixed up. “No Mum… Robert’s got the bob, the clues in his name.”
“Oh yes, very good.” she chuckled. “So is it Keith or Alan that wears dresses?”
“I think you’re thinking of Keith on Sunnyside Close.” Peter replied. “Although Alan does have a few dresses.” he confessed.
“Oh I see.”
“Well, they’re his sister’s really.”
“Hand-me-downs?” his mother asked. Peter nodded and told her that Alan ends up with ‘all’ his sister’s cast offs. “Well it makes economic sense.” his mother claimed. “…and I must admit I have been toying with the idea of giving you some of Kate’s old clothes.”
“You mean…” Peter gulped. “…dresses?
“Mm-hmm.” his mother replied. “…and jeans and tops and things.” she added. “It seems a shame to throw them out.”
“I’m not sure I want to wear girl’s clothes when I’m not at school.” Peter grumbled.
“When you say you’re not sure…” his mother said, “…does that mean you’re willing to give them a try?” she asked. “It’d be a nice change from your uniform.” she added.
“I doubt it.” Peter claimed. “Any way, my own clothes are a nice change from my uniform.” he added.
“And nice clothes will be a nice change from those.” his mother retorted
An hour or so later, Kate knocked on Peter’s bedroom door. She wanted to reclaim her leggings before he got too attached to them. “Thanks sis.” he said as he folded them and handed them back. She smiled and glanced down at his legs. Her glance lingered. “What?” he asked, looking down at himself.
“Nothing… I’ve only seen you in either green or pink tights before.” she said. “Those look much nicer.”
“Yeah… maybe not the best choice of shorts.” he said.
“Oh I dunno… cyclists do wear tights.”
“Not tights like this though.” he said. The tights he’s wearing are about 50 denier and he’d guess that cycling tights would be double or triple that.
“True. A little pair of denim shorts would look better.”
“Yeah… not got any though.”
“I could lend you a pair?” she suggested. Peter became momentarily hopeful. “Then again.”
“What?”
“Well…” she placed her hands on her hips. “…my bum’s a bit bigger than yours so they might not be quite so little on you.”
“Oh.”
“Tell you what though… there’s loads of my old stuff in the spare room, there’s bound to be some in there.” she suggested. “I’ll have a root.”
“Have you been talking to Mum?”
“What about?”
“Your old stuff in the spare room.”
“No. Why?” Kate asked.
“She mentioned it before… I think she’s figured out that your cast off’s might fit me and since I dress like a girl half the time anyway…”
“Well it makes sense when you think about it.” she claimed. “It can’t be much fun when the only nice clothes you’ve got is your school uniform.”
“I’ve got other nice clothes.” Peter claimed.
“Yeah but…”
“You mean girl’s clothes.”
“Yeah.” his sister replied.
~o0o~
It’s Sunday evening and Peter gets out of the bath, dries himself off, dons his bathrobe as goes to his bedroom. There’s an alert flashing in the corner of his laptop’s screen: ‘Carol S. has sent a message’ and the message reads ‘Hi there’ followed by ‘Hello!’ followed by ‘Peter… you there?’ followed by ‘Hey boyfriend… you better reply soon or you’re dumped!’
Peter chuckled at her last message, sent seven minutes previously and typed “Here now.”
“Finally!” Carol replied. “What you been avoiding me for?”
“I haven’t… I was in the bath and forgot to log-out.”
“Bin doing your legs?” she knowingly asked.
“Yeah. Back to school tomorrow.” he typed, adding a frowning smiley.
“Nice.”
“I’d rather have another week off. Mid-term went far too quickly.”
“Yeah… but I’m gonna enjoy knowing you’re back at school and looking cute in your uniform.” she said.
Peter sent a bashful smiley, before typing “Does Noel know… about us?”
“Course.” she replied.
“Is he there?”
“In my room? No.”
“Wanna video chat?” he typed. “Wanna show you something.”
“Thought you’d never ask!”
Peter clicked the video icon and sent her a request. Her image quickly filled the screen. “Hiya!” she giggled.
“Sorry! I should have given you a minute!” Peter exclaimed as he averted his eyes. Carol is topless save for a lacy white bra.
“It’s OK… you showed me yours, now I’m showing you mine.” she saucily said as she wiggled and giggled in front of the camera. “Have you got yours on?” she asked as she sat back so he could see her face again.
“Just got out the bath… other than this…” he said, grabbing the collar of his bathrobe. “…I’m in my birthday suit.”
“Well put some undies on!” she said. A sassy grin swept her face as she spoke.
“Er… OK.” he said. He briefly disappeared from view then returned.
She could tell by the way his knees went up one by one that he was putting some ‘pants’ on. He popped out of view once more, presumably to pull them all the way up. “Have you got a ‘top’ too?” she asked when he sat, knowing that’s what he tends to call his training bras.
“Yeah.” he bashfully replied.
“Can I watch you put it on? I wanna see how you do it?” she grinned. Since she’s sat in her room, in only her undies, there’s no chance that her brother is present, so Peter slipped his arms out of his bathrobe and slung the straps of his training bra onto his shoulders. “I’m impressed.” she smiled as he effortlessly fastened it behind his back. “Stand up, can I see?”
“OK… but just for a moment.” he said before stepping back from the screen, giving her a view from knee to neck.
“Those knickers are big aren’t they!” she exclaimed; their waist goes all the way up to his waist and the legs are so low they’re almost horizontal. “Like granny panties.” she chuckled. “Or gym knickers.”
“That’s what my sister calls them.” Peter said as he sat back in front of his laptop
Carol has a good look at his bra and just like the one he wore on Wednesday, it’s white with baby pink trim and a little pink bow in the middle. “Do they all have pink trim or…?”
“No…” Peter said, glancing down at his ‘top’. Some have pale blue, lilac, yellow, green, white….”
“One for every day of the week.”
“That’s the idea.” he grumbled before sheepishly telling her that they also have bottle green ‘pants’ too. “…which we have to wear when we’re not wearing tights… they don’t show quite so much as white ones when we’re skipping about or climbing the stairs but I tend to wear tights so…” he said. Carol giggled. “What?” he bashfully asked.
“Nothing… just the thought of you ‘skipping about’ in your little skirt.” she replied. Thankfully she didn’t prise an explanation out of him bit she did giggle and jiggle a little. “So what did you want to show me?” she asked as his eyes focused on her blossoming bosom and the spotty white demi-cup bra that holds them aloft.
“Oh yeah…” he replied, having almost forgotten. “Just a tick… gotta unplug this…” he said as he faffed about and picked up the laptop. “Your eyes only.” he said as he carried the laptop across the room. “Don’t really want Noel knowing about this.” he said as he opened his wardrobe and held the laptop so Carol could see inside it. “Can you see OK?” he asked.
“Yeah…. what am I looking at?” she asked since all she can see on her screen is dark, murk and blur.
He moved the laptop further way. “Can you see now?”
“I might if you hold it still.” she replied. “Are they yours?” she asked once the imaged focused, stabilised and white balanced.
“Yeah… well… Kate’s cast offs.” he said as he took the laptop back to the dressing table. “Mum suggested I try some and… after wearing your dress I kinda said… yeah.” he paused. “Is that weird?” he asked.
“Not in my book.” Carol replied before telling him that she couldn’t really see them properly and asking if they’re nice.
“To be honest I don’t know… we sorted through her old things and I’ve got pretty much everything that fits… not just frocks either… got some shorts like yours, and Kate gave me some black tights.”
“Didn’t you have any already?”
“No… just green and pink ones for school.”
“Pink?”
“Err… yeah… for dance class. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Yes, of course… I remember. I had a vision for a moment of you wearing pink tights with your school skirt.”
“I can’t imagine that looking good.”
“No.” she chuckled. “White might… I like white tights sometimes.”
“Never tried ’em.”
“Well you should… you can wear what you want now.” she said. “Looks like you’ve got plenty to chose from.”
“Yeah… problem is… I’ve no idea what’s nice and what isn’t, what’d suit me and what wouldn’t …some of it’s a bit pink and flowery.” he grimaced. “I don’t mind trying plain stuff but I’m not really interested in the really girlie stuff.” he moaned.
“You wore my flowery dress, you liked that.”
“Yeah, but more because of the way it felt than how it looked.”
“Well if it feels nice, there’s a good chance it looks nice too.” she replied.
“Maybe.” Peter groaned. He clearly wasn’t so sure.
“I think you need to forget there’s a boy inside you…”
“I am a boy.”
“I know… you’re my boyfriend!” she said with grin. “…but what I’m saying is, there’s a boy inside you going ‘arrggghh it’s a dress! I can’t wear that!’ and you need to put that to one side.” she suggested. “Forget about him.”
“And pretend I’m a girl?”
“Sort of… just stop reminding yourself that you’re a boy or that boy’s can’t wear nice things because you can.”
“Yeah I guess.” he replied. “It’ll make a change from my school uniform.”
“Exactly.” she smiled.
After a short silence, Peter said. “My mum found the lippy you gave me.”
“And?”
“She told me not to wear it at school.” he nervously chuckled. “Not that I was planning on that.” he added.
“After school we agreed.” Carol said. “When you’re doing your homework.” she added.
“Yeah.” Peter half-heartedly gulped. “Dunno what my dad’s going to say when he sees me wearing lipstick.”
“Well you’ll have to wear it in Year 10 wont you?” she asked. “I was reading that that’s the norm in a lot of EP schools.”
“Yeah.” he frowned.
“Well just tell your Dad that you’re preparing yourself for that.” Carol suggested. A short silence ensued. “Have you tried many of your new clothes on?”
“A few.” Peter replied as he glanced over his shoulder. “I was only expecting one or two but all of a sudden I’ve got a wardrobe full.”
“And not before time.” she smiled. Peter smiled back and blushed a little. “Can we chat tomorrow?” Carol asked. “Got a stack of homework to finish.”
“Course.” he replied, glancing at the time. “Cutting it fine aren’t you?”
“Yeah, as usual… I’ll be doing it over breakfast at this rate.”
“Okeydoke.” he said. “And put a top on, it’s February and it’s freezing.”
“I know! My boobs are covered in goose pimples.” she grinned as she stroked one. “Right… gonna go, speak tomorrow, and wear something nice for me.”
“You mean…?” he knowingly asked. Carol smiled and nodded. “OK.” Peter replied. She blew him a kiss and disappeared from his screen. Peter spent a moment just sitting, revelling in a deep sense of bliss. He couldn’t quite believe that they’d just had a video chat in their undies, but he was glad that they had. In fact he couldn’t quite believe the week he’d just had, but he was glad that he’d had it.