Peter’s parents are more than happy to swallow anything that the school recommends which means he hasn’t worn ‘normal’ boy’s underwear since that day in early September when he first attended Butterworth High School. Back then he thought he’d never get used to it, especially the training bra but now, after six months… it’s just a little ‘top’ that he always wears beneath his clothes. He used to wear briefs or trunk style underpants but these days all he ever wears are his high waisted, low legged ‘pants’. They could do without the narrow bands of elasticated lace around the waist and leg holes or the little satin bow on the front of the waistband, but he’s got used to those little details too. Back in September, his needlework homework was having to stitch a name tag in every item of his school uniform including his underwear. The only things he wears for school that doesn’t have his name tag on are his tights, socks and shoes, and presumably the same goes for the rest of his classmates.

“You’ve got loads of dresses ain’t you Keith?” one of the boys claims.

“I’ve not got ‘loads’.” Keith replied. It’s no secret that Keith often has to wear girl’s clothing outside of school, and not just his uniform. Not all the time mind, just occasionally. He’s been seen in and around town wearing a skirt or girl’s jeans often enough. A clip or slide often adorns his short boyish hair but the same goes for plenty of other boys who attend Butterworth High School, Peter included.

Keith filters off down Sunnyside Close after loosely arranging to meet up at some point in the mid-term break. Two others soon cross the main road and head off towards their estate, leaving just Peter and Alan. Normally Peter would head up the high street before winding his way home, but today he decides to walk with Alan to his bus stop and wait ’til it comes. “So… what you doing next week?” Peter asked. “We could meet up if you want.”

Alan lives in a tiny hamlet between the villages of Walton and Kilburn where his parents run a riding stables. When he’s not at school he does a lot of work; mucking out, feeding, grooming and such so suggests it’d be better if Peter visited him. “You could ride over.” Alan suggested. “It’s only four miles.” he added.

“Cool.” Peter replied. “It’d have to be Monday or Friday though… I’ll check the weather and let you know.”

Alan’s bus soon came into view. Peter said he’d be in touch before crossing the road and winding his way home alone. Wearing a short skirt and thick tights in mid-winter is OK so long as one keeps moving. A couple of stationary minutes and the cold February air really begins to bite, so Peter walks briskly along the side streets and through the ginnels, his heels clacking noisily as only girl’s shoes do. “That you Peter?” his mother’s voice hollered as he entered his home.

“Yeah.” he replied as he removed his overcoat and hung it in the hallway. “It’s freezing out there.” he said as he entered the kitchen and headed directly to the Aga and the warmth it emits.