The next time I saw Peter was on Monday at school. He was very sheepish around me, probably because he thinks I’ll have told everyone what I’d witnessed. I thought it best not to mention it as school could be the only time he can be a normal boy. I did tell him that he could call round to my place if he wants. “If you’re allowed.” I said.
“I might be allowed after school one day.” he replied. “But I’ll have to ask.”
A few days later, Peter did come round to my house after school. I showed off my collection of Airfix models, my remote control car and various other gadgets. Peter said he used to make Airfix models and also used to have some of the board games as me. We played Escape from Colditz, but didn’t finish as Peter’s mother came to collect him at 5.00pm sharp. Mum called us both downstairs and Peter’s mother stood in the hallway chatting with my mother. She seems nice enough on the surface but having seen how she treats her son, all I see is a weird freak of a woman.
“What have you two been up to?” she asks. “Oh that sounds nice. What game were you playing?”
“Escape from Colditz.” I replied, before briefly describing the game’s premise.
“You know how I feel about war toys Peter.” his mother said. She turned to my mother and said that she felt that toys such as tanks and guns, soldiers and swords are unsuitable for children and as such she’d stopped Peter from playing with them some years ago. My mother agreed in principle, but felt they were harmless enough since children do know the difference between real life and pretending.
“Yes of course they do.” Peter mother smiled. “I’d just rather buy my children nicer things than toy guns or model tanks.” she added. Mum asked after her other children. “Peter’s the youngest of three. His big sister Judith is in year twelve and his brother Martin is doing his A levels.”
“Oh that’s nice.” Mum replied. “It’s just me and John here.”
“Well he seems like a very nice boy.” Peter mother said as she she glanced at me and smiled. “Come on Peter… let’s get you home and out of that uniform.” she chirped.
“She seems nice.” Mum said after they’d gone. I was tempted to say otherwise and tell her what I know, but I heeded my promise to Peter and half heartedly agreed with her. “She said that you did call round the other day and Peter was in.” my mother informed me. “Do you want to tell me why you lied?”
The first thing I did was try to think of a viable excuse, but with nothing forthcoming I told her the truth. “He seemed really embarrassed and I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone… so I told you he wasn’t in.” I explained before saying “Sorry.”
“Well that’s understandable.” Mum replied. “I suppose it would have been a bit of a shock if you didn’t know he was being petticoated.”
“Was what?” I asked. “Petticoated??” I quizzed.
“You know when you were naughty and I used to make you sit on the naughty step, stop you from watching TV or take away your favourite toy?” She asked. I nodded. “Well sometimes when boys are naughty they have to wear girl’s clothes and that’s called Petticoating.” she explained. “Although there’s more to it than that.”
“It was more than just girl’s clothes in Peter’s room.” I replied. “He has dolls and cuddly teddy bears, a pink bed, handbags and headbands… there’s even a painting of Tinker Bell on his wall!”
Mum said that she presumes Peter is not being petticoated because he’s naughty, but because he’s vulnerable. “Sometimes if they’re gullible or easily led, petticoating is employed to make sure they don’t go off the rails and to stop them getting involved in the wrong crowd.”
“That’s really mean.” I replied. “Especially if he’s done nothing wrong.”
“It isn’t really.” Mum claimed. “In fact it comes highly recommended as a non-confrontational method of discipline because all it involves is a simple change of clothes.”
“Yeah but… they weren’t normal girl’s clothes, they were really horrible!” I said as I visualised the rail in his room. “The sorts of dresses that most girls would refuse to wear; all pink and frilly with bows, flowers and…” I drew my description to a close with a puke mime.