Twin Torment for Timmy

1. TINA’S RETURN

It was June 1963, and my twin sister Tina was due home next Friday for the summer school holidays from the exclusive residential girls’ school in Brighton that she attended, and my mother was running around like a scalded hen trying to organise things for her return.

An additional thing to worry about this time, was the party Mum had organised to celebrate Tina’s homecoming. Tina had had a very good year at her school, and had been elected Head Prefect on top of her many other achievements, such as playing the piano in the school orchestra, finishing top in needlework, Latin and public speaking, just to name a few. So the homecoming party was as much to celebrate those things as it was to welcome Tina herself home. There was also the matter of her – and mine also – 16th birthday which would come up at the end of July, so celebrations for Tina’s return were widespread.

You might think that I, the twin brother, might have become a little jealous of my twin sister’s efforts, but that was not the case. We were still very fond of each other as we had been since we were toddlers, maybe helped on by that special bond that traditionally exists between twins. We were about as close to identical twins as a boy and girl can be, being the same height, about the same weight, same shoe size, and so on. However, as Tina and I were now approaching 16, clearly her shape and mine were starting to develop obvious differences which became more apparent every time she came home on vacation .

Our family was comfortably off but certainly not rich, and we certainly couldn’t have afforded the expensive fees that Tina’s school normally charged. However, Tina had managed to win a valuable sponsored scholarship endowment from a former student who had gone on to great things in the fashion business. That scholarship just about met all the school’s charges and fees.

Me? Well, I battled on at the local high school, doing my best, but I was no great scholar, to be honest. I never finished any better than halfway in my class in our end-of-term exams, which was something of a contrast to Tina, who had regularly finished top in them. I sang in the school choir as a soprano, because my voice had not yet ‘dropped.’ But my main claim to fame was some prowess at sport, especially cycling, having won a few junior events already. However, I really needed a new machine to keep up with the competition.

My old racing bike was really starting to show its age, so I had had my eye for a while on a new Claude Butler racing machine from Charlie’s Cycles in the High Street in town. Mum had been very fair and offered to match whatever I could save out out of my meagre wages from a weekly newspaper delivery job, but it was a slow job trying to reach the magic 25 pounds that Mum would match to reach the 50 pounds that the new bike would cost.

Today was a Saturday and Mum wanted me to accompany her for some shopping that she had to do. I didn’t really want to go until she mentioned that she especially wanted to drop in at Miss Fotheringale’s Frock Salon n the High Street. Now, why would I be interested in a visit to a Frock Salon? Well, it just happened that Charlie’s Cycles was directly opposite, which meant I could drop in and have yet another close look at that racing bike I had long set my heart on!

We didn’t live all that far from town, so we walked the mile or so to the High Street and Mum headed into the Frock shop while I crossed the road to Charlie’s Cycles. I didn’t have much of a chance to look longingly at the bike of my dreams, because it was now 1PM and the shop was closing. So I headed across the road to the Frock shop to see what mum was up to. It was also now about to close at 1PM, but the pretty young salesgirl let me in when I asked if my mother was still around in the shop. However, as soon as she let me in she closed the door and turned the ‘Open’ sign around to read ‘Closed.’ No problem, I thought, that means mum surely won’t be very long now.

2. AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS

I soon spotted Mum talking to a middle-aged lady, who was showing her some party frocks. The salesgirl who had let me in went up to them and pointed out my presence, which seemed to bring a smile to both Mum and the lady’s faces. Hmm, what could they have in mind to be so pleased to see me all of a sudden, I wondered? ‘Hello, Timmy,’ called out Mum. ‘Come over and join us, will you please?’ I had no idea why I should be suddenly so welcome amongst all those party frocks, but I was soon to find out …

Back in those days in the 60s, politeness was a necessity, so I found myself being introduced by my mother to the middle-aged lady who turned out to be nothing less than Miss Fotheringale herself, i.e., the boss of the Frock shop. She was very nice to talk to but I quickly twigged that there was something being planned between my mother and Miss F., in which I was going to play a part. But what could it be …?

Reality set in when my mother asked me to turn around while she was holding up a very pretty dark red party frock. I did as I was told, and felt the rustle of its satin material against my back. What the hell were they up to, I wondered? I soon found out, when Miss Fotheringale whispered to my mother that it appeared to be a ‘perfect fit.’ A perfect fit? What the hell were they on about…? I soon discovered what they had in mind, when my mother said ‘Timmy, I need some help from you – but in return you would get another five pounds towards your racing bicycle savings. Are you interested in doing a deal with me?’

The whole deal sounded more than a little suspicious, because even at my tender age then, I had begun to realise that nothing was ever as clear as it might appear to be, especially where money was concerned. And that’s exactly the way things had turned out! ‘Wow,’ I said to Mum, ‘that sounds a great proposition! I sure could do with another fiver to add to my Claude Butler bike fund. But what exactly would I have to do?’

It was then that Miss Fotheringale stepped in to the conversation. ‘Hello, Timmy,’ she said, with a sugary smile. ‘We haven’t met before, but your mother has told me so much about you – including just how identical you and your twin sister, Tina, are in height and weight. We have both selected this lovely dark red frock as ideal for Tina to wear for her homecoming party, but we really need a model to try it on for size. Would you be happy to be our ‘mannequin,’ please? All we need to do is a bit of ‘fine tuning’ with your figure.’

I felt so embarrassed at this prospect, right there and then. I mean, much as I adored my twin sister, Tina and was looking forward to her return next week, it was another matter entirely to be trying on party frocks for her. But what to do? – I dearly needed more money for my bicycle fund, so after a few seconds of reflection, I agreed to be their model.

‘OK’, I said reluctantly. ‘Mum, I really could do with another fiver for my bike fund, as you know. So what exactly do I need to do, then?’ The two of them then fussed and fidgeted all over me for several minutes, measuring my chest, waist and hips. That was followed by lots of whispering and giggling, before Mum finally came right out and said that I would need to have a bit of ‘figure alteration’ if the frock fitting was to go ahead properly. I didn’t quite know what she had in mind, being more concerned with the prospect of getting that additional five pounds for my bike fund.

THE REALITIES SET IN

If I had known then what was to happen, I’d have rushed out of the store door, but in hindsight it was now locked and I’d have got nowhere fast had I decided to make a run for it. So all I could do was follow Miss Fotheringale into a change room and progressively get fitted with a control brief, padded panties and a lacy pink training bra after I had stripped down to my underpants.. My humiliation went from bad to worse, but all I could keep thinking of was the five pounds that I would get for putting up with all this. One other point of salvation was that the shop was closed, so there was only mum, me and Miss Fotheringale along with the junior saleslady who had let me in. If there had been other ladies coming into and out of the store that would have seen me, I think I would have died of embarrassment.
Mum had Tina’s measurements recorded and as I progressively was fitted with the padded bra, briefs and padded panties, both she and Miss Fotheringale let out more sounds of excitement as they measured me up and found I was getting closer and closer to Tina’s ‘vital statistics’.

However, although my chest was a 32B just like Tina’s, courtesy of a bit of help from some booster pads inserted under my training bra and my hips were now 34’s just like hers thanks to the padded panties, I had a problem with my waist which still wasn’t as slim as hers. What to do? The ladies thought for a while and then decided the only thing was for me to wear an old-fashioned high-waist girdle, in order to get that final three inches from my waist.

I was soon to find out just how tight one of those girdles can be. Although Miss Fotheringale’s salon was basically there to stock frocks and accessories, she also had a small corsetry and hosiery department. She went searching into the corsetry area and soon came back with a heavyweight item with boning which I would have to step into, with hooks and eyes plus a long zipper than had to be fastened. ‘Timmy, You’re lucky that I’ve got just one of these in a small size, because usually they’re for larger sized, more mature ladies who’ve put on a bit of weight and need some firm control.’

All the time the ladies were fixing the girdle onto me, I was told to keep breathing in. There were all those small hooks and eyes that had to be connected before it could finally be zipped up via that long zipper on the left side I then found I could hardly breathe out again because it was so tight. I soon realised this was one really mean and uncomfortable item of feminine underwear! Miss Fotheringale measured my waist and finally she and mum were happy as the tape measure now read the magic figure of 24 inches. So, I at last had exactly the same measurements for my chest, waist and hips as my twin sister Tina!

4. FINALLY, TIME TO BE FROCKED

Now that I actually met Tina’s measurements, it was time to try on the dark red party frock that mum admired so much. It was really a very pretty garment, and if I hadn’t been in so much discomfort from that tight girdle I might have secretly enjoyed the experience of wearing it more than I did. It actually wasn’t that difficult to get into, just stepping into it and having Mum fasten it up at the back.

Thanks to all the various female undergarments I was now wearing, everything fitted perfectly. The last thing was to put on some lacy white petticoats to get the correct effect on the frock’s hemline. My ‘chest’ jutted out in front, my now narrow waist fitted the confines of the frock, and my hips widened out just right for the cut of the frock. Mum and Miss Fotheringale ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ about how perfect I looked!

Of course, it wouldn’t have been all over without me having to walk up and down, sashaying around to show how well the frock fitted me. That was when the two of them decided I really needed to wear some nylons and a pair of heeled shoes, because that was what Tina would need for the party, and also they were worried that the girdle would begin to ride up around my hips if I did not wear nylons with it.

Unfortunately the nylons proved to a bit of a problem because my feet and legs were apparently an unusual size combination, and the only ones that were the right size were 15 denier Kayser brand ‘fully fashioned’ ones in dark tan. I think I could have managed to put on a pair of seam-free stockings on my own, but it proved beyond me to get those seamed stockings on correctly. It didn’t help either that the girdle I was wearing was so tight and firm, making it difficult to lean over to put the nylons on over my feet.

So Mum came to my rescue, and slid one stocking on over each of my feet. I then had to stand up, lifting up my lacy petticoats while Mum pulled the stockings up my legs and Miss Fotheringale made sure the back seams were perfectly straight before they attached the suspenders to the tops of the stockings. The girdle had three suspenders for each leg, so there were six of them to do up in all. Without Mum I don’t think I could have managed to get them with the seams even remotely straight, and I wondered just how mature ladies in similar tight girdles got on with putting their nylons on every day.

I guess that it was all a matter of experience, getting things just right. Now that I had the stockings on and the back seams passed inspection, it was a matter of finding a pair of black court shoes with low heels, seeing I was a novice at walking in ladies’ shoes. Miss Fotheringale rescued a pair with shiny steel bows on the front from a mannequin model which fitted me perfectly, but although the heels were barely two inches high, I had the devil of a job getting used to walking in them. The problem was that because of the effect of the lacy petticoats pushing the hem of the frock outwards, I couldn’t actually see my feet so I was kind of ‘walking blind’ in them.

One other problem was that they felt tight around the front, but the ladies told me that was the way women’s shoes were meant to fit when worn with nylons. If they weren’t a tight fit, there was a good chance the shoe could fall off at some awkward moment and cause some disaster like laddering those expensive and delicate nylon stockings.

The salon had a small sort of ‘catwalk’ which I had to walk up and down several times with both mum and Miss Fotheringale
watching my every move. It was really quite embarrassing, especially with the lacy petticoats continually rustling as I walked up and down. However, despite my problems with the shoes, they were both very happy with the way I looked in Tina’s party frock. Mum then told me go and sit down and rest my feet while she and Miss F. sorted out the finances in her office. I cannot tell you just how happy I was to finally get to sit down!

5. WORSE WAS TO FOLLOW

So there I was in the waiting room, resting my aching feet and trying to ignore the harsh clamp of the girdle around my waist. Strangely, I had already got used to the twin mounds on my chest and the rustle of the nylons and petticoats I was wearing.

Mum came out of the office wearing a big smile and sat down next to me. ‘Timmy,’ she said, ‘you look so perfect in Tina’s party frock that I want to make another proposition to you. I’ve already agreed to pay you a fiver for what you’ve done so far, as you know. Would you be agreeable to another fiver, for another bit of modelling this afternoon? It would make a whole tenner to add to your bike fund!”

While she’d been away talking to Miss Fotheringale I had been doing a bit of mental math and realised I was now getting close to the magic 50 pounds I needed to get the bike of my dreams. However, what did Mum have in mind to be offering another fiver?

The answer was soon supplied. What Mum had in mind, was that I should walk home with her wearing Tina’s frock, along with the heels, nylons, petticoats and such, calling in at Aunty Joan’s house enroute!

The reason for this might appear a little obscure, but Aunty Joan was Mum’s elder sister and the two of them just didn’t get on from way back. It wasn’t all that far away from our house to detour via Auntie’s place , so clearly Mum had some plan to show me off as my sister Tina all frocked and frillied up as some kind of joke. Was it worth that additional fiver though?

I then had some awful premonitions of not being able to complete the walk back from Aunties’ house because of the strain on my feet, and having to wait at the bus stop while taking a rest. Getting wolf whistles from the local teenage louts was also in the back of my mind! However, I thought about it hard for a minute or so, and decided it was worth that risk to get that additional five pounds for my bicycle savings. Aunty Joan was both notoriously short-sighted and deaf and, with a bit of luck, wouldn’t spot that I wasn’t really Tina at all. Maybe after a sit down on her sofa and a cup of tea, I might be refreshed sufficiently to be able to walk back home with Mum still dressed in Tina’s party frock, stockings and so on …

However, although I might have looked like my twin sister Tina in some respects, my face still looked just like the Timmy I really was. So I had said, ‘Mum, do you realise I just won’t look like Tina at all, unless I wear a wig and some make-up to disguise me? I know auntie is a bit short-sighted, but even she will work out that it’s Timmy and not Tina in the red frock!”

6. ONE GIANT STEP FOR A YOUNG MANI was soon to find out how difficult it is to walk in a frock and heels out in the open air. Walking up and down on the catwalk in the Frock Salon had been dead easy in comparison. However, outside it was quite a breezy sort of day and the red frock and lacy petticoats seemed determined to be blown upwards by each gust of wind. Mum told me to keep my right arm down by my side, to prevent any unfortunate display of my stockings and underwear courtesy of the breeze.I’d have liked to have kept both my left and right arms down by my sides to prevent such occurrences, but my left arm was already committed to carrying the black handbag which Mum had chosen to complement my patent black leather low-heeled court shoes.We had to cross the main road and walk past the cycle shop opposite, and I stole a lingering glance at that racing bike in the window that I dearly would love to own. Somehow seeing it again and knowing that it was getting closer to becoming mine, courtesy of the feminine frock and undies I was wearing right then, made me more resolute in getting this visit to Aunt Joan’s over and done with.My black shoes had metal tips on the heels and gave that characteristic ‘click, clack’ sound that I had heard so often from ladies out walking, but now the shoe was literally on the other foot – mine! Mum and I continued our walk up the other side of the High Street, before turning off at Coronation Drive, which was where Auntie Joan lived. However, just as we turned off, an even bigger gust of wind came up and, despite my best efforts, the hem of Tina’s frock blew up, along with the lacy petticoats. As bad luck would have it, several teenage guys were walking along the other side of the road at exactly that moment, and gave loud ‘wolf whistles’ as they saw my stocking tops and underwear on full display. I could have died, there and then, but what to do? Mum just whispered. ‘Ignore them, Timmy! Just keep walking. Now you know what we ladies have to put up with all the time from you men …’

   So we turned off into Coronation Drive and I was so glad to see Auntie Joan’s terraced house not far away on the left side. My feet and ankles were really starting to hurt from the unfamiliar walking in heeled shoes they’d been subjected to for about 20 minutes. I was hoping to get this charade over just as soon as I could, not only to earn myself the additional five pounds from mum towards my bicycle fund, but to finally get out of those high heel shoes, bra, girdle, frock and so on. Masquerading as my twin sister Tina was fast losing any attraction it might have once held …..

7. KNOCKING AT AUNTIE JOAN’S DOORMum gave me a big encouraging smile as we neared Auntie Joan’s house, and knocked on the door. ‘You’ve done very well so far Timmy,’ she said with a smile. ‘Just keep things going, and that extra fiver will be all yours! I really want to see if we can fool that stupid elder sister of mine into believing that you are actually your twin sister Tina!’The wily ways of women had long been a total mystery to me. So just why my mother should want to fool her elder sister Joan that I was actually my twin sister Tina, was yet another of those mysteries. However, I didn’t have very long to consider the problem because the front door soon opened and there was Auntie Joan, complete with her coke-bottle spectacles and hearing aid, as usual. My mother quickly greeted her and they embraced as if they hadn’t met for some months, although I knew they’d got together for tea and biscuits only the previous week.‘You haven’t met my lovely daughter Tina for a while, have you?’ said Mum, keeping a straight face as she smiled at me. ‘Why, no!’ said Auntie Joan. ‘Give me a big kiss, Tina! My, what a pretty girl you are. It seems like only yesterday that you were running around with that twin brother of yours, Timmy, in shorts.  Yet here you are now, looking so beautiful in that pretty dress! My, I see you’re wearing heels and stockings too!’What could I do but return her sloppy kiss and follow my mother into the hallway and then the lounge.So far, so good I thought. Auntie Joan clearly thought I was my twin sister Tina, and my extra five pounds was looking good. However, could I keep the deception up? I followed my mother into the lounge and managed to sit down in my best feminine manner, i.e., without sprawling and showing my petticoats and underwear. It was actually a great relief to finally get to sit down and rest my feet, because the shoes I had been walking in for some twenty minutes were really starting to pinch my toes. Even worse were the restrictive confines of the girdle!

   However, at least I had now gotten used to having the unusual effect of wearing a padded bra, not to mention the continual rustle of the lacy petticoats under Tina’s party frock. The nylons I was wearing didn’t seem to be a problem, either. How long could I keep l this charade going , though? All I had to do was sit there looking pretty with my knees crossed, and let my mother do all the talking … or so I thought!

   8. AN EARLY BIRTHDAY PRESENT

   Mum and Aunty Joan chatted about this and that while I sat there looking as demure as I could. However, Auntie had been looking at my shoes and suddenly said ‘Tina that frock really looks so pretty on you. I see you’re beginning to fill out nicely up top, too. However, those shoes really need to be a bit more fashionable to match the rest of your outfit.

‘Now, Tina’ said Auntie, ‘you want to look a bit more grown up, don’t you? Try these high heels on and see the difference they’ll make to your pretty outfit. I only ever wore them once and they were a bit too tight for me, but you’ve got smaller feet than me and they should fit you perfectly’. The shoes did indeed look very fashionable and glamourous, but as I’d been having trouble walking in mere two inch heeled shoes, how would I manage those towering high heels?

However, what could I do but not try them on there and then, without seeming churlish. Secretly, I was hoping they would not fit my feet, but they turned out to be so perfect a fit on my feet that I felt like Cinderella being fitted with the slippers in that folk story. In fact, they were actually slightly wider at the front than the shoes I’d been fitted with a the shop, so they didn’t pinch at all. However, trying to walk in four inch stilettos would surely prove another matter all together…

Standing up in the high heels seemed easy enough, although I noticed now that I was taller than Mum and about the same height as Aunty Joan. Strange how just a pair of shoes can change everything, I thought. ‘Well,’ said Mum, ‘let’s see how you get on walking in them, Tina!’ So I took a couple of cautious steps forward, fully expecting to fall flat on my face, or worse, my bottom and end up revealing my frilly petticoats and stockings. However, it actually seemed easier than I thought it would be, so I took a few more steps before trying to turn around as gracefully as I could. Now that did prove to be almost my undoing, as I nearly lost my balance and had to hold on to the side of the nearby sofa.

‘Oops!’ I said as demurely as I could, ‘almost went over there for a moment …’

‘Don’t worry’ said Auntie. ‘I think every girl in the world had exactly the same experience as you just did the first time she wore high heels and tried to do a 360 degree turn while wearing a flouncy frock and petticoats!’

‘Yes,’ added my mother, ‘I can recall doing the same thing myself the first time I wore heels. It’s all a matter of practice, Tina, like everything else. Now say a big thank you to Auntie Joan for the lovely shoes. They really do look that much nicer to complement your outfit than those flatter ones.’

‘Thank you so much, auntie,’ I cooed. However, I was secretly wondering just how the hell I was going to walk home in those towering heels, when I could barely turn around in Auntie’s lounge without grabbing hold of the furniture. At least the flatties I had worn were relatively easy to walk in, despite being a bit tight at the front. These very glamourous-looking court shoes were nicer to wear, but there was no way I could see myself managing to walk over a mile in them, while trying to hang onto my flouncy frock in the breeze.

However, things took a turn for the better when Auntie said ‘how’s that twin brother of yours doing, Tina? He’s such a polite boy and so well-behaved. By the way, aren’t you two having a birthday shortly?’

‘Yes, Auntie,’ I replied. ‘We’ll both be turning 16 very soon now’.

‘Well’ she said. ‘Consider those pretty high heels you’re wearing as your birthday present, slightly early, Tina!  However, I haven’t anything by way of a present to give your brother Timmy.’ So she got her purse out of her handbag and gave a couple of pound notes to my mother. ‘Here, get Timmy something you know he specially wants.’  Mum smiled at me and said, ‘Thanks, Joan – I think I know just the thing that Timmy will appreciate.’

So it appeared my bicycle fund had gained an unexpected couple of pounds more, on top of the tenner I would be getting for doing the modelling gig as my twin sister Tina. Perhaps the whole modelling masquerade was really worth all the effort and humiliation after all?

However, there was still the problem of how I was going to manage to walk home over a mile in auntie’s high heels, but that also was solved when Auntie Joan offered to drop us off at home, seeing as she was about to drive to Guildford to see some friends. Mum and I were indeed both grateful, with me even more so. The prospect of wobbling along the pavement for a mile or so in those stilettos while hanging on to my frock to stop the breeze blowing it upwards, was now solved. Fate moves in mysterious ways sometimes.

9. I GET MORE WOLF-WHISTLES
   
   Mum, Auntie Joan and I headed out through the front door and up the garden path (which I managed to navigate without any disaster). The high heels had steel tips which made a disconcerting ‘click, clack’ as I made my way slowly up the path towards Auntie’s small Ford which was parked on the road. However, to be honest, it was actually easier to walk on a hard surface like the pathway in those high heels, than it had been walking on the soft carpet of auntie’s lounge when I first tried them on and almost fell over trying to turn around.Mum got to the garden gate first and opened it for me and Auntie to pass through. I waited for Mum on the footpath, trying to look as unconcerned as I could, because there were two teenage boys walking towards us. As they got closer, I avoided any eye contact and tried my best to look like Audrey Hepburn staring at an imaginary shop window at Tiffany’s.  It didn’t achieve its aim though, because there was a shrill wolf-whistle from one of the teenagers followed by, ‘Hello, gorgeous – how about a date tonight then?’ I kept starting into space and hoped they’d go away, which luckily they did. Mum helped by glaring at them, too.Auntie Joan had by now opened the car doors and it was time to test my new-found feminine skills by getting into the back of the car without revealing anything unladylike. Believe me, it’s not as easy as you might think, especially when you’re wearing high heel shoes! I think I managed it OK, by sitting down sideways and then shifting my feet across, all the time holding my red frock down from billowing up. Those two louts had stopped to watch my performance at getting into a small car without revealing my stocking tops or other feminine fripperies, and I guess they were a bit disappointed at not seeing anything other than maybe a quick flash of my nyloned thighs as I shifted my feet across into the car.‘Well done, Tina!’ said Mum in an encouraging voice. We drove up to the top of the road into the High Street and I couldn’t help but stare into the window of the cycle shop as we went past. Things had taken a definite turn for the better with my savings for the Claude Butler racing bike, thanks to my modelling for Tina that day. I had also learnt how to walk in high heels and get into the back of a car in a flouncy frock, so it had been quite a learning experience one way or the other. I couldn’t imagine my newfound skills would ever be called on again, but Auntie had said to Mum as they watched me take my first hesitant steps in her lounge, that once you’ve learned to walk in heels, you never forget the knack. We were soon outside our house, and it was time for me to try the reverse procedure of getting out of a small car without revealing too much, and not falling over once I took my first steps up our path.

   10. HOME AGAIN AT LAST

   We turned and waved goodbye to Auntie Joan, and, as I turned back to walk back up the path to the front door I realised I had managed to turn both times in Auntie’s high heels without any problem. Mum followed me up the path and opened the door. We were home at last and my ‘modelling adventure’ was over.

   However, there was the small matter of first sitting down with Mum to discuss the results of my afternoon’s ‘modelling’ in Tina’s party frock. ‘I was really pleased with your efforts, Timmy,’ said Mum. ‘Not a lot of boys of your age would have done what you did today, what with perhaps being called a ‘sissy’ if they’d been found out. But those two louts who wolf-whistled at you as we were waiting to get into Joan’s car were totally fooled, weren’t they? You did really well to learn to walk in her black high heels so quickly. When you almost fell over in her lounge after you first tried her shoes on, I thought you had bitten off a bit more than you could chew – but you quickly got used to them and I have to admit, they really looked glamourous on you.’

   ‘Of course, now we have to think of your sister Tina wearing them, don’t we? I don’t think you would want to be claiming them for your own in future, would
   you?’ I had to agree …

   However, it was now time to get out of Tina’s frock and all the other feminine finery. I got out of Auntie Joan’s high heels without any trouble, but I needed Mum’s help with the zip at the back of the red party frock. Getting out of a frock is actually more difficult than getting into it, I soon found. Gravity now works against rather than for you …

   But with some help from Mum, the pretty red frock I had been wearing for several hours was lifted up over my shoulders, and I was now left in my bra, girdle, stockings and, of course, the lacy petticoats. I just stepped out of the petticoats and Mum undid the pink bra for me. ‘Just sit down, Timmy,’ said Mum.  ‘I’ll undo your nylons for you, because you wouldn’t want to ladder them. I’m sure Tina will be wearing them too when she gets home at the end of the week!’

So Mum carefully undid the front suspenders on my girdle and I moved left and then right so she could unhitch the side and rear ones. ‘You’ve done really well, Timmy’ said Mum. ‘Wearing such sheer stockings for the first time is not easy. I think I laddered my first pair within barely an hour, when I first tried wearing them. But yours are still perfect!’

Mum carefully folded my nylons up and put them to the side and then it was just a matter of unzipping the girdle and its hooks and eyes, and finally I was out of it. I think the worst single thing I had had to put up with that afternoon was that girdle. Wearing it had been progressively sheerer hell. I had overheard Mum and other ladies talking in the past about their problems with girdles, but now I had found out for myself just what they had been talking about. If I ever heard another lady whispering about her ‘girdle killing her,’ I would know only too well from my personal experience just what she was talking about.

Finally, I was just left with the padded panties, and they came down very easily to leave me wearing my own briefs only. I was finally free of all that feminine frippery, and could get dressed in my own clothes again.

‘What are you going to do with all the underclothes and those shoes Miss Fotheringale got for me to put on, Mum?’ I asked. ‘Surely Tina won’t be needing to wear those padded bra and briefs and tight girdle, will she?’

‘No, she won’t’ replied Mum. ‘Maybe you could pop them into Miss Fotheringale’s shop one afternoon for me, would you?’

‘OK, Mum’ I replied. ‘What about the shoes, too?’

Mum thought for a bit and then said, ‘Well, Tina is old enough now to be wearing high heels and if you could manage wearing them, then she should also be able to without any problems. So I’ll package up these low-heeled ones and they can go back to the shop too. We’ll just have to hope that Tina is as good walking in her first high heels as you were today, Timmy!’

Discussions then moved on to the amount of money I now had compiled towards my new racing bike, which Mum was holding on my behalf. Clearly today’s modelling had increased the total quite a bit, but I was still short by a small amount of the almost 50 Pounds that the Claude Butler bike cost. However, I got paid on Fridays for my newspaper delivery round, and I reckoned that additional 30 shillings would just be enough to make that magic 50 quid. And so it turned out! On Friday, I got my weekly wages from the newsagents at just after 4PM. Of course, I had to return the package of the now unwanted frillies and the shoes into Miss Fotheringales Salon, but that only took a minute. I certainly wasn’t going to hang around there, just in case they needed me for some more modelling duties!

I then rushed down the High Street to Charlie’s Cycles to pay the money for the bicycle of my dreams, having already been given the rest of it from my cycle savings fund by Mum. I rode the new bike back home as quickly as I could, avoiding the temptation to go via the local hill for a bit of showing off. Besides, it looked like it was going to rain …

At 7.15 PM, Tina was due in on the train from London at our local station, and both Mum and I were there to greet her. I carried her bags to a taxi and we headed home. She was looking a bit tired but even more pretty than ever. ‘I’m so glad to see you all again’ said Tina.

Has anything interesting been going on while I’ve been away, Timmy?’

‘Not really’, I answered. ‘Oh, yes – I’ve finally got myself another bicycle …’