Neither myself nor my brother could believe this was happening.
Our mother opened the double doors of our wardrobe to reveal a resplendent display of skirts,
“You honestly don’t expect us to wear those do you?” Peter asked.
“Well after you two have had a bath, you won’t have any choice in the matter.” she replied.
“If you want to wear your boy clothes, you’ll have to earn them.” she stated
Mum started to divide the rail full of girlie clothes.
She went on to remove one of the gingham dresses the girls all wore.
She then went on to make the following threat.
“Otherwise you’ll both be going to school tomorrow wearing this.”
“You’re joking right?” I said.
“There’s no way we’d be allowed to go to school dressed as girls.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Mum asked.
“And for your information, it was your teacher Mrs Brown who suggested petticoating.”
“Petti-what-ing?” Peter sneered.
“Petticoating.” mum replied.
“If you haven’t worked it out, it means dressing naughty boys in girls clothes until they can behave themselves.” she explained.
“Now… why don’t you two jump in the bath before you get ready for bed?”
“BED!?!” we protested in unison.
“It’s only half past five.”
“And by the time you’ve had your bath it’ll be six o’clock…
and six o’clock is the time you get ready for bed.” mum stated, before smiling wryly.
“Don’t look so worried boys,
bed time isn’ ’til eight.” she said.
“Now come on…
bathroom.” she said as she began to shepherd us on to the landing.
I was planning on legging it down the stairs and, providing the front door was unlocked, to the street outside.
But since my grandmother stood on the landing effectively blocking my path, I went into the bathroom, followed by my brother Peter.
The bath was already full of fragrant bubbles.
Of course we begged and pleaded and promised we’d be good as we slowly peeled off our clothes.
I can’t speak for my brother,
but part of me was certain it was all pretence…
“surely dressing boys as girls is child abuse?” I thought as my grandmother scrubbed me clean with a big pink sponge.
Mum did the same to Peter.
We weren’t strangers to sharing a bath,
but being scrubbed like little kids was less than desirable.
After shampooing and rinsing our hair,
we were ejected from the tub and mercilessly towel dried.
“What’s this for?!” I said as we coughed and spluttered a fine white talcum powder out of our mouths.
“It makes your skin feel nice and soft.” mum said as she dabbed my body with the fluffy pink applicator.
“Like the skin of a princess.”
“It stinks.” Peter moaned as Granny covered him in talcum powder too
“Well we can’t have our princesses smelling like boys can we?” Granny said.
Soon, we were being marched into our bedroom.
It was like seeing it for the first time all over again.
The mural of the fairy tale castle on the wall was by far the best bit…
mostly because it wasn’t pink with pictures of the Disney princesses all over it, unlike our pillow cases and duvet covers.
“Now there’s a nappy and a nightie under your pillows.” Mum said.
“What?” I yelped.
“Even girls don’t wear nappies!”
“No, but petticoated boys do.” mum replied.
“Now I bought you both pull on ones because you’re not babies…
but if you act like babies,
we’ll just have to put you in a proper babies nappy instead.”
With the threat of being put in a nappy like a baby, and the fear of going to school dressed as girls,
Peter and I reluctantly lifted our pillows to find a pull-on nappy,
a pair of rubber knickers,
a pair of cotton over-knickers
and a white frilly nightie each.
Peter started to cry as he pulled on the frilly white over-knickers.
I completely empathised with him,
but there was no way I’d let them see me crying like a baby…
or a girl for that matter.
Under our beds was a pair of fluffy slippers each,
and wearing these we were marched down to the sitting room,
where we were told to sit quietly and watch the TV.
“Where’s a the remote?” I asked.
“Princesses don’t choose what they watch,
they watch what they’re told.” Mother stated.
After the tedium of Songs Of Praise had finished,
Granny said she was going home.
“Now, do you need me in the morning to help get these two ready for school?” she said to our mother.
“I shouldn’t think so.” Mum replied as she cast her eyes over us.
“So far they’ve earned their normal uniforms,
but I’ll give you a call if they start acting up.”
“Very well.” Granny smiled.
“Now, what about my two princesses give their Granny a kiss goodnight?”
Peter and I sheepishly stood up and gave Granny’s wrinkly old cheek a kiss.
She left and we sat back on the sofa.
“How long do you think we have to do this for?” Peter asked as Mum waved our grandmother off.
“Dunno.” I replied.
“You won’t tell anyone will you?” I fearfully asked.
He shook his head.
“And I know you won’t.” he knowingly replied as our mother returned.
The TV anchor man announced that the next programme would be the film,
The Living Daylights, starring Timothy Dalton as James Bond.
“Can we watch this mum?” I asked as the ba-ba baoummm, ba-ba baoumm, music started.
“Oh no.” Mother replied
. “Princesses don’t like James Bond.
How about a DVD instead?”
“OK.” I replied.
“Can I choose?” Peter asked
. “It’s my turn.”
“How’s about mummy chooses.” Mum suggested as she turned on the DVD player and browsed our small collection.
“This one looks nice.” she said as she opened a case and removed the disc.
“What is it?” Peter asked in a most half hearted tone of voice.
mum muttered as she closed the DVD tray, then the case.
“…Enchanted Tales.” she said, showing us the cover.
It was a Disney Princess DVD.
I guess she bought it especially since it matched our new bedroom.
I suggested I’d rather go to bed.
“It’s barely seven o’clock Paul.” Mum replied.
“A princess can have too much beauty sleep you know.” she said in her most patronising tone,
“…and this will give you sweet dreams.” she said as she pressed play.
A few minutes later…
a few very long minutes later,
Peter got up. “Where are you going?” Mum asked.
“Toilet.” he replied.
I felt I needed a wee too,
but had a feeling the toilet would be out of bounds
“Oh no your not.” Mum said as she stood up to block his exit.
“You’ve got your nappy on.. and you don’t want to miss any of the film do you?”
“But!” Peter yelped.
After a bit of moaning, Peter sat back down.
Being desperate for a wee was also a good distraction from the bog awful princess story we sat watching.
Eventually I had to let go which was as humiliating as it was a relief.
“Now what do I do?” I wondered.
Do I tell mum I’ve wet my nappy and need a new one,
or just sit here in its warmth?
I decided to focus on the film.
we moaned when she stopped the DVD bang on eight o’clock.
“That had almost finished.” I said.
“Well if you’re good girls you can watch it again before bedtime tomorrow.” she said.
don’t call us girls.” Peter moaned.
“Sorry, princesses.” mum replied.
“If you’re good little princesses and go straight to bed,
I’ll let you watch it again tomorrow.”
“I don’t wanna watch that ever again.” Peter said defiantly.
Mum ignored him.
do either of you need a clean nappy before bed?”
I didn’t reply.
Neither did my brother.
But our faces must have said it all.
Mum took us to the bathroom where we removed our nighties and hung them neatly on the radiator,
then our over knickers and rubber knickers.
Mum told us where the perforations were and we ripped them apart and placed the nappy,
along with the rubber knickers in a lidded bucket.
Then mum showed us how to clean ourselves with ‘baby’ wipes, how to apply our own dusting of talc,
before showing us where our nappies were kept.
We both moaned that we neither wanted to,
nor needed to wear nappies for bed,
but mum was adamant we wore them regardless.
She reinforced this by showing us a massive pink nappy,
“If you don’t want to wear your pull-ups,
I’ll put you in one of these.” she said, before explaining that, unlike our pull-up nappies,
this one isn’t disposable.
“Which means it needs to be washed in the morning to make sure it’s clean and dry ready for tomorrow night.” she said.
“…and believe me, boys,
I won’t be washing it for you.”
In light of that, the pull-up nappies didn’t seem so bad.
Once we had a clean pair of rubbers and our over-knickers and nighties back on, mum said,
“Oh look at the time…
it’s almost twenty minutes past your bedtime.”
before shuffling us out of the bathroom.
It felt so weird having the light flowing nightie waft around my legs.
It was nice and warm after being on the radiator though.
Mum made a point of locking the bathroom door.
“Now, you’ve got to make sure your nighties are nice and straight when you get into bed…
you don’t want them all scrunched up around your waist.”
she said as if talking to a couple of toddlers.
I gulped as Mum tucked my brother into bed, then turned towards me.
“I’m nine for ****’s sake!” I silently screamed as she tucked me in too.
“Now I want to make it clear boys…
if either of you takes off your nightie or nappy before I say so,
you’ll both be going to school in your new uniforms,” she said, looking at each of us in turn.
“In fact…” she added is she stood up.
With an air of determination, she strides to the wardrobe and pulled its doors wide open.
“…I’ll get them out ready because I have a feeling you don’t believe me.” she explained
she hung the two identical gingham school dresses from the picture rail opposite our beads.
I gulped as Mum spent a moment admiring them.
“Girl’s uniforms are so much nicer than boy’s uniforms,” Mum said as she turned to us and smiled wryly.
“Don’t you think?” she added. I gulped. I’m not sure how my brother replied.
“Now I don’t want you two up all night talking,” she said as she turned on a lamp.
“My princesses need their beauty sleep,” she said in a teasing, taunting tone of voice.
“Nightie night girls… and sweet dreams.” Were her parting words.
Although she did pause to admire the brace of gingham school dresses before turning out the light and leaving.
The lamp she’d turned on is a new one, and I don’t like it.
It’s too bright for a start and has a revolving shade that casts a pink & lilac glow across the walls and ceiling.
“At least it’s not Princesses,” I said as I followed a silhouette of Tinker Bell scroll across the wall.
“This is all your fault,” Peter said.
I gulped, turned onto my side and wished with all my heart that I’d wake up and it would all have been a dream.
I fell asleep to the sound of my twin brother quietly sobbing.
No sooner had I fallen to sleep I woke up.
It was early, but I wasn’t sure how early.
I looked at the window.
It was daylight.
My nightie had scrunched up to my waist,
which meant it really wasn’t a dream.
I straightened it out as best I could.
I hadn’t noticed the curtains last night.
They were much thinner than our old ones,
and like our bedding, they too have the Disney princess all over them.
I felt guilty for feeling kind of nice waking up wearing a slinky slidey nightie, under an equally slidey duvet cover.
After a while of dwelling in my silky bliss… I began to feel an urge.
This brought the sudden realisation that I was also wearing a nappy and that the bathroom door was locked.
I hung on for as long as I could but eventually had to let go.
It was weird.
After the initial flood had lost its warmth, it felt strangely dry down there..
Eventually, my brother woke up.
“What time is it?” he groaned when he noticed I was awake.
we haven’t got a clock anymore.” I replied.
“Do you think Mum will make go to school wearing those?” he asked as he stared at the two school dresses hanging opposite our beds.
“Not if we’re good.” I gulped.
I imagined the shame I’d experience, entering the bustling schoolyard wearing the girl’s uniform and everyone pointing and laughing at me.
I buried my head beneath my duvet and longed for another reality,
but all I could think about was the prospect of having to wear girls clothes both in and out of school.
A short while later, Mum entered and said
“Good morning girls…
I hope you have had a nice sleep!”
in an altogether too chirpy tone as she opened the curtains and flooded the room with light.
She made us wear our nighties whilst we ate breakfast,
then announced it was time to get ready for school.
Peter asked if we had to dress as girls.
“Well, since you’ve both been good girls…
so far,” she said, looking at each of us sternly.
“I’ll let you go to school as boys today.” she replied,
This was a great relief for my brother.
I however knew she wouldn’t really make us go to school dressed as girls.
As we’d done at bedtime,
we removed our nappies and dumped them in the bucket.
Then mum told us to put our ‘knickers’ on, before coming to her room.
“They’re in your top drawer,” she said.
Of course, we protested,
but the threat of going to school in gingham dresses swiftly assured our compliance.
Between our beds was a chest of drawers, and on opening the top drawer we found a host of frilly knickers.
To add insult to injury,
those on my side of the drawer had my name embroidered on them,
and Peter’s all had ‘Peter’ embroidered on the front.
There’s no question about who they belong to,
I thought as I picked up the top pair.
“Are they all pink?” I said.
“Looks like it,” Peter replied.
“Better than a dress though,” he said as he stepped into a pair.
Wearing only our knickers, we went to my mother’s bedroom where she gave us our normal school pants and sweatshirts.
“Now you’re not to get dirty boys…” she said.
“…otherwise you’ll have to wear your other uniforms tomorrow.”
“OK.” we moaned in unison.
“Oh and before you go downstairs…”
mum said as we shuffled out of her room,
“…can you both put a clean nappy and a pair of rubbers under your pillows ready for tonight?”
Before long, we found ourselves walking to school.
On the surface,
it was much the same as any other school day,
but we were both unusually quiet.
Although I was dressed as a boy,
I couldn’t help but feel just a little bit girlie.
My knickers fit me snugly and their stretchy slidy fabric felt very different to my y-fronts…
they may be out of sight,
but they’re certainly not out of mind.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to wear nappies,” I said, breaking the silence.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to dress like girls full stop,” Peter replied.
“I’m sure my knickers are too small.”
“I think they’re supposed to be,” I said.
“Do you think Mrs Brown really did suggest it?”
“Dunno,” I replied as we neared the school gates.
“Good morning Peter, Paul.” our teacher said as we entered the classroom.
“How are you two today?”
“OK.” we moaned.
She took the register, then asked Peter and me to stay behind after the bell had rung.
We glanced at each other and gulped.
Eventually, the bell rang.
All the other kids filtered out whilst Peter and I made our way to Mrs Brown’s desk.
She made sure the door was closed before knowingly asking,
“Did you two have a nice surprise yesterday?”
I gulped. Peter shuffled nervously.
“It wasn’t ‘nice’.” I said.
“Well I’m sure it won’t feel quite so horrible after a while,” she said.
“Most boys I’ve had petticoated soon get into the swing of things.
And you never know, you might even enjoy it.”
“I don’t think so!” Peter spat.
“Careful Peter.” Mrs Brown warned,
“Any backchat, cheek or bad behaviour of any sort will guarantee your classmates will have a nice surprise tomorrow,” she said to both of us.
“Now unless you want to come to school dressed as girls,
I suggest you both remain on your best behaviour for the foreseeable future…
do you understand?”
We nodded and sulked, then when prompted, murmured “Yes Mrs Brown.”
“Now run along boys..
and do try to be good girls.”
“I wish they’d stop calling us ‘girls’.” Peter said as we made our way to Mr Walker’s class.
“Well, we are wearing knickers,” I replied, just as quietly as he’d asked.
Their firm silky hold on me was ever-present.
“That doesn’t make us girls though,” he whispered
“I know,” I replied.
“But they make me feel like one.” I thought.
We remained on our best behaviour all day long.
Even at playtime and throughout lunch,
we didn’t play football or bulldog or tig with the other kids for fear of falling over and getting dirty.
I couldn’t help but pay particular attention to the girls and their uniforms.
If we did wear ours for school,
would we have knee socks or ankle socks?
Would we wear our own shoes or girl’s shoes?
Some of the girls wore a cardigan instead of a sweatshirt…
which would we have?
“Do you reckon we’ll have to dress like girls when we get home?” Peter asked.
“I hope not,” I replied. “I want to play out.”
When we got home, mum asked us if we’d had a nice day, and whether we’d been good or not.
We moaned a ‘yes’ to both questions.
“Well, let’s get you out of those boring boy clothes,” she said.
She took us up to her bedroom, where our boy clothes were taken from us and locked in her Ottoman.
Stood in only our knickers,
mum said we could go and choose a dress to wear.
“But I wanted to play out,” I said.
“Johnny and Mackie are down the swings.”
“Well in that case you might prefer a playsuit instead of a dress.”
“What’s a playsuit?”
“I’ll show you.” mum smiled.
We followed her to our wardrobe,
wearing only our frilly pink knickers,
but hiding them as best we could with our hands.
Mum routed through the frocks and skirts before she found what she was looking for.
“This is a playsuit,” she said as she removed an item and showed it to us.
“I’m not playing out in that!” I insisted.
Mum pointed out that it is in fact a pair of shorts and a top all-in-one,
“…so nobody will see your knickers if you play on the climbing frame.”
“But… they’ll still laugh at me.”
“You don’t know that.” Mother replied.
“They might say you look nice.”
“No, they won’t.”
“Are you playing out too Peter?”
“Not if I have to dress like a girl,” he replied.
“Me neither,” I stated.
“Are you sure?” mum asked.
“I thought you wanted to play out with your friends.”
“I’d rather stay in if I have to wear any of that stuff,” I said.
“Well seeing as you’re both staying in, how’s about wearing something ‘really’ pretty.” she grinned.
“It’s all ‘really’ pretty.” Peter sneered.
“I’m glad you think so Peter,” Mum replied.
“Why don’t you choose today, and Paul can choose tomorrow?”
Not surprisingly, Peter refused to choose… until Mother said,
“Well in that case,
I’ll choose for you,
and I’ll tell you now,
you’ll be wearing a nice pink one…
the only problem is,
which pink one?
You’ve got so many.”
“OK OK… I
‘ll choose.” Peter said.
He settled for one of the blue ones…
the only one that didn’t have a big bow on the front.
Having bought us two of everything,
Mum placed one on my bed and one on Peter’s.
“Now, would you like socks or tights?”
“Socks,” he replied.
“They’re in the second drawer down,” Mum said.
We opened the drawer to find a host of socks and tights.
We complained that they were all girl’s socks.
Mum asked us what we expected.
We pulled on a pair of horrible white knee socks with flowery pasterns running up them,
then mum told us to put on a vest from our knicker drawer.
“And make sure it matches your knickers.” Mum insisted.
We stepped in to our dresses.
Mum turned Peter around and began fastening the buttons that ran all the way up the back.
Then she stopped.
“Why I’m doing this when your brother could be helping you I have no idea,” she said.
She sat on my bed and let me fiddle with Peter’s buttons.
Then I turned around and Peter fastened my buttons.
“Oh you look so sweet helping each other.” she gushed.
Under our beds was a pair of girl’s shoes we never knew we had.
They had fiddly buckles and a little heel.
We complained that they were uncomfortable and hard to walk in.
Mum said we’d get used to them.
“And the important thing is they look nice,” she added.
Mum insisted on taking a photograph of us so she could show Granny how nice we look.
To add insult to injury, she made us stand in the back garden, and hold hands!
We ran back indoors as soon as we could,
fearful that one of the neighbours might see us.
We sat in front of the TV and watched what mum wanted…
the CBBC sister channel aimed at girls.
It’s the last channel any boy would choose to watch..
in fact it’s too girlie for most girls!
I don’t know why, but I felt obliged to ask if I could go to the toilet.
First mum insisted I say ‘mummy’ instead of ‘mum’,
then she told me that I had to sit down to wee.
“That way you won’t get any on your dress,” she said with a smile.
“And make sure it doesn’t get tucked in when you pull your knickers up!” she added as I clumped my way up the stairs.
It was weird sitting down to wee…
but not as weird as the fact I could reach the floor with my heels on.
Mum made a point of checking my dress for splashes when I returned.
When we ate supper,
she made us each wear a white apron.
Alice’s in Wonderland…
she called us.
I could see where she was coming from.
After supper, mother had us wash and dry the dishes…
then the doorbell rang,
and since I wasn’t wearing the marigolds…
I had to answer the door.
“Hello Paul.” said Mrs Brown, grinning from ear to ear and trying to see around the door behind which I hid.
“Don’t be shy…
I’m sure you look very nice.” she said as she entered.
I tried as best I could to keep the front door between myself and her, but once she was inside,
my shield was rendered useless.
I closed the door and hung my head.
“You look like Alice.” Mrs Brown said as she looked me up and down;
black Mary Jane’s,
white knee socks,
and topping it off, my very boyish head.
“Hello, Mrs Brown.” Mum said as she entered the kitchen.
“Hello,” she replied.
“Peter looks like Alice too,” she said.
“Don’t they both look gorgeous?” Mum said proudly.
“They look absolutely delightful.” our teacher said.
Why she was in our home I have no idea.
Mum told me to stop loitering and to get on with drying the dishes
, before offering Mrs Brown a cup of tea.
They sat at the table and talked about us.
”It’s amazing how much they’ve changed after only one day!” Mum said.
“Boys do find it easier to behave when they’re dressed nicely.” Mrs Brown replied.
“If I had my way, every boy in my class would be petticoated.”
When we’d finished the dishes, mum said we could take our aprons off.
They fastened with three buttons on the back between our shoulders and a bow at the waist.
After I’d unfastened Peter’s buttons, he unfastened mine.
“Isn’t it sweet how they help each other,” Mum said.
“Now hang your aprons up nicely boys and show Mrs Brown your dresses.”
I plucked up the courage to ask why our teacher was here, in our home.
“Because Granny’s at bridge club tonight…
so Mrs Brown has kindly volunteered to help with your bath.” Mum replied.
“But we had a bath yesterday.” Peter moaned.
“Princesses have a bath every day.” Mother said.
“Now why don’t you two go and watch TV for a while?”
Peter and filtered to the lounge, leaving our mother and Mrs Brown alone.
She-Beebies was still on and neither of us dare change the channel.
“Why is she here?” Peter asked.
“Dunno.” I gulped.
“But I reckon if we don’t do as we’re told, everybody at school will know.”
“I think they’re bluffing about us going to school dressed as girls,” Peter whispered.
“But we already have the girl’s uniform…
and even if we don’t wear them,
mum has that photograph she took for Granny.”
Half an hour or so later, mum told us it was ‘bath time’.
I followed mum up the stairs.
Peter followed me and Mrs Brown followed him.
Our teacher gushed over how nice our new bedroom is and how lucky we were.
Neither of us dares offer our honest opinion.
In the bathroom, Mum scrubbed me whilst Mrs Brown scrubbed Peter,
and once out of the bath, mum gave us a fluffy pad each so we could apply our own talcum powder…
Then we trotted back to our bedroom.
Mum and Mrs Brown followed.
“You don’t have to watch us get ready for bed,” I said as they loitered.
“Oh, but we do Paul,” Mum replied.
“Come on, everything should be under your pillows.”
“Do I have to wear this?” Peter sulked.
“Of course you do.” Mum replied.
“All petticoated boys wear nappies for bed.” Mrs Brown added.
“And some of them wear them for school too…
if they’re very naughty.”
We reluctantly pulled on our nappies,
followed by the rubber knickers,
then our cotton over knickers and finally,
we pulled our nighties over our heads.
Mum made us say thank you to Mrs Brown for helping, and she left.
We watched girlie TV until 8 pm.
Peter said he didn’t need a clean nappy. I did.
I felt more ashamed than ever as we entered our classroom for the following morning.
Mrs Brown cast us a knowing smile as we took our seats.
Not only had she seen us wearing dresses,
she’d also seen us wearing nappies and nighties.
The same routine went on for the rest of the week,
only Granny helped us with our nightly bath from Tuesday to Friday.
We took it in turns choosing which frock we wore after school
but weren’t allowed to choose one we’d already worn.
On Saturday morning, Mum said we were allowed to bath ourselves,
but as it was the weekend, she’d choose our dresses…
and she chose the prissiest and frilliest monstrosities we had.
On Monday after school, it was a relief to be able to choose our own dresses again.
Over the following weeks,
we simply got used to being girls at home and boys at school,
even if we did wear knickers beneath our school pants…
it just became the ‘new’ normal.
Even all the girlie programmes on She-Beebies weren’t that bad,
apart from the Sindy Princess Cartoon Show; that was dreadful,
from the jerky animation and squeaky voices to the watered-down reworkings of classic fairy tales.
We’ve spent a lot of time at our grandmother’s house over the weekends.
She has a big garden with high walls and no one can see in.
We play croquet and swing ball,
hopscotch and balloon volleyball.
We’re also learning how to skip with a rope, and to play those clapping games.
Yes, they’re a bit girlie…
but at least we’re not being given dolls and prams to play with.
Mum continued to encourage us to play out with our friends but without the option of boy clothes,
we only see them at school where our petticoated state is unknown to all but our teacher, Mrs Brown.
However, our secret life was shattered in the first week of the summer holidays.
Peter and I were sitting in our bedroom practising a clapping game to the rhyme of ‘A Sailor Went To Sea, Sea, Sea’.
We wore lilac dresses with little pink bows printed all over the fabric,
and a wide pink sash that tied in a bow at the back.
Unbeknown to us, John, Michael and Stephen came knocking on our door
and instead of sending them away, Mum sent them all up to our bedroom.
As soon as they saw us in our ‘princess’ bedroom,
sat on our pink bedspreads,
wearing pretty dresses,
thin white tights and girl’s shoes,
they fell about laughing,
calling us sissies, puffs and girls.
On hearing the commotion, Mum came up to our room and said,
“Now boys if you can’t be nice to Peter and Paul, then you’re not welcome.”
“But… they’re dressed like girls!” Stephen spat.
“Yes they are… and they’re far better behaved because of it.” Mum replied.
“Now are you going to say sorry?”
“No!” all three replied.
“Well in that case you’d better leave…
and I’ll be telling your mothers how horrible you’ve all been when I see them.” Mum stated before ushering them out of our bedroom.
Peter and I were speechless.
We just sat on our beds and stared at each other before hanging our heads.
Mum returned and said, “What horrible boys they are.”
“Why did you let them in?” I asked.
“Because they called for you,” Mum replied.
“If anyone will benefit from a dose of petticoating it’s those three…
and I’ll be telling their mothers as much when I see them.”
“But… we didn’t want them to know.”
“And now they do,” Mum replied.
“If they were proper friends they wouldn’t have teased you as they did.”
“Yes, they would!” Peter barked.
“Look at us. We are sissies.”
“No your not…
you two very well behaved and very pretty boys.” mum stated.
“You’re my perfect princesses.” she smiled.
“Now, who’d like a choc ice?”
“Me please,” we said mournfully in unison.
“Well come on then.” mum said with a smile as if that would cure all ills.
Mum always insisted we wore our aprons when eating,
so we did each other buttons before being given a choc ice each.
“Why don’t you eat them in the garden? It’s a lovely day.”
someone might see us.” I replied.
“Well that hardly matters now does it?” Mum replied,
“Plus, you two princesses are far too pretty to be cooped up indoors all day.”
Mum wouldn’t take no for an answer,
so we sauntered into the garden and nervously glanced up at the overlooking windows before sitting on the bench.
“I hate being a princess,” Peter said.
“It was OK so long as no one knew,” I replied.
“Now everyone’s going to know.”
Six weeks later, my brother and I wore boy clothes for the first time since we broke up for summer.
Mrs Brown asked us if we’d had a nice summer when we returned to school.
“Yes Miss,” we replied as the other kids cast us peculiar looks, whispered to one another and giggled.
We took our seats and waited for the rest of the class to arrive before Mrs Brown took the register.
Clearly, we weren’t being altogether honest when we said we’d had a nice summer.
“Good morning girls.” Mrs Brown said as three more pupils entered the classroom.
A host of giggles and goshes erupted as John, Michael and Stephen entered, each wearing the girl’s uniform.
Peter and I couldn’t believe it. Neither could most of the other children.
Mrs Brown stood all three of them at the front of the class and explained why they were dressed as girls.
“Since they’ve proved they cannot be good boys,
we’re going to see if John, Michael and Stephen can be good girls instead,” she said,
before making it clear that if any of the boys tease them, they’ll find themselves in exactly the same predicament.
“Now John, if you’ll go and sit with Cassie.
Peter with Joanna and Stephen with Vanessa…
they’ll be your chaperones,
so stick with them and do exactly as they tell you.”