Christmas yet to come...

It's December and the high street is lavishly decorated with festive lights and Christmas trees. The shop window displays feature Santa outfits, snowflakes, reindeer, elves, candy canes and gift boxes and all sorts of festive décor. Mark is shopping with his mother who frequently comments on the outfits in the shop windows. “I wish they had things like that when you were little.” she said, admiring a display of Santa's Little Helper outfits on some boy mannequins in the window of Debenhams. Mark said they did but they were for girls. “Not many girls wore dresses when you were little.” she reminded him. “I wonder if they do them for older boys.” she mused.

“I'm not going to dress like Santa's Little Helper mum!” Mark whined. “I'm fifteen.” he reminded her. The mannequins, depicting boys aged about eight or nine wore an elf themed red and green frocks with red & green stripy tights and a stupid looking hat with bells. Another wore a pair of green dungaree shorts with a red blouse and lace collar, with the same stripy tights, and the third wore a bright red Santa dress with fur around its hems and plain white tights. They're OK for little kids, Mark thinks, but teenagers don't do fancy dress if they can help it.

Inside one of the stores, his mother points out a sweatshirt with 'Just a Boy' embroidered in a graffiti style font on the front. His mother says it's nice. “It's horrible.” Mark whined. The sweatshirt is white but the design is in purple and lilac and the 'o' of boy is a heart shape. His mother says it's 'sweet' and Mark reminds her that he's fifteen and far too old for clothes like that. His mother points out a padded down jacket. “That looks nice and warm.” she said. It might look warm, Mark thought, but that shade of pastel purple is far too nice, and the fake fur around it's hood is the palest pink. Mark doesn't like it.

His mother picked up a hat, gloves and scarf set. Pink, lilac and baby blue stripes shouldn't belong in the teen boys department but they do.“This is cute.” his mother smiled. That's exactly what's so bad about it, Mark thought. Too many boys clothes these days are cute and strolling the boys department with his mother is always embarrassing, especially when she insists on just looking at the limited selection of skirts and frocks that seem to have been commonplace for a few years now. Thankfully there's still plenty of traditional boys clothes and Mark's mother knows what he prefers, but she always describes them as plain and boring when buying him something that he likes. “We may as well get you some undies whilst we're here.” she said.

“OK.” Mark apathetically replied. “Just don't get me any more nice ones... I’ve got loads already.” 

The problem is, his mother likes nice underpants and since no one else will see them, she pays little heed to his preferences. She always picks him a pack with lacy elastic and pastel shades or pretty patterns and despite the fact he doesn't like them, he wears them. “OK.” he moaned when she chose him a pack of five spotty pairs of 'boys panties'. “Will you unpick the bows though.” he timidly requested. His mother sighed and told him that unpicking the little satin bows from the waistband was too much faff for something no one will see. “But they're high waisted.” he whined.

“It is winter though... big pants are warmer than little ones.” his mother reminded. “Just keep your vest tucked in.” she told him as she removed the matching pack of boys vests which also have elasticated lace trim. They slowly stroll toward the tills and his mother frequently stops to look at various items; a long nightie, a floral pyjama set and a fluffy pink bathrobe... all in the boy's department.

With Christmas fast approaching, the queue for the tills is long and slow. Mark holds his plain beige jumper, a plain brown body-warmer and conceals his 'nice' underwear beneath them. In front of them is a boy aged about twelve with his parents. His mother holds a powder pink corduroy dungaree dress and a burgundy blouse on a hanger. The boy is sulking and his father explains that he's still a child and to a certain extent, has to wear what he's told. The mother turns to her son and says. “It's hardly your first dress Charles and with some nice thick tights you'll be plenty warm enough.”

“Poor kid.” Mark thought. “If I was his age my Mum'd probably be foisting frocks onto me.” he mused. Being fifteen going on sixteen, Mark's own mother lets him choose his own clothes for the most part... although she did buy him a skirt once.

He's an average teenage boy in his final year of high school and like most boys his age, he faces few prospects when he does leave school. Mark will probably end up in college for a couple of years earning a menial qualification that'll get him a job as a cleaner, sweeper or dishwasher. Girls have better prospects and apart from a few exceptions, they exclusively sit GCSE and A level exams and go onto university. Mark doesn't feel hard done by. It's just the way things are. Women wear the trousers, sit in the boardrooms and fill the majority of seats in the House of Commons these days.

Being an average teenage boy, Mark has an apathetic approach to fashion and prefers comfort over style. He baulks at the latest trends and for good reason... he remembers when skirts and frocks and shoes with heels were only worn by women and girls and seeing those things becoming commonplace in the boys' clothing departments is very discomforting indeed. But like most teenage boys, Mark shuns the latest trends and remains comfortable in his old jeans, trusty trainers and comfy jumpers. He did however endure the humbling experience of having to wear a skirt and heels for a family wedding in the summer. That was six months ago and was the first and last time he wore something trendy. It cemented his opinion that the new styles aren't his thing at all.

They return home from town and his mother picks up the post from the doormat. Mark tries on his new jumper and body-warmer before removing the tags. He likes it but his mother wishes he'd stop being such a stick in the mud and wear something 'trendy' occasionally. She unpacks his new underwear and after admiring them, tells him to take them to his room and put them away. “OK.” he sighed. His underwear drawer contains normal boys underwear and 'nice' stuff with lace trim and pastel colours. It's been a few years since he only had what he considers 'normal' boys underwear but he's got used to having the nice stuff too, but given the choice he knows what he prefers. At least it's just underwear. All his other clothes are plain and boyish and just what he likes... apart from the skirt he wore that one day in the summer and hasn't worn since. That, along with the smart 'reverse' shirt with its buttons running up the back still hangs unloved and unwanted in his wardrobe.

~o0o~

It's Christmas morning and Mark is unwrapping his gifts one by one. Being fifteen, most gifts are practical presents rather than toys and games. Amongst other things, he unwrapped a boxed table-top mirror on a chrome pedestal. “Oh a shaving mirror.” Mark presumed. “Thanks.”

“I was thinking it'd be handy to have in your bedroom... when you're brushing your hair and stuff.” his mother replied.

“Oh, OK.” Mark smiled as his mother hands him yet more gifts. He's chuffed with the new alarm clock, a book about sci-fi films and a pair of mittens that a crafty aunt had hand-knitted. A sizeable gift is wrapped in shiny purple paper and tied with a candy pink bow. He suspects a new bathrobe or maybe a coat as he read the label and thanked his mother. She eagerly watches as he carefully unwraps it. “Oh Mu-um you know I don't like this stuff!” he whines as he opens the wrapping and unfolds a green velvet dress with a glittery snowflake pattern peppering the skirt.

“I think you're just shying away from fashion.” his mother tells him. “It comes with a little hooded cape too.”

Mark shifts the dress out of its wrapping and finds a little velvet cape that sits around the shoulders and hangs just above the elbows, with a large fake fur lined hood. “Oh mu-um... that's really girlie!”

“Not in this day and age it isn't.” she chirped, handing him another gift. “These also go with your dress.” she said.

He unwraps the small parcel, also wrapped in purple with a pink bow to find a pair of tights. “Oh Mu-um.” The tights are off white, knitted, quite thick and feature glittery snowflakes just like the dress.

“You're very welcome.” she smiles. Mark is no stranger to wearing tights because he often wears them under his long pants in the winter when it's a particularly chilly day... but these, with their knitted pattern and sparkly details are made to be seen.

The next gift is also something he'd rather not have been given, being a pair of suede winter boots with a chunky sole and a three inch block heel. “I wasn't sure if they'd be a little too high or not... but they're only a bit higher than the sandals you wore for George & Betty's wedding in the summer.” she told him “...and a lot more boyish.” she added.

As far as Mark is concerned, there's nothing at all boyish about them, but compared to the pair of two-inch kitten heeled sandals... “Thanks mum.” he frowned. “But you know I don't like dresses or shoes with heels.”

“You said the same in the summer when I bought you a skirt remember?” she reminded him. “You didn't mind it once you'd got over your shyness.” she claimed, adding that he took to wearing heels in no time and liked being a little bit taller. But that was only because his mother had him practising for a fortnight beforehand. He hasn't worn heels since and isn't confident that he'll be able to walk in these chunky high heeled boots. “It's just like riding a bike.” his mother says. “Once you learn you never forget.”

“That's easy for you to say... you never wear heels.”

“I did when I was your age.” his mother replied. “I'm sure you'll be absolutely fine.” she smiled. “I can't wait to see how you look.” she said, running her fingers over the soft velvet fabric of his dress.

“Do you want me to wear it now?” he mournfully asked.

“Not right now.” she replied. “Later, when we go to the Robson's.”

“Oh Mu-um... I don't want to wear it there.” he whined. “I'll wear it in the house if I have to but...”

“But what?”

“Jacob'll laugh at me for a start.” he replied. “Plus I might slip in the snow... I've only worn heels once and that was six months ago.”

“I very much doubt you'll slip in the snow Mark.” his mother said, upending one of the boots to reveal the rugged sole. “...and what makes you think Jacob would laugh at you?”

“Because he took the p.... micky out of me in the summer when I had to shave my legs.”

“And once you'd started you didn't stop.” his mother smiled.

“Only because I don't like it when they get stubbly.” Mark replied. “If I didn't have to wear that skirt I'd have never had to start.”

“Does Jacob still tease you for shaving your legs?”

“No.” Mark said. “But he will if I turn up wearing a dress.”

“Alfie wears dresses.” his mother reminded him. Alfie is Jacob's little brother.

“Yeah but he's six... I’m fifteen.”

“Please don't take that tone Mark. It doesn't matter how old you are. Lots of boys wear dresses these days and you will be wearing yours when we visit the Robson's later.” she sternly stated. “Now can we put an end to all this moaning and carry on opening presents?”

“Yeah... sorry.” Mark conceded. His mother handed him another gift and informed him that it was also to go with his dress... a handbag, in green velvet too. “Thanks Mum.” he frowned, gulping.

“Have a look inside.” she said.

Inside is two small bags; one is a purse and the other contains a small selection of cosmetics. “Make-up?” he gulped.

“Just a few bits to get you started; eye-liner, mascara, eye-shadow, foundation and a couple of lipsticks.” she told him.

“I don't know what to do with any of this stuff.” Mark confessed.

“Well the foundation goes on like a moisturiser, and lipstick's no different to applying a chapstick.” she said. “...and I’ll help you with the eye make-up.” she said, adding that it's been a few years since she's worn it.

“I'm not so sure about wearing make-up as well Mum.” Mark replied. “I didn't at George & Betty's wedding.”

“You wore foundation and lipstick.” she reminded him.

“But not eye make-up.” he replied.

“No but it wasn't really thing for boys back then.”

“It was only six months ago.”

“And fashion moves fast.” she told him. “I was reading in Woman and Home only last month that lots of boys are going for full on glamour make-up... not that that's what I have I mind... I was thinking of something more subtle and natural, just to make your eyes sparkle a bit.” his mother said. Mark wasn't so sure. “But it's Christmas.” she reminded him. “...and I've bought it now.” she smiled.

“Okay.” Mark apathetically conceded. “I just hope Jacob doesn't laugh at me for going all femme.”

“Just tell him your mother pestered you into it.” she smiled. “That's usually what happens.” she said. “...and I think this stuff is more 'homme' than 'femme'.” my mother added. “Being feminine means minimal make-up if any at all in this day and age.”

Don't I know it, Mark thought. He was livid when his mother bought him a skirt and a reverse shirt for the wedding in the summer, but at least he wasn't the only one since the bride had three boys and two girls in her bridal party, all wearing dresses, tights and tiaras and holding bouquets, plus a flowerboy. It's still very much the norm for the bride to wear a gown and the groom to wear a suit but the groom's nephews who weren't in the bridal party both wore dresses too. In fact Mark's outfit was relatively plain compared to theirs, being an ivory circle skirt with black polka dots and a white shirt with its buttons running up the back, worn with thin 'nude' tights and a pair of his mother's old sandals. “What are you thinking about?” his mother asked, pulling Mark from his memories.

“The wedding.” he replied.

“You looked lovely.” his mother said. “Pity there's not been another occasion for you to wear your skirt again.”

“Thankfully!”

“Oh it wasn't that bad.” his mother claimed.

“Nah.” Mark agreed. He recalled the groom's nephews (poor things) who wore matching lilac party dresses with white satin sashes and looked like seven year old girls despite the fact they were both teenagers. And at least he wasn't in the bridal party dressed in a pale pink chiffon frock, or the flowerboy who was an eleven year old wearing an all white satin and lace dress! “...it was still embarrassing though... all the women and girls saying ooh doesn't Mark look nice whilst all the boys and men were giving me bemused glances.” Mark added.

“You did look nice.” his mother stated.

“Probably too nice.” Mark frowned. “It's not so bad for say... Jacob's little brother who's pretty much grown up thinking boys can wear dresses but for boys my age it's different.” he explained. “We can remember when only girls had frocks and heels and handbags.”

“I understand what you're saying but you've got to move with the times.” his mother replied. “You're still very young... it's not like you're your father's age.”

“Does my dad know you bought me a dress for Christmas?”

“No but I'm sure he won't mind.” Mark's mother replied. “I'm not sure what Granddad will think though.” she added. “Are you going to tell your Dad?” she asked.

“I dunno.” Mark frowned. “Probably not.” he mused. Mark's parents separated several years ago and his father lives in a small apartment in a satellite town. They continued to have a good relationship but only meet up once or twice each month, and Mark will be spending a couple of days with his dad between Christmas and New Year.

“Well it's entirely up to you.” his mother said. “But don't presume he'll think negatively... he knows as much as anyone how the world is changing.” she told him. “I wouldn't be at all surprised if, after another decade or so, the groom will wear the wedding dress and the bride will wear the suit.”

“I hope not!” Mark grimaced.

Being a single parent of an only child, Mark's mother easily manages to hold down a full time professional career by working from home when he's not at school and visiting the office and clients when he is. In previous decades professional women were not afforded such a flexible approach to their careers, and that was one of many reasons why the old patriarchy ultimately failed. As women and mothers began to fill the boardrooms of many companies and organisations, they recognised that many archaic workplace practises needed to be rethought and overhauled and as a result, western society entered what would soon be dubbed the genderquake. Women and mothers became the main breadwinners. Men and husbands found themselves struggling to progress through any career and found themselves working the most menial of jobs. Mark's father had a decent office job until the company restructured and he found himself in a junior position on the minimum wage. His new responsibilities were restocking the stationery cupboard and shredding non-confidential documents. His wife, Mark's mother wanted him to quit work and become a full time househusband but pride would not let him stoop so low... and that's when the marriage began to break down.

After a delightful Christmas breakfast of smoked salmon, scrambled egg, croissants and bucks fizz, Mark and his mother watched some festive TV shows until the early afternoon. “Right...” she said. “...shall start getting ready to visit the Robson's?”

“We're not due 'til three.” Mark said, glancing at the time.

“I know but you need a bath and a shave before you get dressed.” she told him. “When was the last time you shaved your legs?” she asked.

“The day before yesterday.”

“Oh well they should be OK.” she replied, suggesting a quick shower instead. “We've got your make-up to do remember and we don't want to be late.”

“Do I have to wear make-up?” he frowned.

“You're wearing a dress, so yes.” his mother stated.

Mark sighed before taking himself upstairs, grumbling “Why is she making me wear a dress today of all days?!” to no one but himself as he grabbed his bathrobe. He showered and shaved his face as closely as he dare before conditioning and rinsing his hair. On returning to his bedroom, Mark found the dress laid out on his bed, along with his new pair of festive tights and some 'nice' underwear.

His mother popped her head around the door. “I've put your vanity on the desk.” she told him. He responded with a blank expression. “Your new mirror.” she said in layman's terms.

“Oh er... thanks.” he gulped, seeing the mirror and his new handbag on his desk. “Do I have to wear those undies?” he asked, turning his eyes back to his bed. The set she'd selected is one he's hardly worn because it's far too lacy; ivory lace boy shorts with a satin front panel and a matching vest with wide lace shoulder straps. A little lace trim he's used to but lots of lace is something he'd rather avoid and apart from the stretchy satin front panels, this underwear set is all lace.

“Nice outerwear means nice underwear.” she told him. “Let me know when you've done your foundation and I’ll help you do your eyes.”

“OK.” he mournfully replied. Mark sighed at the dress but knew he'd have to wear it whether he liked it or not. At least it's not an infantile style like many boys frocks are so it could have been far far worse. He pulled on the lacy boy shorts before removing his robe and pulling on the matching vest. Mark couldn't help but look at his reflection in the small oval mirror on his desk. He knows it's boys underwear but why does it have to be so girlie, he thought as he perched on the edge of his bed and opened the new pair of tights he'd been gifted.

Whilst there's nothing unusual about boys wearing tights as a thermal base layer under long pants, Mark, like most other boys would never choose to wear a pair that could be seen. However he did have to wear a pair of really thin skin coloured tights at that wedding in summer and felt doubly self conscious because of them. Unlike the tights he wears under his pants in the winter, which are fleece lined and black, these are ivory in colour with a knitted ribbed pattern and a peppering of small glittery snowflakes all over them which will perfectly complement the festive pattern on his dress. After gathering up each leg, he pushed his toes in them and pulled them up to his knees, before inching each leg up over his lacy boy shorts. The ribbed knit stretched around his knees and calves. The snowflakes sparkled and the boy breathed a long deep sigh. He sighed again as he picked up the dress and pulled it on. The polyester velveteen fabric fit snugly around his arms and torso, then flared out into a circle skirt, the hem of which landed a good few inches above his knees.

The thick fabric had a downy texture and a weight that made the frock feel warm and cosy. If it was just a jersey he'd have liked it but it being a dress makes him feel sheepish and self conscious. The glittery snowflake details begin sparsely at the waist and fill the skirt more and more toward the hem. “How are you getting on?” his mother asked as she opened his bedroom door. “Ooh that does look nice.” she smiled. “Very festive.”

“I feel stupid.” Mark moaned. “It's too swishy.” he said as the heavy skirt swayed this way and that as he moved. “...and it shows my vest.” he noticed. The dress has long sleeves and a broad 'boat' neck that leaves the broad lacy straps of his vest on display.

“That's why I chose that vest.” his mother told him. “It's the little details that make a big difference.” she said, before complimenting the sparkly pattern on his new tights. “Are they nice and warm?” she asked.

“Ask me in a bit when we're out in the freezing cold.” Mark dryly replied.

“I'm sure you'll be fine.” she told him. “It's only a ten minute walk.”

“In heels!” he reminded her.

“You'll be fine.” she stated. “Walking in heels is like riding a bike.” she claimed. “I haven't worn them for years but I'm sure I still could.” she said. “Shall we do your make-up?” she suggested.

“Yeah I guess.” Mark glumly said.

His mother stroked his cheek and asked if he'd had a good close shave. Mark nodded. “Good boy. Sit down. Foundation first.” she said. “I'll see what I can do with your hair.”

Mark sat and his mother stood behind him, combing his damp hair whilst he applied the pale foundation powder. First she combed it back off his forehead, then in a centre parting. His hair is styled in a typically boyish short back and side with only the fringe to play with which doesn't leave much leeway. “How about that?” she asked.

“I'm not keen.” he said, seeing his hair parted dead centre and dead straight, with a diamanté hair slide placed symmetrically on each side. His mother said she'd like to get the hairdryer and tongs out and give it some body but his hood would ruin it. “Can't I just have a side parting or something... without any slides.” he requested.

“You need something in it.” she told him, adding that the diamanté slides go nicely with the glittery snowflakes on his dress and tights. As requested, she combed it in a side parting and held his fringe high off his forehead with the two slides. “That looks nice.” she said. It looked better to Mark than it did with the clips placed symmetrically so he apathetically agreed. Then she began faffing around his ear.

“What's that?” he asked in a whiny voice.

“Magnetic ear studs.” she said, revealing a single small sparkly stud on his earlobe. “Earrings without the piercings.” she added, before asking if he'd done his foundation.

“Yeah.” he replied, looking up at his mother for approval. She told him that he needs to powder his forehead as well. “I hope Jacob doesn't laugh at me.” he frowned, smearing the fine pale powder over his forehead.

“I'm sure he won't.” his mother said, stepping around him and attaching the other magnetic earring. “Right... this is where it gets a little bit tricky.” she said, emptying the little cosmetic bag on his desk.

Mark looked at his reflection, turning his head a little so he could she how the tiny ear studs twinkled in the light. His mother arranged the various cosmetic items in front of him. “I don't know what to do with any of this stuff.” Mark gulped.

“You know what to do with these.” his mother said, standing the two lipsticks on end and putting them to one side. “Eye shadow is for your eyelids.” she said, opening the little plastic palette. “Mascara is for your lashes.” she said, revealing the tiny brush. “...and this is the eye-liner.” she told him. “The trick is learning not to flinch.” she added, demonstrating on herself before handing the pencil to her son.

“I thought you was going to do it for me?” he hesitantly said.

“It's best that you learn to do it yourself.” she replied. “We've still got a couple of hours so there's no rush.” she added. Much of the following hour was spent with Mark being coached in the art of applying eye make-up and after many flinches and failures and an awful lot of wipes, he finally managed to apply eye-liner, eye-shadow and mascara. He gazed in the mirror and fluttered his lashes. “I didn’t' think it'd make me look so different.” he said.

“You don't look that different.” his mother replied. “But you do look lovely.” she told him. Mark shyly lowered his eyes and they turned upon the two lipsticks. He asked which he should wear. “Whichever you like.” she replied. “I got you a pale pinky one and a darker nutty shade.”

He was naturally opposed to the pinky one so selected the shade she described as 'nutty'. “Don't you think it's weird Mum?” he said after removing the lid and winding up the stick to reveal a reddy brown colour that reminds him of a conker. “One minute women are shunning all this stuff and the next they're saying it's for boys.”

“It's just a case of the times changing.” she replied. “When women were subservient to men we were encouraged to prettify ourselves. The pendulum's just swung the other way, that's all.” she told him. “Plus, there's nothing new about males wearing make-up... just look at the glam rockers and new romantics in the nineteen-seventies and eighties.”

“But they weren't wearing dresses.” Mark replied.

“Some were... but it was different back then.” she said. “It's a lot more normal now.”

“It's not that normal.” Mark gulped. “If it was I wouldn't be so nervous.”

“You're only nervous because you're not used to looking so nice.” she said. “On reflection I suppose I should have started putting you in dresses a couple of years ago when they first appeared in the boys' department.” she figured. “You'd feel a lot more confident now if I had.”

“I'm glad you didn't... they were so prissy.” he retorted, recalling the infantile styles that initially entered the boy's clothing departments. “At least this is normal.” Mark said, running his hand over his thick velveteen skirt. “Relatively.” he added.

“So you approve then?” his mother asked.

“It could have been worse.” Mark replied. “It's not so bad bearing in mind some of the frocks some boys have to wear.” he sighed.

“Well I guess hoping you'd be over the moon with it was a bit much to expect.” his mother said. “Are you going to apply that lipstick?” she prompted.

“Er....” Mark gulped. He regularly wears a moisturising lip balm so the application isn't unusual, what he's not used to is seeing his lips painted a different colour and the change from his natural lip tone to the reddy brown is quite drastic. “Does it look OK?” he meekly asked. “Or should I try the other one?”

“It looks perfect. I was going to suggest that one.” his mother told him. “But you can wear the pink if you prefer... it's up to you.”

“Nah this'll do.” he sheepishly replied.

“Now make sure you don't rub your eyes otherwise you'll ruin it.” she advised. Mark gulped and nodded. “Are you feeling a bit more confident now?” his mother asked.

“No.” Mark bluntly stated. He looked up at his mother pleadingly. “I can't believe I'm going round to Jacob's wearing a dress and make-up.” he gulped. “I suppose it's too late to say I want to wear something else.”

“I think you're just getting a little bit of stage fright.” his mother said. “It's not unusual to get nervous wearing a new outfit for the first time.” she claimed.

“It's more than a little bit of stage fright.” Mark apprehensively replied. “I'm cacking myself.” he told her. “I hope Jacob doesn't tease me.”

“I'm certain he won't” his mother assured.

“Maybe not today but he might when we go back to school.” Mark said.

“And I'm sure plenty of boys at school all have dresses of their own.” his mother assured.

“If they do they're keeping quiet about it.” Mark grumbled.

“Well you know what boys are like.” his mother replied, before suggesting he pack up his make-up as she picked up his new handbag. “Where's your wallet at?” she asked.

“Err... in my coat pocket.” he replied, nodding to the back of his bedroom door where it hung. “Why?”

“So I can put your money and your bank card and whatever else in your purse.” she said.

“I'd rather carry on using my wallet.” Mark grimaced at the dainty little purse, clad in shiny green satin. “I won't need it today anyway.” he added as his mother rooted through his coat pockets until she found his wallet.

“Well I didn't buy it just to be left unused.” she said. “Plus it matches your bag and your frock.” she added as she transferred the few notes and his bank card into it. Mark began to bundle the cosmetics into the little bag they came from. “You won't need the lipstick you're not wearing.” she told him.

“I wont need any of it will I?” he retorted.

“When you're wearing make-up, you carry make-up.” she informed him. “You'll at least have to re-apply your lippy.” she said. “It won't stay on forever.” she added. “Especially if you keep biting your lip like that.” she giggled as he grimaced. Having dropped his little satin purse into his green velvet handbag, she held it open so he could put his make-up bag in too. “You'll need a pack of tissues too.”

“I haven't got any.”

“Well it's a good job I have.” she said. “Come on.” she chirped, handing him the dainty little bag.

It has a pair of small hooped handles rather than a shoulder strap. It felt uncomfortable hanging from his fingers. “Do I have to take this?” he whined. “I feel like such a girl.” he moaned. His mother gave him one of those looks. “Well you know what I mean.” he said. “Boy's don't use handbags.”

“They do when they haven't got any pockets to put their things in.” his mother informed him.

“I'll have my coat pockets.”

“You'll be wearing your cape.” she told him.

“I'd forgotten about that.” he frowned. “It'll never be warm enough... it barely covers my elbows.”

“It'll be fine.” his mother grinned. “I can't wait to see how it looks.”

“I'll freeze.” he frowned.

“You'll be as warm as toast.” his mother claimed. “It's only a ten minute walk.”

“In the middle of winter with just a pair of tights covering my legs.”

“We managed perfectly well when we wore skirts and frocks.” she reminded him. “...and we were supposed to be weaker sex.” she added.

They still had an hour before heading round to the Robson household for Christmas dinner and Mark donned his new shoes so he could get himself accustomed to wearing heels. “Do they fit OK?” his mother asked as he stood. “Not too tight?”

“No they fit fine.” Mark replied. “Apart from being high.” he said. “I feel really tall.”

“You said that last time too.” she recalled before suggesting he make them both a coffee.

Mark cautiously strode to the kitchen in his new high heeled boots. Dressing like a girl feels so very different than wearing boys clothes and it's been a good while since he wore a skirt. Unlike the high heeled sandals he had to wear in the summer, his new boots make hardly any noise at all on the tiled kitchen floor, but they do make the kitchen worktops seem significantly lower. In the days running up to that wedding, Mark's mother had him wearing the high heeled shoes she'd loaned him as often as possible so he got quite accustomed to them. Today is the first time he's worn heels since then and it's all coming back to him; back straight, head up, walk from the hip and know where your heel is. His new shoes, or ankle boots which is what they really are resemble walking boots, albeit walking boots with a high chunky heel. The green suede matches his frock and his ivory tights lead neatly into their sheepskin lining, and having laces rather than buckles, they're not really that girlie... unlike the sandals he wore for George & Betty's wedding. His weighty frock swished and swirled as he walked from fridge to cupboard to kettle. His knitted tights slid and stretched over his legs. For a dress, it didn't feel so bad but he's indoors with only his doting mother to see him. It's going to feel very different when he's out in the cold December air and when visiting the Robson's and his schoolmate Jacob for Christmas dinner. With that in mind, Mark begins to feel nervous once more.

“Ooh thanks Love.” his mother smiles as he hands her a nice hot cup of coffee. He placed his own cup down before sitting, scooping his frock first and keeping his knees together. “Those glittery tights do look nice.” she tells him, and not for the first time.

Mark gulped and smiled. He wasn't at all keen on them, but didn't want to appear ungrateful on Christmas day of all days. He reached for his coffee and took a sip. “You'd think they'd be able to make one that doesn't come off like that.” he said, noticing the imprint of lipstick on the rim of his mug.

“They probably could.” his mother said. “But then you wouldn't have to keep re-applying it and they wouldn't sell as much.” she cynically suggested.

“Yeah true.” Mark replied. “Don't you miss wearing make-up?” he asked.

“Not really.” she replied. “I used to like it but it was a chore because we were expected to wear it all day everyday... not just for special occasions like boys do.” she said. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“I don't know.” he replied. “It's weird because I can't see it, but I know it's there.” he said. “I can feel the mascara on my lashes.” he added, wondering if that was just an illusion or not. A tiny amount of mascara can't weigh anything at all but he can feel it.

“They look lovely and long.” his mother said as he fluttered them. “I'll bet the young women at school would be queuing up for a date if they could see how nice you look.”

“Oh I dunno.” Mark bashfully replied. “We're not allowed make-up at school.” he stated.

“No but... out of school.” his mother said. “Going 'round town on the weekends, trips to the cinema or the bowling alley.”

“They're hardly special occasions Mum.”

“No but if you want to stand out from the other boys...” she mused.

“Hmm.” Mark gulped as he visualised a scene; Saturday afternoon in market square, dolled up to the nines as he totters about on his heels, swinging his dainty little handbag with some girls from school cooing over him, and some boys splitting their sides in laughter.

They soon finished their coffee and Mark's mother sent him to the kitchen to wash the mugs. Once that was done, she asked him if he'd wrapped Jacob's Christmas gift, which Mark had. It was up in his room and his mother suggested he fetch it. It may be a good six months since the last time he wore high heels but they don't feel as awkward or ungainly as he'd expected. Maybe his mother was right about high heeled shoes being like riding a bike? Once you learn you don't forget. He trotted down the stairs with with Jacob's gift and noted how his skirt swished and swayed. His mother had assembled the rest of the gifts she'd bought for Jacob's parents, sister and little brother and put them in a festive themed paper bag, along with a big box of chocolate truffles for the table. “Have you got your handbag?” she asked her son as they prepared to leave.

“Yeah.” Mark replied, grabbing it. “I suppose I should redo my lipstick.” he sheepishly suggested as he opened the bag.

“I was just about to say that.” his mother said. She felt so proud as he timidly applied his lipstick then sought approval. “Lovely.” she told him. She donned her coat and handed Mark his new hooded cape that matches his dress. It's a quarter cape that hangs around his shoulders, down to his elbows and fastens with a single button. Whilst its fabric is thick and cosy, its short length feels inadequate and its vintage style feels overtly feminine. “Where's those new mittens?” his mother asked as he picked up his handbag.

“I was gonna wear my gloves.” he replied. Being bright blue, his mother told him that his trusty winter gloves wouldn't go with his outfit and since the woollen mittens one of his aunts had gifted him are grey with green cuffs, they'll look much nicer. “But they won't be as warm.” he whined.

“Mittens are warmer than gloves.” his mother told him. Mark muttered that he hasn't worn mittens since he was a little kid as he slid them on. They looked and felt infantile. His mother grabbed the bag of gifts and they walked into the hallway. She parked him in front of the large mirror and told him that he looked very festive. Mark gulped and sighed at his reflection. The glittery snowflakes on his skirt sparkled, and landing halfway down his thigh, left much of his ivory tights on display. They also sparkled as he turned this way and that. “I look like a girl Mum.” he frowned.

“You look nothing like a girl.” she told him, claiming that he looked like a fashionable teenage boy. “Put your hood up... and be careful you don't mess your hair.” she told him as she opened the door.

The oversized hood covered his short boyish hair and framed his painted face. “I'm really nervous Mum.” he timidly said as he looked outside.

“What on earth for?” his mother asked. “It's Christmas so there'll be hardly anyone out.”

“I know but...” Mark gulped. “..I'm just not used to looking like this.”

“You look fabulous Mark, and if it's Jacob you're worried about, I think if anything he'll be jealous of how nice you look.” she claimed. Mark was unconvinced by his mother's supposition. “Come on, we're letting all the heat out.” his mother said.

Mark stepped out into the chilly December air. An inch of snow covered the lawn. The leaves in the trees and hedgerow were tinged with frost. The garden path is white and potentially icy. The cold nibbled right through his tights. “It's freezing.” he said as his mother locked the door.

“You'll be fine once we get moving.” his mother said. “And I expect it's just your legs.”

Mark nodded. His rugged soles sank into the frosty snow with a satisfying crunch and his breath condensed into an icy cloud. He shifted his handbag to the crook of his elbow and huddled his arms in close, cupping his elbows in his mittened hands. “Brrrr.”

Optimistically, it's a mere ten minute walk to the Robson's but realistically, it's a good fifteen minutes. Walking cautiously through the thin layer of snow in his high heeled boots would likely add another few minutes. His hooded cape felt warm and cosy and his thick velvet frock did its job in holding off the cold, but landing mid thigh, he only had his knitted tights to protect him from there down to his ankles. By the end of the road he'd acclimatised somewhat and it being Christmas day, the streets were practically deserted. His nerves ebbed a little but not a lot.

Meanwhile at the Robson household, Mark's school friend Jacob is becoming increasingly nervous. “Charlotte and Mark should be here any minute.” Jacob's mother told him. “...so can you get this wrapping paper tidied up?” she said before checking on her husband who was busy preparing their festive feast. “Alfie, will you tidy up your toys.” she instructed. “And you can set up your laptop later Claire.”

Jacob stuffed the tattered and torn shreds of wrapping paper into a bag and helped his little brother tidy his toys. He'd long since stowed most of his own gifts in his bedroom so didn't have those to worry about.

Mark and his mother strolled across the park. “It does look lovely in the snow.” she commented, before pointing out some children in the distance sledging down a modest slope. “Have you warmed up a bit now?” she asked.

“Yeah a bit.” Mark said. “Still nervous though. Jacob's never seen me wearing a dress and make-up before.”

“He's seen the wedding photos.” his mother reminded him.

“In real life I mean.” Mark gulped, recalling how Jacob teased him for wearing a skirt, blouse and heeled sandals at the summer wedding.

They crunched their way through the shallow snow and eventually exited the park, crossed the road and turned onto the street on which his school friend lives. A hoard of butterflies erupted in Mark's tummy they neared the Robson's house. The grand entrance to their home features a glazed front door flanked with leaded windows on either side, through which their hallway can be seen. “Doesn't it look lovely.” his mother said, complimenting the Christmas decoration in their large hallway.

“That'll be Charlotte and Mark.” Jacob's mother said as the doorbell rang. “Will you let them in Jacob.” she told her son.

“Oh not me Mum!” Jacob whined. “Can't Claire do it?”

“Claire's upstairs.” his mother said, and straighten your socks, they've gone wonky.” she told him. Mark huffed and puffed as he straightened his socks. “Why don't you let them in?” he whined.

“Because I’m telling you to let them in.” his mother snapped. Jacob swallowed his pride and tried to suppress his nerves as he reluctantly entered the hallway. He could see Mark and his mother Charlotte through the glazed front door and Mark could see Jacob too. Mark's jaw dropped as his friend opened the door, Jacob's cheeks looked as crimson as his dress!

“Jacob you look lovely!” Marks mother smiled as she stepped inside. “Mark's wearing a dress too.” she proudly stated as her son wiped his feet on the doormat before stepping inside.

“Yours looks better than mine.” Jacob frowned.

“You both look delightful.” Mark's mother insisted as Jacob's mother entered the hallway to greet her guests. “Merry Christmas Lydia.”

“Merry Christmas Charlotte!” Lydia replied, giving her friend a hug. She greeted Mark and complimented his dress. Bashfully, Mark thanked her as he removed his hood. “You hair looks nice.” she commented.

“Mum did it.” Mark bashfully told her, glancing nervously at his friend. Jacob's mousey blond hair is in short lose curls and decorated with a white headband sporting a red bow. His dress, unlike Mark's relatively sedate frock is very fancy and very infantile; pillar box red with a white bib, trimmed with lace and a fancy collar with a pussy bow and short puffed sleeves. Its skirt is shorter than Mark's with a layers of white lace protruding another inch or two. His pale legs are hairless and clad in a pair of knitted knee socks with frilly lace around the tops, and on his feet, a pair of shiny red Mary Jane’s with a modest kitten heel.

“Shall we take our shoes off?” Charlotte asked.

“Oh no... we're fully laminated on the ground floor.” Lydia replied as Mark unbuttoned his cape. “That looks nice as warm.” she commented as he removed it, before complimenting his tights and footwear.

“Thanks.” Mark shyly replied.

“Your make-up looks lovely too.” Lydia said. “Jacob refused to wear his.” she sneered. “Come through.”

Mark and his mother walked through their large lounge where little Alfie sat playing with his doll's house, wearing a frock that matches his brothers, only with plain white tights rather than fancy knee socks. Claire, Jacob's thirteen year old sister is wearing jeans and a jumper. She sniggers at Mark before telling him how pretty he looks. Jacob's dad pops his head in and greets the guests. He's wearing trousers and a shirt and a white bib apron. “So... did you get lots of lovely presents Mark?” Lydia asked as he sheepishly sat on the sofa; scooping his dress, keeping his knees together and resting his dainty little handbag on his lap.

“Er, yes.” Mark gulped, listing an alarm clock, some books, his mittens and some gift vouchers. Then his mother prompted him to list his dress and tights and shoes, his handbag and some make-up, before asking Jacob what he'd been gifted.

“Just clothes and stuff.” Jacob mournfully replied.

“I love those socks.” Charlotte said, describing them as cute, before adding that his red shoes look lovely with his red dress.

“Thanks.” Jacob blushed.

Jacob's mother pointed out that he and Alfie are wearing matching dresses. “Yes I noticed.” Charlotte grinned. “You both look delightful.”

Mark and Jacob glanced at each other and gulped. They both felt utterly embarrassed as their mothers complimented their outfits. Mark pitied his friend but was thankful that he wasn't having to endure such a prissy outfit. Lydia tells of how she put Jacob's hair in rags last night to make it nice and curly today. Charlotte says she couldn't do much with Mark's hair because it's a little too short. “It looks nice though.” Lydia complimented. “I love those diamanté barrettes... and you've had your ears pierced!” she noticed.

“They're err magnetic.” Mark confessed, adding that they're his mothers.

“They look lovely. Very sparkly.” Lydia complimented, before commenting on the glittery snowflakes that decorate his dress and tights. Mark did his best to receive the comments and compliments as graciously as possible but they made him feel like an object; something inert on which eye-catching things are displayed... much like the Christmas tree in the window. It was the same in the summer when he had to wear a skirt and heels. People commented on the colour of his lips, his blouse and skirt, his shoes and hair and his 'lovely long legs'. Mark's mother once again compliments Jacob's appearance, but in greater detail; the heart shaped buckles on his shoes, the tiny white polka-dots on the bow in his hair and how his loose curls frame his 'pretty' face. Jacob is clearly mortified, but tries his best to put a brave face on.

Charlotte turns her attention to little Alfie, or rather, his outfit and then toward Claire who'd been gifted a new laptop, a scientific calculator, hat, scarf and gloves, some jeans and winter boots, some book tokens and pyjamas. Six year old Alfie got a dolls house and some play make-up, lots of dresses, shoes and tights and a lovely nightie. “You got a nightie too didn't you Jacob.” his mother added.

“Yes.” Jacob glumly replied, before being told to ask how his dad was getting on preparing the Christmas dinner. He stood and sheepishly grabbed the back of his frock before tottering toward the kitchen. His kitten heels clacked noisily on the laminate floor.

“This'll be the first time you've seen Jacob wearing a dress won't it Mark.” Lydia stated. Mark nodded. “He's got a wardrobe full but he's still very shy about them.” she added.

“That's understandable.” Mark replied. “I've only got this and I'm quite shy about it.”

“He was a bag of nerves leaving the house.” Charlotte stated. “I told him he had nothing to worry about, knowing Jacob would be wearing a dress too.” she added.

“You could have told me.” Mark moaned.

“It was a surprise.” his mother told him. “Plus if he'd decided not to wear a dress you'd have felt let down.”

“Oh there's no chance of that.” Lydia replied. “I packed all his old clothes away so he's only got nice clothes now.” she proudly stated. “He's even got a pinafore for school next term.” she told them, adding that it wasn't a Christmas gift but that it is about time he dressed like a modern boy should. “I was just telling Mark that you'll be wearing a pinafore for school next term.” Lydia said to Jacob as he returned, before asking how his father was getting on with the Christmas dinner.

“It'll be about half an hour.” Jacob said.

“Well why don't you start laying the table?” Lydia suggested. “You'll help won't you Mark?”

“Err... yeah, sure.” Mark said, sheepishly standing and wondering what to do with his handbag. Having earlier told him to keep it with him at all times, his mother told him that it'd be OK left on the sofa. Mark bashfully followed Jacob to the dining area, well out of earshot of their mothers. Jacob opened a drawer and removed the posh cutlery. There was a frosty silence until Mark asked if Jacob knew he'd be wearing a dress. Jacob nodded. “I didn't know you would be.” Mark added. “I was crapping myself all the way over here.”

“At least yours isn't really prissy.” Jacob frowned. “And Mum's chucked all my boy clothes away.”

“Yeah she said.” Mark replied as they began laying the table. “I hope my mother doesn't have any ideas like that.” he fearfully mused. “When did she do that?” he asked.

“Most of 'em went about five weeks ago.” Jacob said. “All I had left was my school uniform and that went when we broke up for Christmas.” he added as he grabbed a pile of placemats “I'm dreading going back.”

“I would be too.” Mark agreed. A few boys at school wear what they consider the girl's uniform but most of them are in the first and second years. Only a small handful of boys in the fifth year dress like girls, although all the girls in the entire school wear trousers and have done for as long as they've been in high school. “Did you get any cool prezzies?” Mark asked as Jacob put the mats in position, hoping to change the topic.

“Nah just loads of girl stuff.” Jacob frowned. “But Mum insists it's all boy's stuff.” he mournfully added. “You?” he asked.

“A few.” Mark replied, listing the alarm clock, the numerous high street vouchers and the woollen mittens. “...and a book about sci-fi movies... that's quite cool.” he added.

“The only book I got is a hair & make-up book.” Jacob frowned. “It's bad enough having to wear dresses... there's no way I'm going to start wearing make-up as well.”

“I didn't want to either but Mum insisted.” Mark replied. “How did you curl your hair?” he asked.

“Mum tied it in rags.” Jacob glumly replied. “I hardly slept a wink last night.” he claimed, looking up toward his headful of short loose curls and sighing.

“How does that work?” Mark asked. Jacob described having a small section of his hair rolled into a strip of cotton then tied in a knot, over and over and over again until all of his hair was rolled into knotted rags and left over night. “No wonder you couldn't sleep.” Mark commiserated. “I'd have been the same if I knew I’d be dressing like this today.” he added. “I didn't know I was getting a dress until I unwrapped it this morning.” Mark frowned. “Are there some napkins too?” he quizzed, having laid all the cutlery.

“Yeah.” Jacob said, pointing to the drawer they should be in.

“You boys are being ever so domesticated.” Mark's mother said as she sauntered over. “Where did you learn to do that?” she asked her son as he folded the napkins into an upright fan.

“In housekeeping class at school.” he replied.

“Ah of course.” Charlotte smiled. “Have you enjoyed the Christmas break so far Jacob?”

“It's been OK.” he glumly answered. “I miss wearing pants.” he frowned.

“You look nice in a dress though.” she said, looking at his bare legs and fancy knee socks. “Are you going to wear socks or tights when you go back to school.” she asked.

“Tights I hope.” he frowned. “But I'd rather wear trousers.”

“Well you've got to move with the times.” Charlotte said, casting her eyes toward Mark.

“Dinner will be five minutes if you want to get yourselves seated.” Jacob's dad announced from the kitchen door.

“Will you help Alfie with his pinny Jacob.” Lydia told her son. “There's one for you as well Mark.” she added.

“One what?” Mark quizzed.

“A pinafore... to keep your dress clean whilst you're eating.” Lydia replied.

Jacob removed some white items from a hanger and handed one to Mark. He then beckoned his little brother over and put him in a Victorian style cotton pinafore. It completely covers his dress and fastens with three buttons high on the back. Marks mother took his pinafore and held it for him to slip his hands through its arm holes. “How is this a pinafore?” he asked as his mother turned him around and fastened its buttons. “It's nothing like the school pinafores.”

“You're thinking of a pinafore dress. This is a pinafore apron.” his mother replied as he turned to face her. “It's like you've stepped back in time.” she smiled.

“Yeah... to when these really were girl's clothes.” Mark frowned as they all seated themselves.

“Actually lots of boys wore dresses in Victorian and Edwardian times.” Lydia told him, claiming that there's plenty of old photographs on the internet. “They wore them for church and Sunday school, summer fêtes and holiday outings, all sorts of reasons.” she reckoned.

“I've never heard of that.” Mark replied.

“Maybe Claire can find the pictures on her laptop after dinner.” Lydia suggested.

“I'll be busy installing all the software I need for my studies.” Claire replied. “Anyway Jacob's already seen them. Haven't you.”

“Yeah.” Jacob glumly said.

“So what do you want to do after you've left school Claire?” Charlotte asked.

“Go to university.”

“Obviously.” Charlotte replied, before asking what she'd like to study.

“Engineering.” Claire confidently replied. “Or management.” she added.

“You can always do both, a bright young woman like you.” Charlotte suggested. “Mark hasn't got much idea what he wants to do.” she said.

“I know what I’d like to do but chances are I won't be able to.” Mark replied.

“He has this wild idea about working in the movie industry doing special effects.” his mother told everyone.

“That'd be well cool.” Jacob said.

“Yes but he's got to be realistic. There's no movie studios around here and he'd have to go to college first, then get the relevant industry training... you're best focusing on doing a domestic science course and getting a cleaning job somewhere.” Charlotte explained.

“But I don't want to be a cleaner.” Mark groaned as Jacob was called into the kitchen.

“Well there's not much else for boys these days.” his mother reminded him. “And once you're married you'll probably be a house-husband like Harry.” she said as Jacob's dad appeared with plate of steaming food in each hand. Jacob followed, also carrying plates of steaming food.

“Someone mentioning my name?” Jacob's dad said.

“We were just talking about job prospects for boys these days.” Lydia replied. “They don't have the same choices young women have and will most likely end up a house-husband like you.”

“Aye... it's all changed since when I was a lad.” Harry said as he set one plate down in front of his wife and the next in front of Charlotte. “Back then we had a good chance of getting into university, but little chance of getting a graduate job afterwards.” he frowned. Jacob put a plate in front of his sister and another in front of Mark before following his dad back to the kitchen to fetch the remaining plated meals. With dinner served and everyone seated, they all tucked in to a scrumptious Christmas dinner.

Roast potatoes, roast parsnips, mashed carrot & swede, mashed potato, cabbage, sprouts, pigs in blankets and roast turkey... all doused in a thick meaty gravy. “This is wonderful Harry.” Charlotte commented. “How do you keep the turkey so moist and succulent?” she asked. “It's always dry when I cook it.” she added.

Harry jovially declined to reveal his culinary secrets. “I've been sending him to cookery classes.” Lydia proudly revealed. “Doesn't Mark do any cooking at home?” she asked.

“He helps with the peeling and chopping and washing up.” Charlotte said, before adding “I must say I do like the boys' pinafores... I was a little worried that Mark would get gravy on his new dress but now I can relax.” she smiled. “Did you buy them locally.”

“Jacob made them at his sewing club.” Lydia replied.

“Jacob goes to a sewing club!” Mark silently exclaimed.

“You go to a sewing club?” Charlotte said. Jacob nodded, albeit not very proudly. “Well you must be very clever, making all these pinafores.” she complimented, yet also patronising the boy somewhat. To be fair, with the frilly trim around the arm holes and more around the hem, they would have taken some needlework know-how.

“He made his father's apron and the napkins too.” Lydia proudly added, before explaining that he's only been going a couple of months.

“So what's the best thing you've made?” Charlotte asked the boy.

“I dunno... Dad's apron was probably the most complicated.” Jacob shyly answered.

“There's your modesty shorts too.” his mother said. “A lot of work went into those.”

“What are modesty shorts?” Mark ignorantly asked.

The answer made both he and Jacob blush, but only Jacob's blushes showed since he wasn't wearing foundation to hide them. Modesty shorts, it was explained, are a small pair of shorts to wear with short skirts or dresses which conceal ones panties when one bends over or the wind catches and lifts their skirt. To Mark they seemed like a sensible idea until the garment was described in more detail; having elasticated legs trimmed with frilly lace, then row upon row of even more frilly lace covering the bottom half of the shorts on both back and front... they sounded horrendous.

After dinner, they pulled crackers and groaned at the jokes. Some contained paper crowns and some contained plastic tiaras which the boys had to wear. Little Alfie wasn't at all fazed but teenagers Jacob and Mark felt ridiculous having to wear a little plastic tiara. Next came the gifts which Charlotte and Mark had brought. Jacob was delighted with the inexpensive moon lamp that Mark had given him. It was the only gift he'd been given that wasn't something prissy. There were also gifts from the Robson's and Jacob discreetly apologised to Mark as he unwrapped his gift. “Oh thanks Jacob.” Mark said, feigning gratitude.

“What is it?” Mark's mother asked. “Oh lovely... you haven't got any nail varnish have you.” she smiled. Mark perused the gift; a long plastic box containing five small jars of nail varnish in pale pink, candy pink, bright red, pinky red and reddy brown. The packaging claimed it was hard wearing and quick drying and Mark's mother offered to paint their nails after pudding. Both vaguely responded yet neither committed.

They were given a choice of traditional Christmas pudding with brandy sauce, sticky toffee pudding with ice cream and pear & ginger trifle. “Now it's Christmas remember so you're allowed more than one pudding.” Harry said as he prepared to serve, and after they'd all eaten far too much, Charlotte suggested that Mark help Jacob and his father tackle the mammoth pile of washing up.

Claire fiddled with her laptop, downloading and installing software. Alfie played quietly with his dolls whilst Charlotte & Lydia sat chatting and enjoying a glass of warm mulled wine. “Remember when we were young and Mum used to do everything?” Lydia said. “It's so much easier now the boys are house trained.”

“Yes.” Charlotte smiled, recalling Christmas when she was young. “My mum used to bung everything in the dishwasher.” she said. “Don't you have one?”

“Yes... it's called Harry!” Lydia laughed, before saying such labour saving devices are perfect for single women but when you've got a househusband you need to keep them busy, otherwise they'll get sloppy.

“You've certainly got yourself a good one there.” Charlotte said.

“Yes I have.” Lydia smiled. “...and if you don't find anyone you've always got Mark.” she added before trotting out the old saying a son is a son 'til he finds a wife.

“Yes true.” Charlotte replied. “But seeing him looking so pretty in his dress and make-up, I expect he'll be snapped up quite quickly.”

“He does look nice.” Lydia said.

“As does Jacob... I love his dress, especially with those frilly knee socks.” Charlotte smiled.

“They are very cute.” Lydia said. “Jacob's not keen on them though.”

“Well you know what boys are like.” Charlotte smiled.

“Yes.... they want plain everything.”

“Mark's the same.” Charlotte concurred. She glanced at Alfie playing on the floor. His frock has managed to work its way up to his waist, revealing the pair of extremely frilly panties he's wearing over his tights. “Are those the modesty shorts that Jacob made?” she quizzed.

“Yes.” Lydia replied. “They're lovely aren't they.”

“Divine!” Charlotte replied. “I used to dress my dolls in knickers like those when I was little.”

“Hmm.” Lydia smiled, quietly adding. “Just be careful what you say... boys don't like hearing the K word.”

Overhearing this, Claire loudly stated, “Alfie you're flashing your knickers!”

“They're not knickers!” Little Alfie moaned, shuffling his dress down beyond them and mumbling “Boys don't wear knickers.”

“Yes they do.” Claire stated. “Knickers is short for knickerbockers which are boys clothes.”

“What's that?” Jacob asked, returning from the kitchen. Mark followed. Claire reiterated her point about Alfie's knickers being a boys garment. “They're not knickers they're modesty shorts.” Jacob insisted.

Claire grabbed at her brother's short dress and lifted it. “Well they look like knickers to me.” she giggled, revealing the pair of very frilly 'modesty shorts' he also wore beneath his dress. Mark's jaw dropped at the sight of them.

“Hey get off!” Jacob yelped, leaping away from his sister's reach.

“Oh stop being such a fuss pot Jacob.” his mother said. “Your shorts are made to be seen.” she reminded him.

“But that doesn't mean she can go lifting my dress up!” Jacob whined.

“I know... but it's not as if you've only got your panties on.” his mother stated, before asking if the kitchen had been tidied.

“Yeah... dad's just wiping the worktops.” Jacob replied.

“Thank you for helping Mark.” Lydia said.

“Yes well done Mark.” his mother added as he perched on the sofa beside her. She grabbed his handbag and put it in his hands. “You might want to redo your lipstick.” she quietly suggested.

“Do I have to?” Mark shyly asked.

“Well you've just eaten, so yes.” his mother told him.

Sheepishly he opened the bag and removed the small make-up bag, and from that he retrieved the compact (for its mirror), and his lipstick. “Oh don't all stare at me!” he protested when he realised that everyone but Alfie was watching him.

“I think Jacob wants to see how it's done... then he might start wearing his own.” Lydia replied.

“Have you got some make-up?” Charlotte asked. Jacob gulped and blushed.

“He's got loads.” Claire informed her.

“But he's reluctant to try it.” Lydia added.

“I don't know what to do with it.” Jacob muttered.

“You've got your make-up for boys book.” his mother reminded him.

“Yeah but I only got that today.” Jacob replied.

“Maybe Mark can show you.” Lydia said.

“Mum did mine.” Mark claimed

“You did it yourself.” his mother stated.

“Yeah but you told me what to do... I wouldn't have had a clue otherwise.” Mark said.

“Well I can show you what to do Jacob.” Charlotte offered. “It needn't be the works... just some lipstick and foundation, to help hide your blushes.” she suggested. “It'll only take a few minutes.”

“Oh that's kind of you Charlotte.” Lydia said.

Jacob wasn't so keen. “It's bad enough having to wear a dress. I don't want to wear make-up as well.”

“You're beginning to sound awfully ungrateful Jacob.” Lydia stated. “On Christmas day of all days.” she added.

“Sorry.” Jacob said. “It's just hard you know.” he frowned. “I'm not used to all this stuff.” he said, glaring down at his infantile attire. “I'm used to long trousers and no frills.”

“Well women wear the trousers these days Jacob.” his sister stated. “And there's nothing you can do about it!” she snorted.

“It wasn't so long ago we both wore trousers.” Jacob grumbled. “Until Mum put all mine in the bin.”

“It was the only way I could get you to wear your dresses.” his mother replied. “And once you've learned to wear them without moaning about them, I'll occasionally let you wear pants again.” she added. “I'll bet Mark didn't moan when he was getting dressed today.”

“I did.” Mark told her as he put his make-up bag back in his handbag (having discreetly applied it when everyone was talking to Jacob). “I'd rather wear boys clothes.”

“You are wearing boy's clothes.” Claire interjected.

“You know what I mean though.” Mark replied.

“Yes but you can't fight progress.” Claire retorted.

“Claire's right Mark.” his mother said. “And you didn't moan that much when you were getting ready today.” she claimed, adding “Not so much I had to threaten to take your pants away.”

“But his dress is nice.” Jacob said.

“And so is yours Jacob.” Charlotte replied. “A very different style but lovely none-the-less.” she said. “In fact I’d love to get a photo of you both.”

“Oh no Mum.” Mark frowned.

“Oh go on.” she pestered. “You didn't think I wouldn't take a photo of you wearing your first dress did you?”

“Didn't you get him one in the summer... for a wedding or something?” Lydia quizzed.

“That was just a skirt.” Charlotte replied. “...and one of those reverse shirts, with the buttons up the back.” she added.

“Oh I see.” Lydia said. “Well if you do take a photo, I think Jacob should put some make-up on first.” she suggested. “If you wouldn't mind helping him?” she asked Charlotte.

“So long as Jacob doesn't mind.” Charlotte replied. “It does wash off you know.” she said to Jacob.

Jacob glanced at Mark who sheepishly gulped and forced a smile. “OK.” Jacob sighed. With all his make-up in his bedroom, Charlotte and Jacob left and Mark was left alone with Lydia, Claire and little Alfie.

“So apart from your lovely dress, what else did you get for Christmas?” Lydia asked. Mark listed the alarm clock, the book about sci-fi movies and loads of gift vouchers. “So what are going to spend those on?” Lydia asked.

“I don't know yet.” Mark replied. “Most of 'em are clothes vouchers.”

“So maybe another dress or two?” Lydia said. “You need more than one.”

“Hmm.” Mark evasively replied.

Harry entered the lounge with a tray of mulled wine and handed a glass to his wife. “Where's Jacob?” he asked.

“Upstairs with Charlotte. She's showing him how to apply his make-up.” Lydia said.

“I see.” Harry said, setting the other glasses on the coffee table. Its alcohol content is negligible so the kids (except Alfie) are each handed a glass. “I hope you're not going to get any ideas about putting me in frocks.”

“You're too old and too ugly.” Lydia replied, grinning.

“Thank heaven for small mercies.” Harry jovially said as he sat. “How you getting on with the laptop Claire?” he asked.

“Fine thanks.”

“Well if you need any help...”

“From a man?!” Claire interrupted. “I don't think so.”

“In my day we used to have something called equality.” Harry retorted. “Whatever happened to that I wonder?”

“It failed, like the patriarchy.” Claire dryly replied.

“So how are things with you Mark?” Harry asked. “Got yourself a girlfriend yet?”

“No.” Mark replied.

“Your mother thinks you'll be snapped up in no time now you're learning to look pretty.” Lydia told him.

“Oh I don't think I'm ready to start all that.” Mark bashfully said. “I'm only fifteen.”

“In my day we were all playing the dating game by the time we were teenagers.” Harry stated.

“Yes but that was the dark ages Harry when boys were too pushy... it's different now. Patience is a virtue.” Lydia replied. “You do right to wait until a young woman takes notice of you Mark.” she said. “Assertiveness isn't something that young women find attractive these day.”

“I know.” Mark replied. He knows all too well that the consequences of approaching a girl without invitation often ends with a knee in the balls... in fact, even calling a girl of high school age a 'girl' results in being kneed... young woman is the accepted term yet boys are boys well into their twenties.

“Oh!” Lydia chirped, hearing the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Mark gulped as Jacob sheepishly returned. It must be awful having to wear such a short prissy dress, he thought... and those frilly knee socks are absolutely horrendous. Jacob isn't wearing much make-up, a thick layer of pale pinky foundation, some mascara to bring his eyelashes out and a bright red lipstick to match his dress. His mother tells him he looks cute. His dad says he looks fine. Mark says he looks nice and bashfully Jacob says thank you. “Where's the lovely gift Jacob gave you Mark?” Charlotte asked. It was on the sideboard. “Well bring it over to the table and I'll paint your nails.” she told him.

“Then we should all play a game!” Lydia suggested.

“Can I have my nails painted too?” Alfie asked.

“Of course you can.” Charlotte smiled.

“Put your dolls away first Alfie.” Lydia told him.

Harry helped Alfie tidy up his toys whilst Charlotte sat the two reluctant boys at the table. From his nail varnish selection box, she asked Mark which colour he thought he might wear. With a choice of pale pink, candy pink, bright red, pinky red and reddy brown, he opted for the reddy brown colour. “Why that one?” his mother asked.

“I dunno.” Mark shrugged. “It's the nicest.” he diplomatically said, although the real reason was because it was the least abhorrent.

“It's also the one that most closely matches your lipstick.” his mother replied with a smile, before suggesting that Jacob should wear bright red nail varnish because that matches both his lipstick and his dress.

“Does it take long to dry?” Mark timidly asked as one by one, his mother painted his nails.

“Well it says 'quick dry' so we'll just have to wait and see how quickly it dries. Some can take less than a minute and others can take up to ten minutes or longer.” she told him. “When I used to wear nail varnish I used to sniff it and when you can't smell the solvents, it's pretty much dried.” she said.

“Does it come off?” he asked.

“Of course.” she said, adding that she'll have to pick up some nail varnish remover the next time they go shopping. “Now you've got to keep you hand flat until it's dried.” she told him, before painting the other hand. A few moments later, Mark is sat with both hands flat on the table whilst his mother paints Jacob's fingernails in a bright red nail varnish. “Do you bite your nails Jacob?” she knowingly asked. “Well this might help you stop.” she said. “You don't want to be chewing on nail varnish.” she told him.

Meanwhile, Lydia is asking Claire and Harry what game they should all play. Claire is keen on Commopoly. Harry suggested Pictionary. Lydia said that a good old fashioned game of charades is ideal for all ages.

“Oh not charades!” Jacob whined, overhearing the discussion. The last thing he wanted to do was stand in front of everyone trying to mime the title of a song, TV show, film, etc. wearing his prissy little dress and fancy frilly knee socks. But he was overruled and Jacob tried his best not to get anything correct, thus avoiding having a turn. Mark correctly identified the film Toy Story 2 which mean it was Mark's turn. Mark introduced a new category by pretending to use a games controller instead of miming a book, TV screen, camera or curtain. A video game title with one word and two syllables... Mark mimed the first syllable and held up four fingers. “Fortnight!” Jacob blurted before realising what he'd done.

“Your turn Jacob!”

“Ohhh.” he grimaced as he stood in the centre of the lounge and tried to think of something to mime.

The family rule if someone takes too long deciding is to be given a random mime from the charades smart phone app. It generates the title a song, film, play or book and that's what he must mime. He grimaced at the title he was given. Jacob mimed a movie camera, then held up three fingers. He made a T shape with his hands for the first word and everyone yelled 'the'. He moved onto the second word and all he could think of was to curtsey. “It's a good job you're wearing your modesty shorts!” his sister giggled as he lifted his skirt a little too much as he curtseyed. Jacob felt himself blushing but no one noticed thanks to his foundation. He tried his best to mime the shape of a crown on his head. “Princess?” his sister suggested. She was right.

Jacob moved onto the third word and wondered how he could mime it. “Bride?” Mark guessed. He was wrong.

“Diaries!” Harry figured after his son pretended to write on the palm of his hand.

“The Princess Diaries?” Claire quizzed, having never heard of it.

Harry was correct and it was his turn next. Jacob sheepishly sat himself down, embarrassed that he'd unwittingly revealed his very frilly modesty shorts. His father decided to also mime the title of a video game and it took ages for the rest to guess FIFA.

After an hour they'd had enough of playing charades and having finished her fourth glass of mulled wine, Charlotte suggested it was probably time for her and Mark to leave but Lydia detained them for a little longer after suggesting they have some coffee first. Unfortunately for Mark, his mother soon remembered that she wanted to get a photograph of he and Jacob in front of the Christmas tree. Alfie wanted to be in the photograph too and several ended up being taken by both Charlotte and Lydia. The nicest, they agreed as they reviewed the photographs over a coffee, was the one with Mark and Jacob each resting a hand on Alfie's shoulders, showing their painted fingernails and smiling nicely rather than grimacing.

They soon finished their hot drinks and prepared to leave. Charlotte and Mark thanked Lydia for a wonderful Christmas day and complimented Harry's exquisite Christmas dinner. Lydia told Mark how lovely he looked and Charlotte gave Jacob the same compliment. “Thank you.” Jacob bashfully replied, gulping and glancing at Mark. “See you at school I guess?” he glumly said.

“Yeah.” Mark replied. “Thanks for my gift.” he said.

They said their final goodbyes as Charlotte donned her warm winter coat and Mark pulled on his cosy hooded cape. “You need to do your lipstick before we go.” she advised her son.

“Do I?” Mark asked. “We're only going home.” he said.

“When you're wearing lipstick you need to keep topping it up.” his mother told him. “...and we're going outside so you need to make sure you look nice.” she added.

“Oh err...” Mark bashfully mumbled, opening his handbag, facing the hallway mirror, swallowing his pride and re-applying his lipstick as Jacob and his mother watched. His painted fingernails do indeed match his lips, he noted.

“It's a lovely colour.” Lydia said as he replaced the lid. “What's it called?” she asked.

“I'm not sure.” Mark inverted the lipstick. “Chestnut blush.” he timidly read from the base.

“You'd suit that shade.” Lydia said to Jacob, who gulped and probably blushed beneath his thick layer of foundation. “Be careful in those heels Mark.” Lydia advised as Charlotte opened the door.

“I will.” Mark replied as they stepped outside.

“Brrr it's freezing out here.” Jacob said from the doorway, standing with his legs together and huddling his bare arms.

“Well get yourself in and shut that door before all the heat escapes.” Charlotte smiled. Lydia gave them a final wave and shut the door. Mark and his mother trudged down the garden path. The thin layer of snow crunched beneath their feet.

“Didn't Jacob and Alfie look lovely in their matching party dresses?” Charlotte said to her son as they strolled through the darkness.

“Alfie looked OK but Jacob was dressed like a six year old.” Mark glumly replied. “I'm glad you didn't get me anything like that.” he added.

“Party dresses are nice for boys of all ages.” his mother said. “Back in the day we'd have never put a young woman in anything like that but it's different for boys. Jacob looked lovely, especially with his hair in curls and those fancy knee socks.”

“Jacob clearly didn't think so.” Mark stated.

“I think he did.” Mark's mother replied. They walked in silence for a while; back through the park which apart from a sole dog walker, was deserted. The lucent layer of crisp white snow under the darkness gave the sparsely lit park an eerie air. The trees stood tall and slender. Their naked branches reached up to the sky, silhouetted against a thick layer of charcoal grey cloud. “It's chilly.” his mother said. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“OK” Mark said. “This time I know what to expect from just a pair of tights.” he figured. “My dress is nice and warm though... especially with this cape.”

“Velvet is warm.” his mother smiled. “That's why I bought it.” she said. “...and you'll soon acclimatise to just wearing tights.”

“Yeah.” Mark glumly agreed. He watched his feet as they strolled, encased in his new sturdy suede boots, perched high on a pair of chunky three inch heels. He recalled how awkward high heels felt when he first wore them in the summer. It's been a good six months since then and he's both surprised and relieved at how easily he's taken to wearing them again. The sparkly snowflakes that decorate his skirt twinkle and glisten with each forward step and the heavy velvet swishes and sways against the backs of his legs. His sturdy boots crunch into the frosty ground and whilst he can feel the wintry air through his knitted tights, his legs don't feel as chilly as they had earlier in the day.

“Penny for your thoughts?” his mother asked.

“Oh nothing.” he replied. “I'm just enjoying the stroll.” he said.

“Despite the fact your mother made you wear a dress?” his mother replied.

“It's not so bad.” he replied. “It feels quite nice actually... now I've got used to wearing it.” he confessed.

“I'm glad to hear it.” his mother smiled. “Part of me misses wearing dresses and heels.” she said. “I used to feel so elegant.”

“Why don't you still wear them?” Mark asked.

“Because the world changed.” she replied. “Women who dress up are looked down on these days.” she said.

“That's not fair... especially if you liked getting dressed up.”

“Well it's just the way things are.” she said. “Women aren't taken very seriously in the workplace if they spend too much time preening themselves.” she explained. “Whereas boys...” she added.

“Yeah I know.” Mark replied, somewhat glumly. “It all just feels so new... and a little bit scary.”

“I understand.” his mother said. “In a lot of ways it's my fault... if I'd bought you a dress when they they first appeared...”

“You did try to.” Mark interjected. “It was me who was too frightened to wear one... I wouldn't even try one on.” he said, emitting a nervous chuckle and recalling the horror every time his mother drew his attention to a boy's dress in a shop window.

“You were just being a typical boy.” his mother said. “You did wear a skirt for George & Betty's wedding.” she reminded him.

“Even that petrified me.” Mark recalled. “I wonder if women were scared of wearing trousers in the olden days.” Mark mused. “...when all they wore was skirts and petticoats.”

“I don't know.” his mother replied. “We'll have to have a look to see if we can find those pictures of boys wearing dresses that Lydia mentioned.”

“Hmm.” Mark responded. “If boys did wear dresses years and years ago... I wonder why they stopped?”

“It just fell out of fashion I guess.” his mother replied.

They exited the park and crossed the usually busy road, but being Christmas day, it's all but deserted. They headed up the hill toward home. His mother asked how he was getting on in his new boots. “Fine.” he replied. “They’re really warm.”

“Good.” his mother replied. “Jacob seemed quite impressed by them.”

“It was weird being a bit taller than him for a change.” Mark said. “...and you were right about wearing heels being like riding a bike.”

“I'm always right.” his mother jovially replied.

“Yeah.” Mark bashfully agreed as they turned onto the cul-de-sac where they live. The hedgerows are capped with a thin layer of snow and the pavements are peppered with footprints. Their garden path bears the distinctive prints of Mark's block heeled boots and his mother's flat footwear. “Home again.” Mark said as his mother unlocked the door.

“Yes.” his mother grinned. “I've had a lovely day.” she said.

“Me too.” Mark said as he unbuttoned and removed his cape, then turned toward the large hallway mirror and carefully smoothed his hair.

“Good.” his mother smiled. “I suppose you'll be wanting to get changed.” she said as he crouched to untie his boot laces.

“Maybe later.” he replied, pulling off his boots and planting his stocking feet flat on the floor.

His mother smiled as he stood, running his hands down his velvet frock. “So it's not the worst Christmas you've ever had?” she asked as he looked up at her.

“No.” he gulped. “Maybe the scariest.” he confessed. “I'm glad Jacob was wearing a dress as well.”

“I knew he would be.” his mother said.

“I wish you'd told me... I was petrified all the way over there.”

“I wanted to surprise you.” she grinned. “...and you'd have been petrified anyway. Your first dress is a big step, especially for a boy your age.”

“Yeah.” Mark replied. “I guess it's not my last dress either.”

“I hope not.” his mother smiled.