Marty's New Look

Within minutes, the likes and comments began. I didn't want to update my profile picture and I certainly wasn't a cross-dresser... but my sister blackmailed me into doing it. The alternative would have been worse and there's no way I'm going to say what that was. Initially the reactions were 'likes' and 'loves' but it didn't take long for the laughing smilies, the wows and angry faces to start appearing, along with some derogatory and downright abusive comments. "Please let me change it back Laura!" I pleaded. "I've got people saying they're going to give it me up the ass and asking for blow jobs."

"No... the deal was a month." my sister stubbornly reminded me. "You can report the abusive comments to FaceBank and they'll be removed... but your profile picture stays." she replied. I hung my head. "Don't worry... your secret's safe with me... providing you pay the price."

"It's only been twenty minutes... a whole month of these sorts of comments is going to be a nightmare!"

"Most of them are nice... and you must admit you do look cute." she grinned. "Anyway it'll die down after a few days, you know how fickle FaceBank is."

"But everyone's going to see it... mum, dad, gran, uncles, aunties, cousins." I listed.

"Friends, neighbours... everyone." my sister proudly added. "What are you going to tell them?" she wondered aloud. "I very much doubt you'll tell the truth... and if you tell anyone that it's got anything to do with me, the deal's off, remember!"

~o0o~

My sister was right about FaceBank... the abusive and threatening comments were quickly removed but reading and reporting them felt like a full time job for the first few days and after that, the trolls got bored and comments on my new profile picture did soon cease, but I found myself having to explain it to all and sundry. Fortunately everyone seemed to believe my story, that being that I just thought it would be funny if I was dressed as a girl in my FaceBank picture. Most people did think it was funny but then again, they also thought I was a cross-dresser and a lot of kids at school started calling me a fag and tranny and a freak.

Laura made it very clear that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone that she'd done my hair and make-up so I felt I had no choice but to claim that I’d done it myself. I told Mum that I'd watched loads of YouTube videos about hair and make-up and did it when I was home alone over the weekend. She said I looked lovely but was disappointed that I'd borrowed my sister's clothes, make-up and jewellery for the prank, and made me apologise to Laura for 'stealing' her things, then Mum sat me down for a long talk about honesty, gender and 'the closet'. She didn't believe that it was the first time I’d worn make-up or styled my hair because I'd done such a good job, so I lied and said I'd dabbled a few times previously. “...and what did you put in the bra?” Mum asked.

“A couple of pairs of tights.” I gulped.

“Well they certainly look convincing.” Mum replied. “You could have talked to me about this.” she said. “You didn't have to out yourself so publicly.” she told me, glancing at my profile page on the iPad. “Your grandmother nearly had a heart attack.” she sighed. “She thought you'd had a sex change.”

I tittered. “I'm not going to have a sex change Mum.” I said. “I just did it for a laugh, that's all.”

“Well everyone's seen it now.” she said. “Why don't you change it back? Or put a different picture up... one that won't worry your grandparents.”

“No.” I said. “I can't.”

“Why not?”

Why not indeed? I thought. I had to think of an excuse quickly. “Because I don't want to.” I said. It was all I could think of. “It's funny.” I added.

“It's not that funny.” Mum said, lifting her iPad and observing the picture. “If you were pulling a pout or grinning inanely it might be but...”

“That was the only one in focus.” I lied.

“How many did you take?” Mum asked.

“Not many.” I told her, before adding a cock & bull story about having to quickly put the clothes back and remove my make-up and wash the style out of my hair before someone came home that day.

“So in a mad panic, you changed back into a boy before someone caught you, then posted the picture on FaceBank for everyone to see?” Mum quizzed. I didn't blame my mother for questioning my motives. One lie contradicts another and my mother is understandably baffled by it all. But I couldn't tell her the truth. She'd hate me forever. Everyone would. I wish I'd never confessed to my sister that it was me who was responsible for this...

Under the headline ARSONISTS DESTROY PAVILION, the fire brigade confirmed that the fire had been started deliberately but I didn't intend to burn it down. The pavilion had been boarded up for years. I'd broken in and was getting stoned alone when a combination of stupidity and recklessness meant the small fire I'd lit for no particular reason quickly got out of hand and I scarpered. According to the newspaper report, the police had fingerprint evidence but the culprit wasn't on their database, so they were asking for any witnesses to come forward so the offender could be found and prosecuted. The evidence would have been my stash tin that I'd left when I ran.

If a rumour got out that I was involved, they'd come and take my fingerprints which would link me to the tin and I'd have to come clean about starting the fire... then I really would be in deep shit. I'd have a criminal record for arson, and for possession, and possibly for breaking and entering too... I'd have to pay a fine and do several hundred hours of community service and might even face a custodial sentence. Compared to all that, changing my profile picture and putting up with all the offensive and abusive comments that followed was nothing.

It was a few months after the fire that I told Laura and I trusted that she wouldn't tell anyone but what I didn't expect was for her to make me 'buy' her silence. At first I thought she'd want money and when she said it would be a forfeit of some sort, I agreed. She spent a couple of days thinking before she told me that she wanted to dress me up as a girl. It didn't sound like much of a forfeit. I thought she'd have me doing all her chores or have me at her beck and call or something. I figured she thought the idea would fill me with dread, but it didn't really, and after seeking Laura's assurance that she wouldn't make me go out of the house, I agreed.

She put me in a bra and gave me a cute little top to wear. She spent ages doing my hair and make-up and to be honest, I enjoyed being pampered. A necklace and bracelet and a barrette in my hair and finally I got to see my reflection. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was fit! I didn't think I'd look as good as I did. I almost fancied myself. Laura told me that I should take a selfie and thinking little of it, I grabbed my phone, stood in front of the mirror, framed myself and took a photograph. In fact I took about ten and Laura chose the one she liked the best and deleted the rest, then she told me what my actual forfeit was; changing my profile picture on FaceBank to one of me dressed as a girl... and the photo had to stay on FaceBank for a month and not a day less. I should have known that there'd be more to her forfeit that a simple make-over! At first I flat refused but given the choice between everyone seeing me dressed as a girl on FaceBank or everyone seeing me on the front page of the Evening News when the police charge me with arson... I felt I had no choice but to upload the picture to FaceBank and within minutes the comments began.

I trust that my sister won't say anything about the fire to anyone. She's having too much fun watching me squirm and no matter how much I plead and try to bargain with her... she won't let me take the picture down until it's been up for a whole month. My mother doesn't believe that I did for a laugh and instead believes that I decided to come out. I don't think she thinks I'm gay because she's done a lot of reading in the last few days and is encouraging me to join some online support groups, to get in touch with 'the real me' and says if I want, she'll buy me some girls clothes and some make-up and shoes and blah blah blah. What my mother can't understand is why on the one hand, I'm telling her that I don't want to dress like a girl again, but on the other, I'm refusing to change my profile picture back to one of me dressed as a boy. One white lie trips over the next and the more I try to explain myself, the deeper into the rut I go.

It's been two weeks since I changed my profile picture which means I've been wrapping myself up in a web of lies for far too long. I mournfully tell my sister that things are getting beyond a joke. “Mum's only gone and bought me some underwear and put it in my drawer.” I gulped. Laura wanted to see it and said it was gorgeous, but I was adamant that I wasn't going to wear it because if I do, the next thing will be a skirt or a dress, then shoes and hairdo’s... “It's not funny!” I whined as Laura sat giggling.

“It is quite funny.” she replied. “And you do look cute as a girl... I think you should indulge her.”

“But then she'll think I really am a tranny.”

“She already does. No one believes that you changed your profile picture for a laugh.” Laura said as she sat on my bed, admiring my new lacy boy shorts and matching crop top.

“What else could I say? I couldn't tell them that you blackmailed me... which you did!” I reminded her.

“Oh stop being so dramatic. I didn't blackmail you, I gave you a choice.” she said. “What would you prefer? Everyone thinking you're a transvestite or everyone knowing that you're an arsonist?”

“Neither.” I sighed. “But I can't have anyone knowing about the fire.”

“Well there you are.” my sister said. “It's no big deal really... Mum's cool with it. I think she likes the idea of having two girls.” she told me. “...she's hardly talked about anything else to me.”

“What's she been saying?”

“Just that you need support and gentle encouragement, and asking if I ever suspected anything and wondering if I've noticed any items of clothing or cosmetics going missing in recent months.” Laura replied. “Of course I hadn't and told her that changing your profile picture was as much a surprise to me as anyone.” she told me. I groaned and sighed. “Mum said she wasn't surprised though.” Laura added, somewhat gleefully.

I sighed the deepest of sighs. “Tell me about it.” I mournfully murmured. “She told me that she suspected something when I decided to grow my hair long and started wearing skinny T shirts.”

“Why didn't you say that you changed your profile picture for a bet or a dare?” my sister asked.

My head dropped into my hands. “I wish I had.” I groaned. “Then I wouldn't be in this mess now.” I said, gulping and glancing at the underwear on my sister's lap.

“I wouldn't call it a mess.” Laura smiled. “It's more of a misunderstanding.” she jovially suggested. “It's quite sweet really.” she added, running her fingers over the lacy crop top.

“It's a nightmare.” I groaned. “Why didn't I say it was dare?!” I sighed, cursing myself. That excuse didn't cross my mind and in hindsight, I really really wish it had.

Laura laughed at me and said she didn't know. “Honestly Marty... I just thought it'd be funny... the last thing I expected was you to lie yourself into a corner and leave everyone thinking you're a cross-dresser,”

“What did you expect after dressing me as a girl and making me put the picture on FaceBank?” I asked. “...then telling me that I couldn't say you did it.”

“Well... like I said, I thought you'd say you'd done it for a bet or something.” she shrugged. “But as they say, you've made your bed, and now you have to lay in it.”

“Yeah... wearing a nightie.” I grimaced, nervously chuckling.

“Has Mum bought you a nightie too?” Laura asked.

“No just them.” I grumbled, glancing at my new girlie underwear on my sister's lap. “I hope not anyway.” I added, before shifting myself and opening the drawer in which my pyjamas are kept. “Oh for fucks sake!” I groaned, finding not a nightie, but a pair of girl's satin pyjamas in there.

“Oh wow!” my sister gasped as I unfolded a short sleeved pyjama top in baby blue satin with white lace trim and a matching pair of shorts. “Is there anything else?” she asked. “Have you checked all your drawers and wardrobe?”

Nothing else was found apart from the underwear and pyjamas. Later when mum came home I told her that I'd found the underwear and she smiled and asked if I'd tried them. “No.” I whined.

“Well in your own time.” she smiled. I told her I'd found the pyjamas too. “I thought you might.” she said. “There's nightie under your pillow too.” she added. “I thought about buying you a skirt or a dress... but maybe that's something we could do together one day... when you're ready.”

“Mum I only put that picture up for a laugh... I don't really want to dress like a girl.”

“Well you did say that you'd practised doing your hair and make-up a few times beforehand... and you don't seem at all keen to take that picture down.” she replied. “I understand that it's hard to admit but a picture really does speak a thousand words.” she told me. “Have you spoken to Laura?”

“Yeah.”

“And what does she think?”

“She thinks that you like the idea of having two girls and that I should indulge you.”

“You're not a girl Martin... you're a transvestite, and I'm absolutely fine with that.” Mum replied. “I understand that I might have been a bit presumptuous, buying you some nice underwear and nightwear... but I thought it might make you happy.”

Part of me wanted to come clean and tell the truth about the circumstances behind me changing my profile picture... but if I did, Mum would be livid, and as things currently stand, she's being really nice to me. The question Laura posed popped into my mind; what would I prefer? Mum thinking I'm a cross-dresser or Mum knowing that I set fire to the cricket pavilion all those months ago. “It does. Thanks Mum.” I said.

The following morning over breakfast, Mum waited for Laura to leave the breakfast table before asking me if I'd worn my nightie. Bashfully, I told her I had and said it was nice. “You didn't say it came with knickers too.” I added, just as my sister returned.

“What came with knickers?” Laura asked.

I felt myself going bright red and Mum guardedly informed my sister that she'd bought me a nice little nightie and some 'night-knickers'. “A nightie?” Laura quizzed. “I saw the pyjamas.” she stated.

“It was a summer sleepwear set... shortie PJs and a little nightie.” Mum replied. “I'd hidden the nightie under his pillow as a surprise.” she told her, before turning to me and saying “Since it's Saturday, why don't you try your new underwear?”

“Oh I don't know... maybe it's a bit too soon.”

“No one will know.” Mum said, reminding me that I slept in my new nightie.

“I know but...”

“It's nothing to be afraid of... you've worn a bra before today so it's hardly a big step.”

“And this time it'll at least be your own.” Laura snidely added.

“He's apologised for that Laura so don't rub it in.” Mum said to her, before telling me that the crop top she bought me isn't even a bra. “...it's just a little vest really.” she claimed.

“OK.” I replied. “Just... don't make a big deal about it.” I said.

“We won't even mention it.” Mum smiled. She cleared the breakfast dishes and I went to my bedroom.

Laura followed me up. “Can I see your nightie?” she asked.

“Oh Laura...” I moaned. Tightening my bathrobe.

“You've got it on?!” she exclaimed. She pestered me into letting her have a look, so reluctantly, I opened my bathrobe and revealed my short baby blue nightie to her. It has thin, white lace shoulder straps and a band of lace trim around its skirt. I didn't want her to see the night-knickers but she wanted to see them.

“They're really girlie.” I timidly confessed before lifting my nightie a little to give her a fleeting glimpse. Laura grinned and said they were 'well cute' and I guess they are, being baby blue satin and rather baggy in their fit, with gathered and elasticated leg-holes trimmed with ruffled white lace.

I shut my bedroom door behind me, removed my robe and looked down at myself. It felt really nice sleeping in satin. I drifted off to sleep gently stroking the fabric and when I woke, I felt like I'd not slept so well for weeks. Part of me feels guilty for liking the nightie. Being someone who'd never even considered cross-dressing before my sister coerced me, I felt like I was betraying myself. Especially when I opened my drawer and removed the white lace boy-shorts and matching crop top. Even if it is just underwear worn beneath boy's clothes... I'll still be dressed like a girl all day. I remove my little nightdress and the matching night-knickers and lay them neatly on my bed before donning the underwear. The elasticated lace hugs me snugly. It looks and feels nothing at all like my usual underwear. In fact I never give my usual underwear a second thought whereas this I’m going to be thinking about all day long. I fold my nightwear and place it under my pillow before selecting a pair of jeans and a T shirt, then I spend a while just pottering in my room, tidying, straightening and sorting things but really I'm just enjoying getting accustomed to how this underwear feels.

Eventually I return downstairs and bashfully smiled as my mother casts me a knowing glance. “You OK?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I shyly reply. Neither my mother or sister mention my underwear but I know they know I’m wearing it. I can tell by the way they look at me, glancing at my hips and chest with a knowing smile. Much later, when Laura's gone out clubbing, Mum asks if I've had a nice day and casually I reply “Yeah it was all right.”

“Is your crop top a good fit?” she asked.

“Yeah I guess.” I said, feeling my cheeks redden. I knew she'd have to mention my underwear sooner or later.

“Good.” Mum smiled. “They actually came in a pack of three but I only snuck one set into your drawer so you didn't feel overwhelmed.” she told me as my jaw dropped a little. “There's some clean ones for tomorrow if you want to dip your toes in again.”

“Oh... er... thanks.” I gulped.

“You're welcome.” she smiled. “You've got pale blue and lilac.” she told me. “I thought you'd prefer those to white, pink and peach.”

“Erm... yeah.” I gulped.

“Have I gone too far?” she asked.

“I don't know.” I frowned. “No.” I timidly said.

“Good.” she smiled. “One set wouldn't be enough.” she said. A little flutter of butterflies erupted in my tummy. “Have you got any plans for tomorrow?” she asked.

“Not really.” I said. “I've got a bit of homework to do for Monday.” I told her.

“Well I was thinking...” she said. Here we go, I thought. “Laura could maybe have a rummage and find you something nice to wear... she's got so many hand-me-downs I'm sure there'd be something you might like.”

“You mean a dress?” I grimaced, biting my lip.

“Or a skirt and top, shorts maybe, or some pants or skinny jeans.” she suggested. “You could do your hair again, and wear some make-up and I'll make a special supper.”

“Oh I don't know Mum... I don't want to rush into anything... I was only dabbling when I dressed myself up last time.”

“Yet you put the photo on FaceBank so everyone could see the result.”

“As a joke though.” I gulped.

“Well there's many a true word said in jest.” Mum replied. “And that picture really does speak a thousand words.”

I sighed and gulped. There's no point trying to dig myself out of this hole. I’m in too deep already and it's only getting deeper. Today I’m wearing my own lacy underwear and tomorrow I’ll probably end up wearing a dress or something.

I took myself to bed earlier than usual and slept in my birthday suit. At around 8.30am, Mum tapped on my bedroom door and popped her head in. “I'm making bacon and eggs if you want some.” she told me, before frowning and saying “Oh... I thought you'd be wearing your nightie.”

“I'm not a girl Mum.” I moaned.

“I know you're not but...” she paused and frown smiled. “Breakfast in ten minutes.”

I pulled on my bathrobe and got myself to the kitchen just as Mum was plating up bacon and scrambled eggs on toast. After a late night out clubbing, Laura looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge. Mum made small talk, asking each of us what plans we had for the day. “Nowt.” I shrugged. Laura's day was equally empty. Mum said she was going to visit her mother, our grandmother, for an hour and asked if we wanted to come. “Nah.” I replied. Laura said she was too hungover. Mum prompted me to go, since I haven't been for three weeks. “She'll just give me the third degree about my FaceBank picture though.” I sighed. “And you'll probably want me to wear one of Laura's dresses.” I grumbled.

“Wearing a nice Sunday dress had crossed my mind Martin... but not for a trip to Gran's.” Mum replied. “But if you're not going anywhere and you've nothing to do, why not?” she asked. I shrugged and sighed. “You seemed happy enough dipping your toes in yesterday.”

“But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to take the plunge today.” I replied.

“You took the plunge when you changed your FaceBank photo... that was a fortnight ago.” Mum replied.

I'm beginning to wonder if coming clean about burning down the cricket pavilion would be more tolerable than this. “OK...” I sighed. “I'll wear whatever you want.” I grumbled. “Just don't start asking me to visit Gran with you.”

“Calm down grumpy pants.” Mum retorted. “No one's forcing you... we're just trying to be supportive.”

“I could do your make-up if you want?” Laura suggested.

“He's perfectly capable of doing his own make-up.” Mum replied.

“Errr.” I croaked. “I might not want to wear any make-up.”

“I was just reminding your sister that you can do your own make-up... you look lovely in your profile picture.” Mum replied. “If anything you could teach her a thing or two.”

I glanced at Laura and gulped. “He probably could.” my sister said. “I loved what you did with your hair.”

“It wasn't that good.” I replied.

“How did you do it?” Mum asked.

“I just put loads of gel in then plaited it and left it to set.” I said, pretending that I'd done what my really sister did. “Then took out the plaits and it was curly.”

“And you learnt that from a YouTube video?” Mum said. I nodded. “Hmm.” Mum responded.

Having finished her bacon and eggs, Mum went for a shower and left us to clear the table and wash the dishes. “So which dress do you want to wear?” my sister wryly asked.

“I don't.” I grimaced.

“Well you're going to have to sooner or later... or come clean about why you really changed your profile picture.” she said. “It's no big deal really... it's just a dress.”

“That's easy for you to say.”

“But you enjoyed having a make-over and you did say that you fancied yourself.”

“I know but... you know what Mum's like... if I wear dress today, one thing'll lead to another.”

“One thing already has led to another Marty.” Laura stated. “Mum thinks you're a closet cross-dresser and for all intents and purposes, your are now.” she told me. “Plus you've already said you will.” she reminded me.

“Yeah.” I sighed consigning myself to the fact that I didn't really have a choice. “If only I'd said that I'd changed my picture for a dare instead of a laugh.” I grumbled.

“I bet you're really kicking yourself.” my sister grinned.

“It should be you I'm kicking.” I frowned, wishing I could somehow turn the clock back. My sister smiled a triumphant smile.

We tidied the kitchen and washed & dried the breakfast dishes. Laura asked if I was going to have a shower. “Yeah I guess.” I said.

“Mind if I go first?” she asked.

“Nah.” I replied. She asked if I wanted to choose something to wear myself or if I wanted her to choose. “I don't know... I’m trying not to think about it at all.”

“Well I've got something in mind... you can choose something else if you don't like it.”

“I'm pretty sure I won't like it.” I grumbled.

“Well you never know... you loved yourself last time.” she reminded me. “Or is that what you're afraid of?” she smiled.

“Will I have to shave my legs?”

“I was just thinking that.”

“Thinking what?” Mum asked as she entered the kitchen wearing a bathrobe, hair damp and dripping.

“Marty shaving his legs.” Laura quickly replied.

“And I was thinking that might be a step too far.” I added. “I've got to consider doing PE.”

“True.” Mum said. “Maybe in the holidays 'eh?”

“Yeah maybe.” I gulped.

“Are you going to let Laura find you something nice to wear?” Mum asked. “Then you can show me how you apply your make-up.” she chirped

“Oh Mu-um... you're being too pushy.” Laura stated. “Gentle persuasion you said.” she glanced at me and smiled. “Give us an hour and if Marty gets cold feet today, then that's the way it is.” she said, looking at me and asking “OK?”

“OK.” I gulped.

Laura went for a shower. Mum apologised for being pushy, before asking if I'd rather she spurned me. “Noo.” I replied. “I just didn't think you'd encourage me quite so much.” I said.

“I'm trying to do the right thing Marty... the last I want is to get this wrong.” Mum said.

“I know... and you're not doing anything wrong.” I said. “If anything I'm the one who's wrong.”

“You haven't done anything wrong Martin.” Mum said, looking me directly in the eyes. “I don't want to you even thinking that.” she insisted. “It doesn't say 'ladies only' on a lipstick or mascara.” she informed me. “It doesn't say 'no boys allowed' on the door of Tammy Girl or Dorothy Perkins.” she added. “Plus... girl's clothes are a lot more varied and interesting... I'd hate to be stuck in a shirt and trousers or jeans and a T shirt for my whole life.”

“Yeah.” I glumly agreed. “Thanks Mum.” I said, smiling and feeling more guilty than ever. She really is going to hate me if she finds out why I really changed my FaceBank picture.

Laura hollered my name when she was out of the shower so I took myself upstairs. I hung my head as the hot torrent of water splashed against the back of my neck. I sighed repeatedly, each deeper than the last as if somehow hoping one might free me of the guilt that hangs heavy in my gut. If only I hadn't lit that fire all those months ago. If only my stash tin was in my pocket when I fled. If only I hadn't confessed to Laura. If only I said I'd changed my profile picture for a dare... that'd easily explain why it had to stay up for a month and Mum wouldn't think I'm a closet cross-dresser. I tipped my head back and let the torrent of water cascade through my long dark hair and anticipated getting dressed as a girl again. I enjoyed it the first time but had I known why Laura wanted to give me a make-over, I'd have been a lot more hesitant. After washing, rinsing and conditioning my hair, I washed the rest of myself and tried to imagine having no hair on my legs. Thankfully I got myself out of that... at least for now.

After shaving my face, I exited the bathroom and entered my bedroom to find some clothes laid neatly on my bed; a pair of black spotty cotton shorts and a white top, plus a pair of black tights. I got cold feet and gently knocked on my sister's door. “I don't think I can do this today.” I nervously told her.

“Oh don't back out.” she whined. “I thought choosing some shorts would make it easier than say... a flowery dress.”

“But... tights.” I grimaced. Laura reminded me that I didn't want to shave my legs. I sighed and said that I felt like I was diving in at the deep end.

“Nah... it's just a pair of shorts and a top... you're dipping your toes in.” she said. “Come back when your dressed. You don't have to knock.”

I'm as nervous as hell as I pulled on some clean underwear. Today the boy-shorts and cropped vest are pale blue, but other than the colour, they're identical to yesterdays. They hugged my hips and chest as I sat and struggled to get my first pair of tights on. A fortnight ago Laura only transformed me from the waist up. Today it's going to be head to toe... but at least she didn't give me a skirt or dress to wear. Then again, these shorts are equally girlie in the way they hang and flounce from my waist. The top is white, thin and simple. The outline of the lacy crop top beneath is visible. Its sleeves are short and gathered, and it has two long thin laces which I guess tie in a bow behind my back. I don my robe before first peeping out of my bedroom door to check the coast is clear, then scurrying across the landing to my sister's room. “You look ace Marty.” she grinned when I removed my robe.

“I can't believe I’m doing this.” I said as she beckoned me to her dressing table.

“Neither can I.” she said as I timidly sat. “Just remember how much you enjoyed it last time.”

“That was before you told me why you were dressing me up.” I dryly reminded her as she gave me some hair gel and a wide toothed comb. “I can't do everything myself!” I exclaimed when she told me that I’d have to do everything myself. “I haven't got a clue how to plait hair.”

“But you told Mum that you did, so you're going to have to learn... quickly.” Laura replied. “It's easy enough.” she said, before coaching me to do exactly what she'd done two weeks previously. After combing in the gel, I was all fingers and thumbs as I separated my hair into ten or twelve equal sections, tying each off with a bobble close to my scalp. Plaiting each section wasn't easy at first, especially trying to keep the plaits really tight... but I surprised myself as I soon got the hang of it and after maybe half an hour, I looked like Medusa. Then I wrapped each plait around itself into a small tight bun and secured them with a couple of bobby pins.

“How you getting on?” Mum quietly asked, creeping into Laura's room as I’m applying my foundation.

“Mum you're supposed to be downstairs.” Laura impatiently told her.

“You look like Bjork.” my mother grinned as I turned my head.

“I'm gonna get him to do my hair.” Laura said, before ushering my mother out, saying something about her giving me stage fright.

“It's bad enough having Laura watching over me.” I added as I opened the eye-shadow palette as if I knew what I was doing.

“OK... sorry.” Mum smiled as Laura shut the door on her.

I had half an idea of what needed to be done; foundation all over, eye-shadow on the upper lids, eye-liner on the lower ones, mascara on the lashes, a bit of blush on the cheeks and lipstick on my lips. Only this time I had to learn to do it all myself because stupidly, I'd told my mother that I'd done my own make-up a few times before I changed my FaceBank picture... and Laura's right, one day my mother will expect to see me applying my own make-up. “This isn't the last time I’m gonna have to do this is it.” I said after applying my mascara, finally without flinching.

“No.” Laura agreed. “Mum's dead excited... best bet is just play along for a few weeks or months and then lose interest and say it was just a phase.”

“And in the mean time... Mum's bought me more girl's underwear and some frocks and skirts and shoes and make-up of my own.” I dryly supposed.

“She's more likely to start rummaging through all my old things and giving you my hand-me-downs.” Laura said. “She's already mentioned it to me.”

“Really?” I grimaced as I prepared to apply my blusher. My sister nodded. “I really should hate you for making me change my profile picture.” he sighed.

“Well you couldn't get away scot-free after what you did. I figured it'd be a humiliating yet harmless punishment for you... and it wasn't me who talked Mum into thinking you really are a cross-dresser.” she said. “You did that all by yourself.”

“Don't I know it.” I grumbled, looking down at myself; my simple little top, girlie spotty shorts and opaque black tights. Mum's going to love seeing me dressed like this. “Still...” I said as I put the blusher brush down. “...it's better than Mum knowing the truth.” I gulped.

“True.” Laura replied. “You don't hate me do you?”

“No.” I replied. “I just wish you'd thought of a different forfeit.” I said.

“Yeah.” Laura agreed as she began rummaging through all her lipsticks. “So do I in a way.” she said. “Do you want to wear pink again?”

“I guess.” I gulped. “I'll need some tits too.” I said, glancing down at my flat chest.

“I was wondering when you were going to ask.” Laura grinned.

A broad grin swept my mother's face when I presented myself to her. “You look even more gorgeous in real life!” she said, looking me up and down, complimenting my legs before asking if I chose the shorts and top.

“No Laura did.” I replied.

“And how long does your hair have to stay in all those knots?” she asked.

“Err... about an hour.” I replied.

“Who did you say he looked like?” Laura asked.

“Bjork.” Mum replied.

“Who's that?”

Mum described the Icelandic singer and showed us the video to Big Time Sensuality on her iPad, which we all enjoyed. “I didn't think anyone would wear their hair like this to go out.” I commented as I watched the video of Bjork dancing around on the back of a truck. “It looks quite cool.”

“It was a fleeting trend back in the 90s.” Mum said. She had that reminiscent look in her eyes.

Mum had plenty of pottering to do so she was in and out, up and down all over the house. She couldn't keep her eyes off me when our paths crossed. Neither could my sister. For the bag of nerves that I was, I actually felt quite comfortable in my thick tights, little flouncy shorts and simple top. “You're going to have to let your hair down soon.” Laura said. “...and Mum's going to want to see you doing it yourself.” she added, before reminding me how she carefully unwound my plaits and teased out the curls a fortnight ago. “Just try to remember what I did and Mum won't suspect a thing.”

“OK.” I gulped. I felt so self conscious as I stood in the lounge, facing the mirror, removing the bobby pins and placing them on the mantle. Mum said I looked like Medusa with all my random plaits. “I know.” I replied as I began removing all the bobbles.

“Mind if I watch?” Mum asked as I began unravelling my plaits. I said I didn't mind but I'd rather she didn't watch as I carefully separated each one. Laura joined the audience as I began teasing out all the curls and pushing my fingers up my scalp to give my hair some body, just as she'd done a fortnight ago. I spent a good five or ten minutes before facing them and asking if it looked OK. “It's the nicest your hair's ever looked.” Mum said. “...and you learnt that from YouTube?”

“Yeah.” I casually lied. “But I did steal the gel, pins and bobbles off Laura.” I said.

“Plus my bra and top!” Laura added.

“Jewellery too if I remember correctly.” Mum said, before asking if I was wearing shorts or a skirt or something else in my profile picture. “...the picture only shows your top half.”

“Jeans.” I said.

“Your own or some of Laura's?”

“Mine.” I replied. That fact felt like the first truthful thing I'd said all day.

“Hmm.” Mum responded. “I'd have thought you'd have worn a skirt... after going to all that trouble with your hair and make-up.”

“I quite like it when say... Janelle Monáe or Taylor Swift wears a pair of scruffy jeans and trainers with a little top and still look fantastic.” I said, speaking entirely off the top of my head. “Bottom half is dressed down, top half dressed up.” I added. “That's what I was going for.” I claimed.

“I see.” Mum replied. “So you have a few style icons then?”

“I dunno... no one in particular.”

“You've certainly got style Marty.” my sister said. “You look great and Mum's right... that's the best your hair's ever looked.”

I turned toward my reflection. “It looked better last time.” I replied.

“You wore a barrette didn't you?” Mum quizzed.

“Yeah.” I said. Mum told me I look just as good today and bashfully, I thanked her.

“Gosh is that the time?” Mum exclaimed, reading her wristwatch. “I'd best go and see Gran.” Mum said. “Are you both sure you don't want to come?”

I certainly wasn't going dressed as I was and Laura cited her hangover and wanting to hang out with me as her reasons. “Tell her I'll come next week.” I said. “And please don't tell her I’m dressed as a girl.”

“She's seen your FaceBank picture.” Mum chuckled. “Everyone has.” she added.

Mum left, saying she'd only be a couple of hours and complimented my appearance one last time. Laura suggested I make some coffee, insisting on proper coffee instead of instant. She went to her room and returned five minutes later with my black plimsolls hanging from her fingers. “Put these on.” she said.

“Why?” I cautiously asked.

“So we can sit at the end of the garden and smoke this.” she said, revealing a joint.

“I didn't know you smoked weed!” I exclaimed.

“Well I'm good at keeping things secret.” she smugly stated. “Come on.” she chirped.

Our back garden is long and apart from the patio section right at the back of the house, it's relatively secluded at the far end. I pulled on my plimsolls and tied the laces. “This feels really daring.” I said. “Going outside dressed like this.”

“You look ace.” Laura said. “I wish the world was more tolerant and allowed guys to wear girl's clothes.” she mused. “No one bats an eyelid when girls dress like boys.” she said, glancing down at herself.

“You're hardly dressed as a boy Laura.” I commented. She too wears plimsolls, along with a little pair of frayed denim shorts, yet her legs are bare and tanned and smooth. Her fitted T shirt is baby blue and peppered with tiny purple butterflies. Her hair is brushed into a high ponytail and plaited and unlike me, she wears minimal make-up. “But compared to me...” I added. She grinned.

I was a bag of nerves as I stepped outside. The paved patio has a table and chairs and is in full view of the neighbour's windows. A tall trellis up which a huge clematis climbs marks the boundary between the patio and the rest of the garden, and beyond this a long lawn, a few fruit trees, the garden shed and a secluded seating area with raised flower beds at the far end where a tall privet hedge grows. Once beyond the trellis I can relax, but with my bouncy hair and flouncy shorts, a simple stroll over the lawn and down the garden is nothing short of thrilling. The warm summer sun streams right through my thin top. Its heat is warm and welcome on my back. At the end of the garden, we put our coffee cups on a wall and sit on the bench. “You like those tights don't you?” my sister tells me. “Every time you sit you can't keep your hands off them.”

“They do feel nice.” I confessed. “They look OK too.”

“They look more than OK!” Laura said. “Your legs are easily as good as mine.” she reckoned. I disagreed. “Shave them and get a tan and they would.” she advised. I watched in awe as she lit the spliff and took a toke. “I've been looking forward to this all morning.” she said.

“Do you smoke down here often?” I asked. She nodded and exhaled. “Does Mum know?”

“Course.” she replied, handing the spliff to me.

“Doesn't she mind?”

“She was nineteen once... she'd rather I smoke down here than in the house.”

“Or in an abandoned cricket pavilion.” I added before taking a toke. “Is that supposed to happen?” I asked, seeing my glossy pink lipstick imprinted on the roach.

“Yes.” she grinned. “You're not going to set fire to the shed are you?” she jokingly asked as I took a second drag.

“No!” I chuckled. “I've not smoked any weed since the pavilion.” I told her.

“How come?” she asked as I handed the spliff back.

I explained that I'd left my entire stash in the pavilion and after reading the newspaper report, I knew the police had my tin with my prints on it. All they needed was my fingers and if I got nabbed buying weed they'd get my prints. “...so I decided not to buy any more weed and not do anything that might result in the police getting my finger prints.” I said.

“Smart.” she said. “Then you told me.” she grinned.

“Yeah... I regret that more than burning the pavilion down.” I dryly retorted.

“No you don't.” she grinned. “Even you didn't know you were a tranny 'til I dressed you up.” she said. “And now look at you... you look fuckin' ace Marty.”

“Yeah.” I coyly replied. “It does feel nice.” I said, taking the spliff from her. “This is taking the edge of my nerves.” I said.

“Good.” Laura smiled as I took a toke. “Just don't tell Mum... she'd go bananas if she found out I’d got you stoned.”

“Well I might have make you buy my silence.” I said, jovially. “Give me a few days and I'll dream up a fitting forfeit for you.” I grinned.