Karen's Café: part two

You might want to read part one if you haven't done so already

~o0o~

I'd agreed to work in my sister's café for a few weeks to provide cover over the Easter holidays. This comes as a great relief to my sister as she's been struggling to find cover, and my mother's happy that I've found myself a part time job, even though it is only temporary. It means Mum won't have to give me any pocket money for a while and I’ll get seven pounds an hour which will add up to around one-hundred pounds a week... that's a whole lot more than the ten pounds pocket money I currently get. I've no idea what I'm going to spend it on; video games, movies, music, apps or maybe save up and buy a PS4 or a swanky e-bike, or a maybe a huge TV for my bedroom. I'm getting giddy just thinking about the money... but the prospect of working in my sister's café is beginning to fill me with dread.

I was feeling reluctantly confident when my sister talked me into it, but that was yesterday and today, all I feel is reluctant. My confidence ebbed away over night and in the cold light of day, the idea of working as a waitress when I’m a fifteen year old boy doesn't seem like such a good idea after all. I express my concerns over breakfast and Mum tells me I've nothing to worry about; no one will bat an eyelid. My sister reminds me of not only how great I looked when I tried the uniform on, but also the fact that I admittedly liked wearing it. I wash my face and brush my teeth and despite having removed all my make-up before bed, I can still see a trace of the eye-liner and foundation I wore. Not only that... my sister tidied my eyebrows a little and I'm worried that they now look a little too feminine. At least my long floppy fringe covers them most of the time, but I'm still worried about them.

“Oh please don't get cold feet Simon.” my sister said. “You know how much I’ve struggled to find cover for Samantha and Bronte.” she pleaded.

“I know... it's not covering for them I'm worried about, it's the uniform I'll have to wear.” I whined.

“You loved it last night.”

“I didn't 'love' it.” I stated. “I liked the tights.” I replied, before admitting to also liking the satin dress she'd let me wear. “But I'm having second thoughts now.” I told her.

“And that's fine... having second thoughts is normal. I had nothing but second thoughts before I opened my café but I knew I had to take the plunge.”

“That's different.”

“It is... I borrowed and invested thousands. I'm up to my eyeballs in debt and will be for the next few years if all goes well.” she told me. “But what I’m saying is, don't worry if you're having second thoughts.” she reiterated. “I am too... but I have absolute faith in you. It's hard work but you'll be absolutely fine.”

“It's not the work though... it's the uniform.” I reiterated. “Working as a waiter wouldn't bother me. It's working as a waitress I'm worried about.”

“No one's trying to pass you off a girl Simon.” she told me. “Waiters and waitresses do exactly the same job.” she stated. “In fact these days the preferred term is 'server'.” she added.

“Why can't I just wear a shirt and trousers?”

“We've already had this conversation... my servers wear skirts.” she bluntly stated. “And you wore it just as well as any of them.” she reminded me. “I know you had reservations but you did say you'd do it last night.”

“I know but... it was OK last night when it was just you and Mum … but in your café I'll be dressed as a waitress in front of all your staff and customers.”

“You'll be wearing exactly the same thing as my staff and the customers will know you're a member of staff... which is the whole point of having a specific uniform.” she said. “You won't have have to wear make-up if you're worrying about looking too girlie.” she added. “So long as you're clean shaven and your hair's tied back, you can go as you are.”

“But I just looked like a boy in a skirt without make-up.”

“You were a boy in a skirt with make-up Simon.”

“I know but... I felt like it suited me more with make-up.”

“Then wear make-up.” she shrugged. “I honestly don't mind either way... but please don't back out.”

Wearing a waitresses uniform worried me. Wearing make-up worried me. Letting my sister down worried me... especially after I'd told her that I would help and would wear the uniform. “OK.” I said, swallowing my pride. I huge grin swept her face. She told me I was 'the best' and advised me to think of the money I'll be earning rather than the uniform I’ll be wearing. She had a point. I would be getting paid a very good wage for someone my age and I'd be able to buy myself all sorts of stuff that I can't afford with my pocket money.

Later that day. Mum came home from town and said “I got you these.” she said, handing me a small carrier bag.

“Thanks.” I glumly said, removing a pack of 15 denier black tights. “Will I need five pairs?” I asked, perusing the box. Mum said I probably would over the course of four weeks. She also told me I'd have to shave my legs. “Yeah I know.” I replied, having worked that out for myself.

On the Sunday, my sister knocked on my bedroom door. I guess Mum had told her she'd bought me some tights and mentioned my legs. “I thought you might want these.” she said.

“I was just gonna use my Mach 3.” I said as she handed me not only an electric LadyShave, but a woman's Venus razor too. She said my Mach 3 would be fine, but using the electric shaver to remove the bulk of my leg hair first would make it a lot easier. The Venus razor is an unused gift she had laying around and since my sister waxes, she has no use for it. She explained how it's better shaped for armpits than a men's razor. “Do I have to do my armpits?” I asked.

“You'll be wearing a vest... so yes.” she told me, reminding me that everything will grow back in no time.

“Yeah I know.” I said, before reluctantly thanking her. A few hours later, after trimming my legs and armpits with the electric LadyShave, I sat in the bath and shaved my body hair for the very first time. I thought my legs felt nice when clad in a pair of tights but after pulling a razor over them, they felt fantastic! Having no armpit hair felt a little weird though. I dried myself and donned my bathrobe before rinsing and washing the bathtub. I returned the LadyShave to my sister, but she said I could keep it since she no longer uses it. “I don't want to keep it.” I said. “I won't use it again.” I stated.

“OK.” she smiled. “Do your legs feel nice?” she asked.

“Yeah I guess.” I replied, playing down my true feelings. “My arm pits feel a bit sticky though.” I added. I returned to my room and was tempted to put a pair of tights on over my silky smooth legs, but decided not to. I kept my bathrobe on for a while though.

I found myself daydreaming quite a lot throughout my day at school on Monday. So much had happened since Friday and I can't tell anyone about it. Part of me wanted to confide with one of the girls that I'd worn a dress and tights and heels, had my hair 'done' and worn make-up and really liked it, but I feared such a confession would spread like wildfire. Part of me wanted to boast to my friends that I've got a job for a few weeks and will earn a really good wage, but they'd only want to know what the job is. Of course I could lie and say I was going to be a waiter but they'd want to know where and when and I couldn't risk any of them coming to my sister's café and discovering the truth... so I kept everything to myself.

On Tuesday I found myself worrying about tonight's first shift at my sister's café. Karen's told me that I'll soon forget about my uniform but that's easy for her to say... wearing a short skirt and tights is nothing new. Mum tells me to get straight on with my homework when I get home, reminding me that I’ve got a 'big night' ahead of me. “How could I forget?” I glumly retort. I have supper an hour earlier than usual and my sister helps me get ready. I shower and pull on a pair of tights. They feel so much nicer than they did on Friday. “What are these for?” I asked as she handed me a tiny pair of black shorts along with a black vest.

“To wear under your skirt.” she said, reminding me that the skirts are quite short and saying that all the girls wear a little pair of gym shorts beneath. I pull on the shorts and vest and she tells me to put some pants on. “You can change into the skirt when we get there.” she suggested. I wasn't going to argue with that. “Do you want make-up or not?” she asked.

“Yeah I guess.” I apathetically replied, recalling how I looked like a boy in skirt without it, and significantly better with it.

Instead of doing my make-up for me, Karen coached me through doing my own. This was daunting prospect, but she reassured me and claimed that it's easy enough to apply. “A quick dusting of foundation, a little eye-shadow, eye-liner and mascara.” she said.

I did the foundation and eye-shadow with ease. They're not exactly rocket science. And I'd learned not to flinch away from the eye-liner pencil and mascara brush on Friday, so applying those was a lot easier than I’d anticipated. I was quite chuffed with my first effort, although I didn't look half as good as had on Friday when my sister applied it. She handed me a pink lipstick. “Is this the one I wore on Friday?” I asked.

“Yeah.” she said. “You seemed to like it.”

“Because it looks like my own lip colour.” I said, taking it. She told me that was precisely why she chose it for me. I looked at my reflection and applied it and whilst it is a very similar shade to my natural lip colour, it's perfectly obvious that I'm wearing lipstick. I smiled at myself but didn't feel at all confident. Karen gave me a bobble and I tied my shabby Ramone hair style into a high ponytail. Leaving my fringe forward. She dealt with the straggly strands with a few hair-slides, before telling me I was done. “Thanks.” I nervously said. “I am crapping myself.” I confessed.

“You'll be fine.” she assured. “The best boy waitress in all of Christendom.” she claimed.

“The only one more like.” I glumly added. I dropped my eyes to my stocking feet, sticking out from my long pants. “Which shoes am I wearing?” I asked. “Mum's heels again?”

“Oh no. Plimsolls.” she told me, specifying my all black baseball shoes.

“Really?”

Karen nodded. “I thought I'd told you that?”

Maybe she had. In all the fear and excitement I guess I began to fear the worst and imagined myself tottering around on kitten heels, ferrying plates and trays to and from the tables. Either way, the prospect of wearing plimsolls was a huge relief, although they felt a little loose with only a thin pair of tights and no socks on. “You all set?” Mum asked as we descended the stairs.

“Yeah I guess.” I replied, forcing a smile. “Karen said I could put my skirt on there.” I added as Mum glared at my long pants. She wished me luck as I donned my coat. “Thanks.” I replied. “I'll need it.” I gulped.

“You'll be fine.” my sister said. “It's just a trial remember... but I have every faith in you.”

We left and drove to the café in Karen's car. “Do the rest of your staff know I’m working tonight?” I asked.

“Of course.” my sister replied. “They're a bit baffled that I managed to talk you into it but they're looking forward to meeting you.”

“I'm a bit baffled that you talked me into it!” I replied.

“You didn't take much persuading.” she claimed.

“Yes I did!” I stated, but thinking about it... maybe I didn't. “I'm still having second thoughts now.” I told her.

We soon arrived at the café and Karen parked her car around the back. I felt more than a little self conscious as we walked all the way round to the front door. I glanced at my dull reflection in the shop windows we passed and despite wearing pants and an overcoat, I looked like a girl with my face painted and a little ponytail tied high on my head. Karen raised the steel shutter and unlocked the door. The alarm system began to beep and she darted to the console and inserted the key, silencing it. I glanced around the unlit space. Inverted chairs sit on the tables tops. “You can get changed in the back.” my sister said. “Did you remember to bring your lippy?”

“Yeah.” I replied, pulling it from my jacket pocket.

My sister smiled and led me through to the back of her café where there's a small staff room and loo, a store room, the kitchen and a pantry. “The others should be here in ten or fifteen minutes.” she told me, before leaving me alone whilst she turned on the ovens. “You all set?” Karen asked when she returned a few moments later.

“Yeah I guess.” I timidly said as she looked me up and down. “This skirt feels shorter than I remember.” I added. My fingers hung nervously about its knife pleated hem.

“Well it's the same skirt.” she smiled. “Come on... lets put the chairs out.” she said.

There's twenty tables with four chairs each so a total of eighty chairs needed putting in place. My sister left me to it whilst she put out the menus. It didn't seem too daunting a task but after the first twenty, I certainly warmed up and began to feel a little breathless. One by one her staff arrived; one cook and two waitresses named Jan, Olivia and Trish. Karen introduced me to them and shyly I shook their hands and said hello, feeling incredibly self conscious as each looked me up and down. But none of them commented on the fact that I was a boy wearing make-up, a skinny black vest, short pleated skirt and thin black tights. Olivia & Trish were dressed exactly the same as Karen and myself but being young women, they wore the uniform far better than I felt I did. My sister showed me the ropes, explained the table numbers, the little note pad and the simple shorthand for various orders such as C for coffee, T for tea, HT for herbal etcetera. “Right, you need to top up your lippy and put this on.” she said, handing me a small white apron.

I gulped at it. “I thought you didn't want aprons?” I said, recalling the extensive discussion all those months ago. Karen told me she didn't initially but the waitresses needed a pocket to put their pen and pad in and Stephanie, whom I’m covering for is apparently a dab hand with a sewing machine and made the dainty little aprons out of old serviettes and table cloths. They even had frills around the hem and what my sister called a faux-bow; that being a perfect and permanently tied bow on the back, with a discreet hook & eye fastening on the side. Once I’d donned the little apron, the uniform went from sassy and stylish to traditional with a hint of tart.

I was as nervous as hell when the first customers came through the door and doubly so when I took my first order from a family group; mum, dad, son and either an aunt or grandmother. Olivia shadowed me and said I needed to speak more clearly and confidently, but other than that, she said I'd done well. “That boy was glaring at me.” I said as we gathered the place mats at cutlery.

“Think nothing of it.” Olivia advised. “When you're a girl, people glare.”

“But I'm err....” I gulped. “...not a girl.”

“I know, but you are a waitress.” she smiled.

The first hour was relatively quiet, then the café got rather busy and just like my sister claimed, I didn't have time to worry about my attire as I juggled taking the orders, laying out cutlery, delivering meals, taking payments, clearing tables... it was like a whirlwind that lasted ninety minutes but the time flew and before I knew it we were seeing off the last few customers. The sign on the door was switched from open to closed and Olivia & Trish both removed their frilly little aprons. I followed suit, gulping at the perfectly effeminate bow that I've worn on the small of my back all evening. “So how do you think that went?” my sister asked as she took my apron and folded it.

“Er... apart from getting a couple of orders mixed up, and taking the wrong bill to the wrong table, and almost dropping a bowl of soup on someone...” I listed, panting and feeling flustered. “...erm... I don't know.” I gulped.

“Well considering you've never worked tables before, you did OK...ish.” Karen told me. Olivia and Trish agreed, before each offered some constructive feedback. I knew I'd slipped up a handful of times but it soon became apparent that I'd slipped up more than I thought. Both, incidentally, were asked by separate customers if 'that waitress' was a boy and my sister said she'd also been asked the same thing. I grimaced and gulped. “Don't worry... I just said you were covering for one of our regular waitresses and that I have a strict uniform policy.” my sister told me. “...and they didn't seem at all bothered.”

“Didn't they think it was weird though.” I replied.

“It's more unusual than weird... it is 2019 after all.”

“Yeah and they probably think I'm trans.” I frowned.

“If anything they probably think I’m a harshly inflexible café owner.” my sister smiled. “They looked a little perplexed when I said we can't have one rule for us women and another for the boys.” Karen added. “But they did drop a five pound tip.” she added.

“I said much the same to mine.” Trish stated. “Equality in the workplace, I said.”

“They probably do think I'm trans if you put it like that!” I said.

“Oh yeah.” Trish grimaced. “Next time I'll say we have an equal uniform policy... or something.” she bit her lip. “Still... they seemed OK with it.”

“Is there going to be a next time?” I asked.

“What do you think?” she asked Trish and Olivia. “Will we loose custom having a boy working as a waitress?”

“No I doubt it.” Olivia replied. “Some of 'em might think you're trans but if they ask we can always explain.”

“I had a few reservations at first.” Trish stated. “But you did OK considering.”

Considering what? I wondered. The fact it's my first time or the fact I'm just a boy. Olivia and I wiped down all the tables and stacked all the chairs whilst Trish helped in the kitchen. My sister cashed up the register whilst the glass-washer whirred away behind the counter. “Did you enjoy it tonight?” Olivia asked me as we cleared up. I wasn't sure if 'enjoy' was the right word. Endure would be more apt. “I was surprised at just how tiring it was when I first started.” Olivia said.

“To be honest I was more daunted by dressing as a waitress than working as one.” I replied, adding that my sister made it perfectly clear that it was going to be hard work.

“I bet you were.” Olivia grinned. “I can't help but admire your guts though.”

“I think I'm nuts for agreeing to it, but I'm just doing my sister a favour.” I bashfully replied. “I'd have preferred a shirt & trousers but...” I shrugged, pursing a reluctant smile.

“Well just think of the money.” Olivia said. “None of us do this for fun.”

“True.” I replied. “To be honest the uniform ain't so bad. I'd have probably overheated if I was wearing a shirt & trousers.” I said. “Plus, I didn't have time to worry about it once it got busy.”

Once we'd wiped the tables and stacked all the chairs, I swept the floor and Olivia mopped it. I asked Karen if she had anything else for me to do, and was sent to the kitchen where I emptied the dishwasher and sorted all the crockery and cutlery. “So what's it like being a boy and working as a waitress?” Jan the cook asked.

“Well I'm not planing on telling any of my mates.” I dryly replied.

“Ashamed of doing women's work?” Trish asked, somewhat cuttingly.

“No not at all... I don't think it is women's work... I just don't want them to know that I have to wear a woman's uniform.” I said, glancing down at my pleated skirt and nylon clad legs.

“Fair enough.” Trish smiled. “You wear it well.” she said.

“Thanks.” I shyly replied. “I don't know if I was being paranoid or not but I got the distinct feeling that everyone was glaring at my legs.”

“The whole point of a short skirt is to draw attention to our legs.” Trish retorted.

“Yeah I guess.” I replied as my sister entered clutching her iPad. She asked what we ware talking about.

“Your brother's legs.” Jan grinned.

“They're far too nice to hide.” my sister said, before asking if she could borrow me. “Can you finish off the cutlery and crockery please Trish?”

“Sure.” Trish replied.

I followed my sister into the small staff / storeroom. She shut the door and said she wanted to run through the list of errors I'd made. I sat, smoothing my skirt and clutching my knees together. “It's essential that you remember who ordered what... giving someone a soup spoon when they've ordered pâté isn't at all professional, and taking the bill to the wrong table is absolutely unacceptable.”

“Sorry.” I gulped.

“Just make sure you don't do it tomorrow.” she sternly told me.

“I will.” I said.

“I hope so.” Karen said. “I don't expect you to get everything right on your first night but I do expect you to learn fast and I won't tolerate repeated mistakes.” she told me. I gulped and nodded. “Right.” she said, standing up and opening a cupboard. “You'll need these.” she told me as she handed me some cellophane wrapped packages. “Two more vests and another skirt.” she said. “Make sure you wear a clean vest every shift.”

“Err... OK.” I said. “Thanks.” I gulped. Karen smiled and sent me back to help clear up whilst she finalised tomorrow's food order. Afterwards, seventy eight pounds worth of tips were divided between the four of us, equalling almost twenty pounds each. Everyone left leaving myself and my sister, who checked the windows and bolted the doors before setting the alarm. “Do you want to grab your coat and pants?” she asked.

“Oh I'd forgotten about those!” I said as I hovered, waiting and day dreaming about something along the lines of what would my friends think?

“You've got two minutes... I’m setting the alarm.” she said as I darted into the back. “Aren't you going to wear them?” she asked when I returned, pulling on my overcoat with my pants folded under one arm.

“I didn't think I’d have time.” I said. “...and no one I know'll see me round here.” I added. The café is a good few miles away from my school and most people I know, plus it's dark outside.

“Fair enough.” my sister said, setting the alarm and ushering me out onto the broad pavement. It felt both nerve racking and thrilling stepping outside. I watched my dimly lit reflection disappear as the security shutter slowly lowered. My legs looked ever so thin. Being mid March when the days are warming, I realised that we're still at the tail end of winter and the clear evening was rather chilly. “I didn't think it'd be this cold.” I said as the light breeze nibbled through my thin tights.

“It's not that cold.” my sister said. Her legs are just as exposed as mine.

“I know but you're used to it.” I said. “I'm not.”

“Well you're being very brave.” she smiled. “I would have waited if you wanted to put your pants on.”

“I know but... it's dark and I wanted to know what it felt like... just wearing tights outside.” I said, glancing up and down the mostly deserted pavement. “They're not very warm are they.”

“They're only fifteen den.” she said as we began to stroll. “But better than nothing.”

“Really?” I quizzed. “Because it kinda feels like I’m wearing nothing.” I said as my legs strode through the cool evening air. “It must be freezing in the middle of winter.”

“It can be... but like you say, us girls are used to it.” my sister replied. “Which means we're just that bit tougher than boys.” she jovially yet proudly stated.

“Yeah I guess.” I replied, glancing at our reflection in a darkened shop window. “Do you think I'm weird for wanting to know what it feels like?” I asked, adding “...just wearing tights.”

“Not at all.” Karen replied. “If anything I think you're cool for wanting to try something new.” she said. “There's so many different clothes we can wear but social norms restrict what boys are allowed... if I was you and I'd spent my whole life wearing pants, I'm sure I'd want to know what a skirt or dress felt like ...or a pair of tights for that matter.” she mused as we entered the back alley.

“Yeah.” I replied. “Growing up we're almost brainwashed into hating anything remotely girlie but maybe that's what makes it all the more intriguing.” I said, before confessing to trying on one of her party dresses when I was a kid.

“Really? Which one?”

I described a pale blue frock with lilac flowers. She'd worn it for some family function, maybe a 50^th birthday party or a ruby wedding anniversary and I remember her kicking up a fuss beforehand. “I couldn't work out what was wrong with it.” I recalled as we approached her car. “It was just a dress and girls like dresses but for some reason you hated that one.”

Karen remembered it well. It was an aunt and uncle's silver wedding anniversary. She described her dress having a big square collar and little princess sleeves. “I was almost thirteen and it was like something an eight year old would wear.” she grumbled. “Loads of people sniggered at me that day.” she said. “You'll have only been about seven or eight.” she figured. “I bet you looked well cute.”

“I dunno. I was about ten when I tried it on.” I said. A load of stuff was stacked in the spare bedroom destined for the charity shops and a number of coats and dresses hung on a clothes rail. Mum had to drive Karen somewhere so I was home alone for maybe twenty or thirty minutes. “I was intrigued because you thought it was so awful but to me it was just a dress... plus it was the only one that'd fit me.”

“Well it would have suited a ten year old more than thirteen year old.”

“Not a ten year old boy.” I replied. “If anything I was underwhelmed with it ...but I only wore it for a few minutes.”

“Have you worn anything since?” she asked.

“Not before last Friday.” I replied.

“And there was me thinking I was putting you in your very first dress.” she grinned, pulling out her car keys. “I wish I'd seen you.”

“I'd have been mortified if you had.” I said. “I remember getting into a right panic because the zip was a lot easier to pull up than pull down.” I reminisced. “I thought I was stuck in it!” I nervously chuckled as the car beeped and flashed and unlocked.

“That's the worst thing about dresses with a back fastening when you're a kid.” Karen said as we got in the car. “You quite literally are stuck in them.”

“Fortunately I managed to get out of it. “ I said. “I'd have been in so much trouble.” I recalled as I straightened my pleats over my lap. “But in light of this... you'd have probably encouraged me to try even more of your cast off's.”

“I probably would.” she grinned. “But it would have been Mum who'd caught you.”

“I know... at least on Friday I had an excuse when she walked into your room.”

“I thought I was in so much trouble.” Karen said. “She had a face like thunder at first!”

“I know... imagine how she'd have reacted if she caught me when I was ten... alone in the house wearing your party dress.”

“She'd have probably reacted exactly the same way... shock and surprise followed by realising that you looked really nice.” my sister mused as she started the engine. “All my cast-off's could have been your hand-me-downs.” she grinned.

“Eeek” I grimaced, briefly re-imagining the last five years of my life. “You won't tell mum that I tried one of your dresses on years ago will you?” I asked.

“I don't think she'd mind.” Karen replied.

“I know but I don't want her thinking I'm a closet tranny.”

“I'm sure she won't... but I won't say anything.”

“Thanks.” I said.

We soon arrived home and I strolled into the sitting room.“How did it go?” Mum asked, looking me up and down.

“OK.” I said. “I stopped being a bag of nerves after half an hour or so.”

“Well the first day of any job is always a bit daunting.” Mum said.

“The uniform worried me more than the job.” I replied. “Especially when Karen told me I had to wear an apron.” I exclaimed.

“Didn't you know about those?” Mum quizzed. I shook my head. My sister entered the lounge. “Did he got on OK?” Mum asked her.

“Yeah he was fine.” my sister said, before listing many of my numerous errors.

“And did the customers say anything about him?” Mum enquired.

“Yeah... I just explained that he was covering for a regular waitress and I have a very strict uniform policy.” my sister replied, adding that none of them seemed to have any reservations about a boy working as a waitress.

“I'm sure some of them thought I was a transvestite.” I said.

“Well I suppose some people might.” Mum replied. “Boys working as waitresses isn't exactly the norm.” she said, before suggesting I get myself to bed and reminding me that I have school in the morning. “And don't forget to wash your make-up off.”

“I won't.” I said, before bidding my sister and mother goodnight. I spent a moment just looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror before removing one of the make-up wipes from the pack on the windowsill. I removed the make-up from one half of my face first and spent a moment comparing each side. The left side looked like me whilst the right side looked like a better looking me, with brighter eyes and longer lashes. I removed all of my make-up using the wipes, then thoroughly washed with soap and water a few times until I was convinced it had all gone.

I returned to my room and unpacked the vests and the skirt from their cellophane wrapping, folded the vests and hung the skirt, before undressing and getting into bed. Frankly, I was knackered and drifted off to sleep in no time.

The next morning I woke and washed my face again using both make-up wipes and soap. Mum asked if I'd slept well. “Like a log.” I said, before asking if she could tell I'd been wearing make-up.

“Not really.” she replied. “Did you remember to hang your skirt up?”

“Yeah.” I said, before nervously chuckling and saying how weird that sounded.

“I'm sure we'll get used to it before long.” Mum smiled. “I was rather surprised that you wore it home last night.” she said.

“Yeah.” I bashfully said, explaining that I thought I only had a minute when Karen set the alarm and didn't have time to put my pants on.

“Are you going to tell your friends that you've got a job?” she asked.

“No.” I stated. “They'd only want to know what and where and I'd have to lie because there's no way I'm going to say I’m working as a waitress.”

“Fair enough.” Mum smiled. “Just be careful about flaunting your money because they'll wonder where it came from.” she advised.

If I'd gotten myself a normal job, I'd have quite happily boasted to my friends and classmates that I was earning my own money and got almost as much in tips as I'd earned in wages last night, along with anecdotes such as taking the wrong bill to the wrong table and almost spilling a bowl of soup over a customer... but since I’m a teenage boy working as a waitress in my sister's café, I feel it's probably wise to keep quiet about it. With the school breaking up for Easter on Friday, most of my classmates were looking forward to that and a couple asked if I had any plans for the two week break. “No not really.” I told them, suggesting we could maybe meet up at some point, but deliberately kept it loose.

I arrived home at the usual time and got straight on with my homework. I didn't have much to do so it only took an hour. I changed out of my school uniform, pulled on a new pair of tights, a clean vest and the tight gym shorts. “Yeah?” I said, hearing a knock on my bedroom door.

“Hiya!” my sister said, entering.

“Karen I'm getting changed!” I whined.

“You've got shorts on.” she said, before inviting me to her room. “Don't forget your bobble and hair slides.” she said. I grabbed them from my bedside cabinet and followed my sister to her room.

Karen sat me at her dressing table. First I tied my hair into a high ponytail and Karen coached me in clipping up the straggly bits with the hair slides and suggested I pinned my fringe back today. “Why?” I asked.

“For a change.” she said. Reluctantly, I took her advice but wasn't too keen on having my eyebrows on display since she'd plucked them as part of my make-over on Friday. “They're hardly Greta Garbo.” she said, before asking if anyone at school had noticed I'd had my eyebrows shaped. They hadn't, thankfully. “Well there you go.” my sister smiled.

“But my fringe covers them at school.” I claimed as she handed me some hairspray and told me what to do with it. I shielded my face and coughed in the cloud of fumes. “This'd be so much easier if I was a waiter.” I said.

“Not as much fun though.” Karen replied. “I enjoy getting myself ready to go out.” she said, listing doing her hair, doing her make-up, choosing her jewellery... “All you boys do is brush your teeth and brush your hair.”

“And shave.” I stated.

“Have you shaved?”

“Yeah this morning.” I replied. Unlike some of the lads in my class at school, I develop my five o'clock shadow every three or four days. Karen ran her finger down my cheek, then asked if I'd shaved my legs since Sunday. “No.” I replied. “Should I have?”

“Depends if they feel smooth or stubbly.” she shrugged as I began to apply a light dusting of foundation, followed by just a touch of eye-shadow. “Is make-up expensive?” I asked as she handed me her eye-liner pencil.

“It can be... why?” she asked.

“Well... I was thinking... maybe I should buy some of my own.” I said. “It's not fair to use yours all the time.”

“I don't mind.” she told me. “Unless you want some of your own?”

“Well... like I said, it doesn't seem fair to keep using yours.” I replied.

“I could put you little bag together... I’ve loads and I certainly don't use all of it.” she offered.

“Err... OK... if you don't mind.”

“My pleasure.” my sister smiled.

“Cool.” I said, before turning to my reflection and carefully applying my eye-liner. “Ooops.” I grimaced. “Have you got some cotton buds?” My sister handed me some and I tidied up my mistake.

“You learn quickly.” she said.

“I saw you doing this yesterday.” I told her. “Does that look OK?” I asked. Karen grinned and nodded. “Cool.” I said, putting down the eye-liner and picking up the mascara.

“Right... I'll do this for you.” she said, picking up another pencil.

“What's that one?”

“It's an eyebrow definer.” she told me.

I faced her rather than the mirror when she applied it, but expected to see a pair of shapely and overtly feminine eyebrows when she'd finished. I prepared myself before turning to the mirror. “Oh that looks OK.” I said. Although having a clearly defined shape, my brows looked fuller than before. “I thought you were going to make them look really girlie.”

“I can if you want.” she said.

“No.” I chuckled. “They're fine as they are.” I said, looking at my reflection. On the dresser in front of me is a single lipstick. “Is this one mine?” I asked, recognising the sculpted shiny container.

“Yes.” my sister said. “But you can try a different shade if you like.”

“No I’ll err... stick with this one, thanks.” I timidly replied, bashfully adding that I 'kind of' like it.

“I like that you like it.” Karen said as I applied the lipstick. “Are you going to be brave and wear your skirt or change when we get there?”

“I'll change when we get there.” I said, putting the lid back on the lippy. “It's still light outside so...”

“Fair enough.” Karen smiled, before telling me to go and put my pants on.

“Supper will be ten minutes!” Mum hollered up the stairs.

I pulled on some pants and pushed my stocking feet into my black plimsolls. Mum said I looked nice when I sheepishly sauntered into the kitchen. “Thanks.” I timidly said.

“It's nice seeing all of your face for a change.” my mother added.

“I'm not so sure.” I replied. “It feels a bit weird not having a fringe.” I said, raising my fingers to my exposed forehead. A few minutes later, Karen joined us and made a pot of tea. Over supper, she reminded me of some of my errors the previous day and hoped I wouldn't make the same mistakes again. “I'll do my best.” I said.

“I know.” my sister smiled.

After supper I reapplied my lipstick and put it in my jacket pocket. “You ready?” I asked my sister. She said she was but spent a good five minutes parping about before we actually left. She said I seemed a lot more relaxed today, but I still had butterflies in my tummy. “My biggest worry is one of my classmates finding out I'm a waitress.” I told her. Karen said it would be unlikely as teenagers don't tend to frequent a classy café like here, plus, it's on the far side of town, a good four miles away from our neighbourhood and my school. “Yeah I guess.” I replied, yet still felt nervous.

Wednesday's shift was much the same as Tuesday’s. I changed into the skirt and donned an apron on arrival, then began putting the chairs out whilst Karen turned on the ovens. Jan the cook arrived first, soon followed by Olivia and Trish. “Your hair looks nice.” Olivia said. Bashfully, I thanked her. One thing about being a boy is people seldom say things like that but since last Friday when Karen gave me a make-over and talked me into working as a waitress, I've had no end of compliments about my hair, my make-up and my legs. I find them both daunting and encouraging. Trish down-stacked the chairs with me. We chatted as we worked about this and that and she asked if I'd ever considered getting my ears pierced. She was wearing a new pair of earrings that she was particularly proud of, hence it coming into conversation. “Err... not really.” I said. “I usually wear my hair down so no one really sees my ears.” I added. She asked if I wore 'skirts & stuff' at home. “Not really.” I replied. “Karen put me in one of her dresses last week.” I confessed, adding that it was quite nice.

“Cool.” she smiled. “If I was a guy I know I'd cross-dress.” she claimed. “It'd be so boring just wearing pants all the time.” she added, glancing at my legs.

“Yeah.” I timidly said. “I keep telling myself that this isn't cross-dressing because it's the only uniform Karen has... but it is really.”

“You wear it as well as anyone.” Trish smiled.

Yet again I felt nervous and self conscious when the first customers entered, but the more I served and the busier the café became, the more I relaxed into my role of waitress. I frequently found myself glancing at my colleagues Olivia and Trish; their short pleated skirts swished from side to side as they marched between the tables and serving hatch, and the bright white bow on the back of their aprons looked perfectly dainty. I seems preposterous that I'm dressed the same as them and no seems too bothered. Of course some of the customers look a little bemused when I’m taking their orders but other than that, it seems that a boy working as a waitress is mostly acceptable if a little unusual. I get the feeling that it's me who finds the concept more questionable than anyone else.

The two busy hours flew by as we dashed from table to table and before I knew it, the last few customers were leaving. We wiped the tables, stacked the chairs, swept and mopped the floor, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, dried the cutlery and got everything ready for tomorrow morning. Tonight’s tips only equalled twelve pounds each but I wasn't grumbling. In two evenings I've earned over fifty pounds in wages and over thirty in tips which is more than two months pocket money. If any of my classmates do find out and ridicule me for working as a waitress, at least I can claim that I'm being well paid for it. “You gonna put your pants on?” my sister asked after the others had gone.

“Nah.” I replied as I removed my apron. “I'll only have to take them off again when we get back.” I said. Karen bolted the doors and set the alarm and I stood in the cool night air whilst the security shutter slowly lowered. “It's windy tonight.” I said.

“I know... that's why I suggested you put your pants on.” she grinned.

“Well if a girl can cope I’m sure I can.” I confidently replied as the chilly breeze cut through my thin tights. Bravado aside... my legs didn't half feel the cold as we walked round to the alley behind the back of her café. “Brrrrr.” I said as I shut myself in the car, rubbing my hands briskly over my lap. “I'm glad it's not December!”

“Well if us girls can cope I’m sure you can.” my sister teased.

“I'm beginning to think its us that's the weaker sex.” I jovially replied. My sister confirmed that we are as she started the engine.

“There's not much point you taking those pants if you're not going to wear them home.” Mum said when we returned. I explained that I'd feel too exposed wearing my skirt when it's daylight and the streets are busier. “Fair enough.” Mum smiled.

“The wind was really cold tonight though.” I said as I perched on the edge of the sofa. “Maybe I should have put them back on.”

“I'm sure even a boy can brave the elements between the café and the car.” my mother smugly stated. “It's good that you're not entirely timid about your uniform though.” she said. “Were the customers OK tonight?”

“Yeah... I don't think any of them are bothered about a boy being a waitress.”

“Well it is 2019.” Mum shrugged. “It's high time workplace equality worked both ways.”

“That's one way of looking at it.” my sister said, overhearing our mother as she entered.

“I can't help but wonder what I'm going to say if any of my mates find out I'm a waitress... I’m not sure if saying it's equality working both ways is enough to justify it.” I mused. Mum said I should cross that bridge when I come to it and added that since it's a temporary position, I mightn't even have to cross that bridge. “Yeah true... I think I'm more worried about it than anyone.” I said.

“You probably are.” my sister said. “But you've nothing to worry about really... Mum's right. It is 2019 after all.”

“Yeah I guess.” I replied.

I soon went through the rigmarole of removing my make-up and letting down may hair before taking myself to bed. I reflected on what my sister said about enjoying the process of getting ready. Guys have it so easy compared to girls but I'm beginning to enjoy the routine; removing my eye make-up, foundation and lipstick, washing and cleansing my face, taking out my hair-slides one by one, pulling out my bobble, brushing my hair and carefully removing my tights before slipping my smooth legs under my duvet.

On Thursday at school, everyone was looking forward to the last day of term and the two week Easter break. My friends were planing cinema trips and eagerly anticipated going to see the new blockbuster movie on its opening night... but I suggested seeing it a few days later would be better. For obvious reasons I couldn't tell them that I'd be working on the night they wanted to go, so instead argued that it'd be packed on the opening night and going to the cinema on a Friday or Saturday would be better than a Wednesday. But they were dead set on going on the opening night, so I changed the subject slightly and suggested going to see something else at the cinema tomorrow night, but no one could agree which movie to go and see. Then one friend said he couldn't see it either because he was going to see Dumbo on Friday. We teased him and defensively he claimed he had to take his little sister.

“How was school?” Mum asked when I returned home.

“OK.” I replied, before telling her about my friends wanting to go to the cinema on Wednesday and Mum reminded me that I'd be working. “I know... but I couldn't tell them that.” I replied. Mum said I could just say I’ve got a job as a waiter and be vague about where. “It's easier just to say nothing.” I replied. “...plus they all know that Karen's got a café so they'd presume it was there.” I said. “This would be so much easier if I was a waiter.”

“Not as much fun though.” Mum smiled, before asking if I had any homework.

“Yeah but it's not due back until after Easter.” I stated. Mum suggested I get it out of the way. “Well I was thinking about having a bath before work.” I replied. Mum suggested a quick shower. “But my legs are getting stubbly.” I confessed.

Mum smiled. I felt myself blush. “It's noting to be embarrassed about... plenty of men shave their legs these days.” she claimed.

I'd read something similar on the internet, but I'll bet none of them do so because they're working as a waitress. I took myself to my room, changed out of my school uniform and ran myself a bath. My legs weren't very stubbly at all but felt so much nicer once they were perfectly smooth again. I returned to my room and pulled on a clean vest and slid a clean pair of tights up my super smooth legs, before pulling on the little gym shorts and some long pants. Yet again I found myself sitting at my sister's dressing table. “This is for you?” she said, holding a small black handbag.

“Erm... I don't think I need a handbag do I?” I said as I took it from her.

Karen reminded me that she'd said she'd give me some make-up so I'm not using hers all the time. “...all my make-up bags are pink & girly so I rooted out an old handbag to keep it in.” she said.

“Oh... OK... thanks.” I bashfully replied as I opened the slightly feminine bag. Inside is a compact, some eye-liner, mascara and an eye-shadow palette, plus three different lipsticks. “Do I need three lipsticks?” I asked.

“It's nice to have a variety.” my sister said, reiterating that she's got loads of cosmetics that she'll never use. “Now I didn't put your favourite in because it's one of my favourites too... but those are pretty close.” she told me.

“Oh OK.” I said, removing the contents.

“You should get a vanity mirror for your desk.” she suggested as I tied my hair up.

“I was thinking that last night.” I replied as I tied my hair in a bobble and pinned up my straggly ends. “Shall I pin my fringe back again?” I asked.

“It's up to you.” Karen replied, adding that it looks nice either way.

I decided to leave it down and began applying my make-up. After a light dusting of foundation, I did my eye-shadow, liner and then my mascara. “I feel like I'm rushing.” I said. “Does it look OK?”

“Yeah it looks perfect.” she said. “I like that you don’t put too much on. I used to plaster it on when I started wearing make-up.”

“I guess the fact that I’m a boy helps.” I said. “The last thing I want is the kids in my class being able to see that I've been wearing make-up.” I explained. “Which of these shall I wear?” I asked, removing the lids from each of the three lipsticks.

“Whichever you like the look of.” she replied.

They're all similar shades of pink. Nothing too bright or shocking. One is called peach blossom, the next coral bliss and finally “Shy girl!” I sniggered.

“Try it.” my sister said.

“Just so long as no one asked what colour I’m wearing.” I replied before applying it. “Does that look OK?” I asked.

My sister smiled and nodded. I slipped the lipstick in to my pocket, but my sister said I should put it in my handbag. “It's probably worth putting a spare pair of tights in too... just in case you get a ladder.” she advised.

“Err.... yeah I guess.” I gulped. I had absolutely no intention of taking the handbag to work with me but after supper, that's exactly what I ended up doing, and without question. Mum didn't mention it as we left, but she might not have noticed the small black bag hanging from my shoulder.

Olivia noticed that I was wearing a different shade of lipstick tonight but thankfully didn't ask what it was called. I'd have made something up anyway rather than saying 'oh it's called Shy Girl... does it suit me?'. The café was busier than the previous two nights but I felt I had everything under control. I was rushed but not run off my feet, so to speak. Once the café had closed and we'd cleared and tidied everything, Trish asked my sister if that was her handbag hanging on the staffroom. I felt myself blush when Karen casually said it was mine. Trisha asked me where I’d got it because she was after nice small handbag and mine looked perfect. “Errr... Karen gave it to me.” I timidly told her. “I think it's an old one she had.” I added.

My sister divvied up the tips and gave us twenty-six pounds each. Having earned over fifty pounds this week in tips alone, it's well worth having to dress like a waitress, I thought as I considered the prospect of my friends finding out about my job... not that that would justify it to them. I know they'd tease me relentlessly if they knew. Again I didn't bother putting my pants on to walk round to the car. I like feeling the air through my tights and having shaved my legs today, it feels all the nicer, if a little fresher. “Well that's one week out of the way.” my sister said after pulling down the shutter.

“Yeah.” I replied. “Still can't quite believe I'm doing this.” I said as I looked down at myself. “I shaved my legs again today.” I added.

“Good.” she replied. “You'll have to get them out in the summer and get some sun on them.”

“Maybe.” I replied. “I read on the internet that loads of blokes shave their legs these days.”

“I don't blame them... hairy legs are horrible.” Karen said.

“Yeah.” I agreed as we turned into the alley. “I didn't give them a second thought until I shaved them the first time... I'm not sure I could go back to them being hairy again.”

Karen unlocked the car and I climbed in the passenger seat, smoothing my skirt beneath me and placing the handbag square on my lap. I wondered what my friends would think if they knew and chuckled nervously. “What?” Karen asked.

“Oh nothing.” I replied, before confessing that I'd left my lipstick in my coat pocket yesterday. “Had it with me all day at school.” I grimaced.

“Ooops!” she grinned. “I'm a bit worried that I might have turned you onto cross-dressing.” she said. “Not that there's anything wrong with that.” she added.

“It's not cross-dressing when it's compulsory workwear.” I claimed, albeit not too seriously. “But I think I’ve always been a bit curious.” I told her. “I did try on your party dress when I was ten remember.”

“You did.” she replied. “But if I hadn't talked you into trying on one of my uniforms... then gave you a full on make-over and put you in a dress.”

“...and heels.”

“Mum put you in heels.” she reminded me. “And you took to them like a duck to water.”

“They weren't exactly high though.” I recalled.

“No but they were kitten heels.” she said. “Would you wear them again?”

“I don't know. Are you planning on putting me in a proper dress again?”

“I'd like to.” my sister replied. “Would you?”

“Yeah.” I cautiously replied. “Not sure when though... I think I need a few days just dressing like a boy though.” I said, noting that over the last seven days I’ve worn a skirt and make-up on four of them.

“Only for a few hours each day though.” Karen stated. “But I see what you mean.” she said. “If we're not careful you'll end up like me and not feel dressed unless you're wearing a bit of make-up.”

School broke up on Friday afternoon and a few of us did go to the cinema that evening. Some girls from our year were also in the queue and it was unusual seeing them all dressed up; wearing heels and make-up with fashionable outfits and elegant hair-styles. They looked so different than they do at school, whilst us boys looked more or less the same as we always do. Of course we wore jeans instead of trousers, trainers instead of shoes and T shirts under our usual overcoats instead of a school shirt. I cast my mind back to the previous Friday when my sister styled my hair, did my make-up and put me in that gorgeous dress. I envied the girls for living in a world where they can get all dressed up to the nines. I'm sure they had a lot more fun getting ready than I did tonight, even if all they're going to do is sit in a darkened room and watch a movie.

They weren't girls we knew well and they weren't the sorts of girls who'd hang with a bunch of alternative/emo boys like myself and my friends, so we didn't chat or even say hi before or after the movie, but glances were exchanged. We went to KFC and debated the movie's high points, low points and plot holes. It was also mentioned how very different the girls from school looked, all dressed up. “What's the point of getting all dressed up to sit in the dark?” one of my pals quizzed. I didn't offer an opinion other than saying that girls like getting dressed up and stating that my sister spends ages getting ready when she goes out. Those that had sisters said the same. “I'm glad we don't have to go through all that.” another friend commented. I agreed, but part of me wished I had the choice... not that I said anything. We soon parted company and they arranged to go and watch the new blockbuster movie on Wednesday. I lied and said I couldn't afford two movies in one week.

I strolled home through the darkness. The stars were out and a half moon shone brightly in the sky. It being a Friday night, plenty of people were out and about; blokes in long pants and long sleeves whilst the women wear little sleeveless dresses, tottering about in dainty, elegant footwear. Some wear thick tights and some wear none at all. I recalled my sister claiming that women and girls have toughened up to the elements and I guess she must be right. I've always wondered how the girls at school cope in December and January. Some of then don't even wear tights and brave the freezing weather in just knee socks. The few boys who do wear skirts at school wait until the occasional scorching summer day when it's too hot for long trousers and claim they're protesting against not being allowed to wear shorts. I wonder how they'd cope if they had to wear skirts all year round?

Over breakfast the following morning, my sister handed me a small brown envelope. “What's this?” I quizzed.

“Your wages.” she matter-of-factly replied.

I'd gotten so much in tips each night I'd worked that I'd almost forgotten that I got wages too. The details were stated on the back of the envelope; ten and half hours at seven pound per hour equals seventy-three pounds and fifty pence. With just over fifty pounds in tips I'd earned around £125 in the three short shifts. “Thanks!” I gleefully said the Karen.

“You've earned it.” she replied. “And if anything I should be thanking you... most boys wouldn't step up to the mark as you've done.”

“You mean most boys wouldn't work as a waitress.” I said.

Karen nodded and smiled. “So what are you going to spend your wages on?” she asked.

“I dunno.” I replied, listing inexpensive items such as music and video games, as well as more expensive things such as a wide screen TV for my bedroom. “...or I could get some new clothes.” I supposed.

“I'd like to go clothes shopping with you.” Karen enthusiastically suggested.

“You'd probably have me looking round all the girl's shops!” I jovially retorted.

“Too right.” she grinned. “You look loads better as a girl than you do a boy.”

“Right well that's settled.” I stated. “You're not coming clothes shopping with me.”

“I'm only teasing.” Karen smiled.

“I know.” I replied.

“There's many a true word said in jest.” Mum said, before telling me to put my money somewhere safe.

I did put it somewhere safe, that being in my savings account when I went into town that afternoon. Karen was at work all day and Mum stayed home, pottering as mothers do. As I sauntered around the shops, I did find myself frequently glancing at all the 'wrong' window displays; specifically the fashion stores and in particular the items displayed on the female mannequins. Skinny jeans, patterned leggings, little shorts, strappy tops, sassy skirts, little dresses and all sorts of accessories; bags, scarves, bangles, chokers, headbands, you name it. I figured one good thing about being a boy is that the very limited choices we have keeps things simple. Girls have so much to choose from I expect it's quite overwhelming. Every time Karen buys a new outfit she always seems to buy a new bag and earrings to go with it, sometimes shoes too. I honestly wouldn't know where to start.

I met up with some friends on Sunday and Monday; listened to music, played video games and chatted about all sort of things. My secret job seemed to be constantly on my mind and I feared I might slip up and say something at any moment... especially when going bowling on Thursday evening was mentioned. I lied and said that we always go to my Gran's on Thursday.

My three shifts at my sister's café were pretty much the same as last week, although getting ready wasn't quite so rushed since I didn't have any homework to do. Mum dug out an old desktop mirror from the attic which meant I didn't have to sit at my sister's dressing table whilst I did my hair and make-up. As usual, I went to work wearing a pair of pants over my tights and returned home wearing my short pleated skirt.

On Wednesday, Karen put my hair in French braids which I thought looked really cool. The girls at the café said so too. On the way home in Karen's car, she suggested that I keep the plaits in over night and take them out in the morning which meant on Thursday, my hair was all wavy and overtly girlie. So much so that I spend the entire day dressed as a girl, albeit not in a dress. Karen loaned me a cute pair of denim shorts which I wore with thick black tights and a pale blue fitted T shirt with a pink CND print on the front. I wore make-up all day too, and Mum jovially suggested they call me Simone for the day. I wasn't keen and Mum began suggesting other girl's names. Apparently if I had been born a girl, I'd have either been Emma or Donna. I suggested that instead of pretending that I'm a girl, that we pretend it's normal for boys to wear tights and make-up... that way I can still be called Simon and not Simone or Emma.

We visited our aunt, uncle and cousins on Good Friday and whilst it was mentioned that I'm helping my sister out in the café, it wasn't revealed that I'm working as a waitress. I met some friends on Saturday in town and once again found myself covertly eyeing the window displays of the girl's fashion stores. Grandma and Grandpa came for dinner on Easter Sunday and again, me working at my sisters café was mentioned but no further details were given, thankfully.

Easter Monday was a quiet day. Mum and Karen planned to spend the afternoon watching an epic movie that's about five hours long. Most of my friends we're spending the day with their families and I felt at a loose end. By lunchtime I was bored senseless until Karen suggested painting my nails. Not only did she do my fingers, but my toenails too. We sat on the sofa with my legs on her lap and one of those foam things squished between my toes. Karen noticed that my calves were a little stubbly and suggested I have a nice long bath when my nails are done and pamper myself. “I don't really know what that is.” I confessed.

“Well you light a scented candle and use plenty of bubble bath, you take your time, have a soak, shave your legs, soak some more, wash your hair, relax, shave your pits, have another long soak, condition your hair, rinse and relax.” she told me in a dreamy tone of voice, adding that I should use her nice Roseberry toiletries.

I did as she suggested and I did enjoy spending the best part of an hour in the bath. The fragrant candle filled the air as I carefully pulled a razor over my skin. Seeing my fingernails and toenails painted in a glossy pink varnish elated me. The fragrant shampoo and conditioner left my hair feeling smooth and silky and smelling of roses. I wallowed in the bubbles until the water cooled and the suds thinned, then dried myself in a big fluffy towel. It seemed odd having a bath in the early afternoon but with the sun streaming through the window and the floral fragrance filling my senses, everything seemed perfect and the water gargled down the plughole.

After rinsing out the bath I returned to my room, stalling in the doorway to let my jaw drop a little. On my duvet lay a satin camisole in ivory with delicate lace trim and a pair of matching French knickers, and from my wardrobe hung a pretty floral dress... far too pretty for someone like me. On my desk sits a round vanity mirror on a chrome stand with a post it note saying Don't forget your make-up! xx

I was too scared to wear the knickers alone, so pulled them on over a pair of my underpants, then donned the camisole. It felt so light and silky next to my skin. I didn't wear the dress just yet, instead I pulled on my bathrobe and sat at my desk, opened my handbag and removed the small selection of cosmetics my sister had given me, choosing the lipstick that most closely matched my nail varnish. I don't know why but I felt more nervous applying my make-up today than doing so to work in Karen's café. I kept glancing at the dress and gulping. It's nothing like the strappy charcoal dress I wore a fortnight ago. The light cream fabric is decorated with large bold blooms in pink and pale green foliage. It has short floaty sleeves, a broad round neck and a full layered skirt. I return to my reflection and continue applying my foundation. My damp hair holds itself off my face. I wonder what to do with it.

After carefully applying my eye-shadow and eye-liner, I brush my lashes with mascara and finally apply my lipstick. I gulp at the frock once more before standing and facing it. Several deep breaths later, I remove my robe and pull on the dress. The hem of its skirt lands a few inches above my knees. It short sleeve float midway on my upper arm. Given the choice, I'd have never worn something so flowery but now that I am, I can't help but feel that I’m wearing something very beautiful. I'm a bag of nerves as I descend the stairs, anticipating their reaction.

I'm met with two broad grins. Mum tells me I look lovely and my sister says that she just knew it would suit me. “I didn't know what to do with my hair.” I shyly told them.

“We've been discussing that.” Mum replied.

“And?” I asked after a moment.

“I want to give you something like you had last time, but Mum wants an up-do.” Karen replied.

“What's an up-do?” I quizzed. Karen explained and Mum nodded approvingly, but then Karen reminded me how great I looked the first time she put me in a dress and suggested doing something similar with my hair. “Well I guess the up-do.” I replied, adding that I may as well try something new.

“Fair enough.” my sister said. “He's all yours Mum.”

I was kind of hoping that Karen would be doing my hair, since she's taught me everything so far and I feel comfortable with her. Being led to my mother's bedroom felt very daunting, and it was there that I got my first proper look at myself, reflected in her huge mirrored wardrobe. I stopped and gulped and stared. “Do you like it?” Mum asked.

“Erm... I think so.” I timidly replied. “I wouldn't have chosen a flowery dress myself but... it does look nice on.” I said, adding that it feels really light.

“Who'd have thought that helping your sister our would have led to this.” Mum smiled as she pulled out her dressing table chair.

“I pretty much started with something like this.” I replied, recalling the charcoal dress I'd worn after trying on the uniform.

“True.” Mum smiled. “I'm quite enjoying having two girls around the house.”

“I'm not a girl Mum.” I reminded her. “But I'm enjoying trying out girl things.” I confessed. “It's just annoying that it's so antisocial.”

“How do you mean?” Mum asked as she began playing with my hair.

“Well... last week when we went to the cinema, there were some girls from school in the queue all dolled up in heels and make-up and little dresses. They looked more like young women than schoolgirls and we we're all saying how good they looked. If it was me who'd got all dolled up... the judgements wouldn't have been positive.”

“The customers in the café have been OK though?” Mum quizzed.

“Yeah... although some do seem quite bemused by me.” I replied.

“Would you like to go out all dressed up? ...to the cinema maybe?”

“I dunno... boys clothes seem so boring compared to this.” I said, smoothing the floaty skirt over my hairless lap. “...and if I'm feeling a bit bland or ugly, I can just paint someone better looking on my face.” I added, looking at my reflection. “...or, girls can.” I stated.

“Your sister and I are both impressed with how quickly you've learned to apply make-up.” Mum said as continued sectioning off the back of my hair, twisting and pinning it in place.

“The hard part was learning not to blink or flinch when doing my eyes.” I replied. “Everything else is fairly easy.” I said.

“Yes I suppose.” Mum said. “Can I suggest a different lipstick?”

“Don't you like this one?”

“No I think it's nice... but one that matches the roses on your dress would be nicer.”

“I chose this one to match my nails.” I replied, splaying out my fingers and noting that it's not a perfect match. Mum began working with my fringe and I sat an watched what she was doing with my hair. “Ooh I like that.” I said when I saw what she'd done; a kind of braided side parting to hold my fringe off my face, held in place with a couple of hair-slides. Another small braid style the hair over one ear, and a few more slides and twists and finally a cloud of hairspray and Mum declared me done. I couldn't really she what she'd done at the back but the sides and front met with my approval. “Thanks Mum.” I bashfully said, biting my lip.

“You're welcome.” she replied. “I've been wanting to play with your hair ever since you grew it long.” she smiled.

“You were always telling me to get it cut.” I reminded her.

“Only because you only ever wore it hanging loose, and never brushed it properly.” she retorted.

“Yeah well.” I coyly surrendered. “I like it loose and unkempt... it's cool... when I'm dressed as a boy anyway.”

“And how do you like it now?” Mum asked.

“I love it!” I told her. “Can I see the back?” Mum passed me an oval hand-held mirror and told me to turn my back to her dressing table mirror. “Are they butterflies?!” I gasped, seeing about eight or nine small silver clips decorating all the twisted sections of my hair. Mum nodded. “I feel like I'm dressed for a wedding or something.”

Mum grinned. “Not quite... you need something on your feet.” she told me, opening her wardrobe and adding “Don't worry... I'm not planning on taking you out anywhere.”

“I don't think anyone would recognise me if I did go out.” I retorted as I admired my reflection. “Not that I'm suggesting we do.” I added.

Mum chose a pair of cream strappy sandals with a small block heel, barely an inch in height. Whilst I fiddled with the buckles, she rummaged through her huge selection of lipsticks. “Try this.” she said, handing one to me.

“Can I put it on top or?” I asked before applying it. Mum already had a make-up wipe ready to hand me. “That'll be a no.” I smiled, taking the wipe from her. “How's that?” I asked a moment later.

“Much nicer.” Mum smiled. “Try this.” she said, removing a small pale pink handbag from her wardrobe.

“I handbag?” I quizzed. “I thought we weren't going anywhere.”

“We're not... but accessories make the outfit and this goes with your frock and lippy.” she told me. I stood in front of the large mirrored wardrobe and looked at my reflection from head to toe. My hair looks so different being held in place with pins, twists, clips and a couple little loose braids; short yet full of style. Mum was right about changing my lipstick, and the matching handbag really does belong, even if I don't need it. My painted toe nails remain on full view, and the low heeled sandals look safe and sedate. “The only thing I'm missing is earrings.” I commented.

“Well it's not uncommon for men to have both pierced these days.” Mum replied.

“Yeah I know... I might get them done one day... if that's OK?”

“It is... but if you do, I want to go with you.” Mum replied.

“Can I go and show Karen?”

“Of course.” Mum grinned.

I practically skipped down the stairs but slowed and prepared my entrance as I neared the sitting room door. Mum was close behind me. She mouthed the words don't be shy and ushered me in. “Simon you look like you're going to a wedding!” Karen gushed.

“That's exactly what your brother said.” our mother told her as they both admired me.

“Your hair looks gorgeous.” Karen exclaimed, asking me to turn around. “Oh Mum I love that!” she announced, before asking where she got the butterfly clips from and commenting on my little braids and complimenting my shoes and handbag and finally, my new shade of lipstick.

“Can I sit or do I have to stand here like a mannequin?” I dryly asked after a few long moments. I sat and gulped and smoothed my frock over my lap. Karen asked what was in my handbag. “Err... nothing... it's just a prop.” I replied, placing it on the chair arm.

“It's a shame you've got all dressed up just to stay inside.” Karen smiled.

“I know... I guess it's my fault for being a boy.” I wryly retorted. Mum went to make a pot of tea. “I enjoyed my bath.” I said, having never really pampered myself before.

“Good.” Karen smiled. She glanced at the door before discreetly asking if was wearing the underwear she'd put out for me. I gulped and nodded, before bashfully telling her that I was wearing the French knickers over my own underpants. Karen smiled approvingly. “I wasn't sure if that dress would be too flowery for you.” she said.

“It's way to flowery for me.” I told her. “But nice though.” I said. “Part of me really does want to go out somewhere.”

“We could sit in the garden. It's a nice day.”

“The neighbours might see me though.” I replied.

“Only from their upstairs windows... and from there they'll just think you're one of my friends or Mum's niece or someone.” my sister supposed. “You really don't look like you Simon.”

“Yeah I guess.” I replied. I also considered that the neighbours might have already seen me getting into Karen's car with my hair in a pony tail and a face full of make-up when heading off to work, and if they have. No one's said anything as far as I know.

Mum returned with a tea tray, saying “It's a lovely day out there... we really should be in the garden instead of sitting inside watching telly.”

“We were just talking about that.” Karen replied. “I think I've convinced Simon that he's got nothing to worry about.” she added, smiling at me.

“But isn't there a big film you wanted to watch?” I reminded them.

“Well I've seen it countless times and I'm not sure if it's Karen's thing really.” Mum replied, adding that it'll be on again at some point.

Mum didn't spend a great deal of time out in the garden since she has a tendency to potter, but Karen and I were out there for hours. I was nervous at first and kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see someone glaring at us... but I soon got over my stage fright and relaxed. My thin floaty dress felt perfect for such a warm spring day. I loved its loose light sleeves as they wafted in the breeze. I imagined being on holiday somewhere, strolling along the shoreline with my sandals dangling from my fingers as the waves lapped over my bare feet. Karen and I listened to the radio and chatted as we flicked through magazines. I did have a couple of my own gaming and movie mags but found myself flicking through my sister's fashion magazines and pretending it was normal.

In one is a feature on the young cast of Stranger Things, a show both I and my sister have enjoyed. There's an out of character photoshoot of the various actors, and I noticed that even the boys are wearing some make-up and pointed it out to my sister. She told me that every boy and man in a magazine or on TV wears make-up, adding that the only difference is they don't wear 'glamour' make-up, so not so much around the eyes save for a little mascara on their lashes, but plenty of face powder and a subtle shade of lipstick, dusted to make it appear more natural. I began paying more attention to the guys in the magazines and Karen was right, they are all wearing make-up. “I don't feel quite so weird now.” I said, grinning at my sister.

“Your not weird Simon... I bet loads of guys would love to explore their femme side given half the chance.” she replied.

The sun eventually sank behind the rooftops and we returned indoors. Karen suggested I put something else on. “Oh but I like this.” I replied.

“I know but when a girl gets home after day out, she likes to change out of her nice dress into something a bit more casual, then she can relax and sob about.” Karen told me. “I've got some nice pedal pushers you might like, and little blouse that goes with them.”

“What are pedal pushers?” I asked. Karen said she'd show me and whisked me up to her room. Pedal pushers, it turns out are short pants cropped below the knee, and these are pale blue canvas with a white polka-dot print. The blouse is white with short gathered sleeves. I change in my bedroom, taking care not to ruin my hair when I removed the dress. I unbuckle the sandals and notice that I've caught the sun as I've got tan lines showing where the straps were. I remove the French knickers and pull in the pants which unusually fasten at the side with a button and zip. I leave the camisole on and button myself into the blouse, which is fiddly as the buttons are the wrong way around. It's thin. The camisole can be seen through it, lace trim and all. I put the sandals back on (as instructed) and return the dress to my sister, along with her underwear. “I've got tan lines on my feet.” I tell her.

“You've certainly caught the sun on your legs.” she replied, suggesting if it's sunny again tomorrow she'll lend me some little shorts and a strappy top.

“Er... maybe not the top... those tan lines might be a bit too telling.” I replied.

“Not really because you wear a strappy top one day and a halter neck the next and avoid getting any tan lines at all.” she replied.

“But I'm a boy... I could just sunbathe topless.” I smugly replied.

“Oh yeah... I'd forgotten about that.”

I wasn't too keen on the pedal pusher pants but Mum said I looked nice. They did feel far more casual than the pretty dress mind, I just wasn't keen on the baby-blue colour. The following day wasn't quite so sunny but I wore the little shorts my sister loaned me until it was time to get ready for work. I pulled on my my tights too eagerly and managed to ladder them, which was annoying. Mum did say they don't last forever. The shifts in the café were much the same... quiet to begin with, then a busy hour in which we're all rushed off our feet, followed by a busy close down, cleaning the tables and sweeping the floor and stacking the chairs. Getting ready each evening and seeing myself wearing make-up, with my hair tied in a feminine style began to feel quite normal. When I removed my make-up before going to bed I sighed at myself, seeing my face looking so bland and boring. I now understand why girls complain that they're not allowed to wear make-up in school.

The fortnight break came to its inevitable end and my friends wondered where I'd got to over Easter, having only met up with them a couple of times at the beginning of the school holiday. I told them we'd visited a lot of family and stuff and pretended that I’d had a mostly boring two weeks. Little did they know that I’d spent more days dressed as a girl than as a boy. This was also my final week working at my sister's café as her student staff would be returning so I was no longer needed.. but Karen did say I'd be her first port of call if anyone was off sick and she needed someone to cover the occasional shift. And not only that... the students would be away for the best part of three months over summer so I’ve got that to look forward to, providing I'm willing.

Once my regular shifts ended I kind of reverted to being a normal boy again. I did continue shaving my legs on a regular basis, but only did my armpits when I felt they needed it. April turned into May and I did cover a couple of shifts at Karen's café. I was quite happy that my fascination with dressing as a girl all the time had waned somewhat... I was beginning to worry that I was turning into a full on tranny. I did however wear the occasional bit of make-up at home and Karen would chose me something to wear once in a while which was nice.

All was well in my world until a girl at school approached me one day on the way home and asked if my name was Simon. “Yeah.” I replied.

She asked if I worked in a café, which I denied. “Yeah you do.” she said, telling me exactly which café and stating that I work as a waitress. “I've even got proof.” she told me, removing her phone and showing me a video, shot covertly through the front window of me serving some customers.

My face is clearly visible, my skirt, apron and tights are in full view and it's obviously me who's dressed, and working as a waitress. I gulped. She told me that her sister works there and she'd heard about the boy who works as a waitress. She heard what school he went to and soon worked out who the boy was. “You won't show that to anyone will you?” I asked.

She put her phone back in her bag. “I think it's cool that you work as a waitress.” she told me.

I tried to explain that I’m not really a waitress and only cover the occasional shift, and that they have a very strict uniform policy which just happens to be a skirt and vest, and that my sister's the owner and I only do it to help her out. “...but please don't tell anyone.” I almost begged.

“Why would I do that?” she asked. From her tone I could tell it was a loaded question. I gulped. “It's no big deal really.” she said, reminding me that some boys wear skirts for school when the weather's too warm for long trousers.

“True.” I replied. “But I'd still prefer it if no one knew about my job.” I said.

“Well...” she began. “...I'll keep your job as a waitress a secret on one condition.”

“What's that?” I gulped. “I can't do that!” I exclaimed. “Everyone would laugh at me!”

“They'd laugh even more when I put the video of you on FaceBank... and link it to the school blog.”

“That's blackmail!”

“Call it what you want.” she smugly replied. “You want to keep your job as a waitress a secret, then you'll wear a skirt for school whenever it's hot... say, a forecast of twenty degrees or more.” she told me. I was clearly flustered by her proposition. “It's no big deal... loads of boys wear skirts in the summer.”

“No they don't!” I retorted. “Only a handful.”

“And you're going to be one of them.” she smiled.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “I don't even know you.”

“For fun.” she replied. “..and I know you.” she said. I frowned. “We might have another crappy summer for all I know... you might not even have to do it.” she said. “But rest assured, if there's a weather forecast for the next day exceeding twenty degrees and you don't come to school in a skirt... then your video goes viral.” she told me.

“I don't even have a skirt.” I retorted. “Not a school one.” I added, visualising my two waitress skirts that live in my wardrobe.

“Well you'd better make sure you get one.” she stated as she began to walk away. “And don't forget to check the forecast.” she grinned.

“Oh cripes!” I gulped as she left me. Would she really post the video? I wondered. Probably, I figured. She's got nothing to lose. I sauntered home feeling incredibly glum. The video she showed me played over and over in my minds eye. There's no denying it's me wearing a waitresses uniform so I couldn't deny it. I also knew that I'd be a bigger laughing stock if everyone knew I worked as a waitress than if I wore a skirt for school... at least I could justify that by claiming I'm protesting against the ban on short trousers.

“You OK love?” Mum said when I returned home. “You look glum.”

“Nah I'm OK.” I lied. “Is Karen home?”

“Yes she's in her room.” Mum replied.

I sauntered up the stairs and dropped my school bag off in my room, before gently knocking on my sister's bedroom door. “Who is it?”

“Me.”

“Just a tick.” she replied. I waited a moment until she opened the door. “Hiya.” she smiled.

“Err...” I gulped. “...do you err... still have your old school uniform?” I asked.

“Nooo.” she cautiously replied. “Why?” she asked, just as cautiously.

“I was err... thinking about joining in the protests at school... you know... against shorts being banned.” I told her, gulping.

“You're going to wear a skirt for school?” she asked, beaming slightly.

“Well I'm just thinking about it... only if it's a really warm day.” I said. “Not everyday.” I added.

“Cool.” she grinned. “Have you told Mum?”

“Err... not yet... I thought I’d ask if you still had one first.”

“Sorry... all my school stuff went to charity when I left.” she told me. “I'll take you shopping if you want though... unless you'd rather go with Mum... or on your own.”

“Go where with Mum?” Mum's voice asked. She has a habit of creeping around unheard until she speaks!

“Simon's thinking about wearing a skirt for school.” Karen told her. “...as part of those protests the boys do.” she added, somewhat sarcastically.

“Really?!” Mum quizzed.

“Well I'm toying with it.” I sheepishly replied.

“And is this because you want to win the right to wear short pants or because you'd like to wear a skirt for school?” Mum quizzed. I tried to reply but couldn't find the right words, and I didn't want to tell the truth... Mum continued, “Because as I understand it... the headmaster has made it perfectly clear that short trousers will not be permitted and that boys are more than welcome to wear a skirt if they wish.”

“Yeahhhh.” I agreed.

“Well if you feel brave enough to wear a skirt for school then we'll have to get you one.” Mum replied. “Pity we got rid of Karen's uniform when she left school.” Mum added. “That would have saved me some money.”

“I'll buy it.” I said, gulping and realising just how keen that made me appear.

“You're not worried about what your friends will think... or say?” Mum asked.

“Well... I guess they'll tease me a bit... but loads of boys wear skirts when it's hot.” I replied.

“Well it's fine by me.” Mum shrugged, suggesting we go to the uniform shop on Saturday.

“I might need one before then.” I said. The threat of the video was in the forefront of my mind and the girl, who's name I didn't think to ask, was quite clear. “The protests are on the days when it's hotter than twenty degrees.” I told her.

“I hadn't realised these 'protests' were so organised.” Mum replied.

“Well it's err.... more of an unwritten rule.” I said, gulping.

“Well... if you want me come with you, you'll have to wait until Saturday.” Mum told me. “If you 'need' one before then, you can always go on your own.”

“I'll go with you.” Karen said. “I'll pick you up after school.” she suggested. “...unless you'd rather go on your own.” she added.

“Err no... that'd be great. I'd feel a bit weird buying a skirt on my own.” I replied. I paid particular attention to the weather forecast that evening; seventeen degrees tomorrow (Wednesday), eighteen degrees the day after and the same on Friday. Mum paid attention too and told me that there's no rush, but my sister said she was looking forward to taking me shopping.

I spent the evening in a silent panic. I felt really guilty for lying to my mother, and sister as to why I want (need!) a school skirt... but I felt I’d dug myself into a rut and it's too late now. The fact that a girl is threatening me is the last thing I want to reveal, and part of me is excited by the prospect of wearing a skirt for school. Hopefully I won't have to wear it too soon... but it's the middle of May and the days are only going to get warmer between now and the end of term.