Tapped

Eleven year old Peter watches his older sister Sally practising her tap dancing in the back garden, and noticing he's intrigued, offers to teach him some steps. “Now the basic steps are...” his sister demonstrates, and Peter tries his best to do them. “That's really good Peter.” she says after ten minutes.

“No it isn't... I'm rubbish.” he replies. “I just went thump thump thump... but when you do it, it's tap tap tap.”

“That's because you're not wearing tap shoes.” she says, showing him the soles of her shoes. “But you can do the steps quite well for a beginner.” She gets him to try something a little more difficult, and again he gets the hang of it after a few minutes.

She's really impressed but he's less keen because when she does it, it sounds like tap dancing and when he does it it's just thump thump thump. Sally tells him to wait and disappears inside the house. Peter practises until she returns. “These are my old ones so they might fit you.” she says.

Peter sits down and removes his trainers, before squeezing his foot inside the black tap shoe. “I think they're too small.”

Jenny's Room

There is a prologue to this story, which isn't essential reading, set a few
months prior to these events as Peter's curiosity gets the better of him.
If you'd like to read why Peter began cross dressing, click here

 Image by Kimberley Wilder, used without permission but is the sole inspiration for this story.

“You shall remain dressed exactly as you are until I’ve decided what to do about this” my mother stated as her eye's dropped to see the semen dripping on to the floor. She turned to my sister and told her to go to the kitchen, before tuning back to me. “Right young man... come with me!”

Jenny's Room: prologue

I never understood my sister... or girls in general. It seemed as long as something was pink, they liked it. Growing up, my toys were trains and tanks, aircraft and spaceships. Action man, Batman, Spiderman, guns and skateboards and remote control cars. My sister however had dolls, a dolls house, and yet more dolls. She had a huge My Little Pony collection and a host of cute teddy bears. Her toys were all the same, all pink with flowers and love hearts whereas mine were all different, interesting and exciting. As we grew older, I stopped playing with toys and began building model kits and playing video games. My sister stopped playing with her dolls and began to spend all her pocket money on clothes, hair accessories, make-up and fashion magazines... but everything was still pink and frilly

Her bedroom made me feel sick, with its pink walls, princess bed and matching curtains. An ornate dressing table littered with lip-sticks and pungent perfume. Her bookshelves are home to the last of her dolls and teddy bears, books about clothes, hair and make-up along with stories of princesses and girls in boarding school having lame adventures. In one corner is a large pink framed mirror which she spends ages in front of, admiring her latest item of clothing or hairstyle. On the floor is a fluffy heart shaped rug... in pink of course. And perched on her chest of drawers is her TV & DVD player... in pink! 

On The First Day of Christmas, My Auntie Gave to Me...

It was early Christmas morning. My sister Susan and I sat in the sitting room, me in my pyjamas and Susan in her nightie. Mother sat by the Christmas tree and handed us our gifts one by one. I was already overwhelmed by all the gifts I'd received so far, and eagerly took the next parcel. “These are from Aunt May.” Mum said.

We both said “Thank you” as we read the gift tag before unwrapping them. The moment I saw the fabric I knew something was wrong. “Mum I think she got the name tags mixed up!” I said as I unwrapped the gift further and noticed it was definitely meant for a girl. “This must be Susan's present!”

Caught Red Handed: a very short story

A quick short story inspired by a photo that I found online... 

...apologies to the photographer and subject, I suspect you may not approve.

I stared at my stockinged lap guiltily and cursed every strand of nylon which clad my freshly shaved legs. No more than two minutes ago I felt fantastic... like these tights and this dress were made just for me. Like they were meant just for me. But now, as I sit with shame coursing through my veins I feel like an imposter. A fake. A fraud. A freak.

Mother let out a long audible sigh. I looked up towards her as she slid her underwear drawer shut before exhaling sharply through her nostrils as she closed her wardrobe doors. As she turned to look at me I returned my guilty gaze to my lap, unable to look her in the eye. “Well... let's have a look at you.”

I gulped and for the first time in god knows how many moments, our eyes met. I gulped again.

“Stand up.” she said. “I want to have a proper look.”

I cringed. All I want is to be left alone. Just for a moment. Just long enough to peel off this hateful outfit and...

“Please.” she insisted. “If you're going to borrow my clothes I at least want to see how they look.”

I removed my palms from beneath my lap and placed them flat on the mattress. I slowly and shamefully stood. I swear I felt myself physically shrink as my mother's eyes ate into me. Mother let out another sigh. I don't blame her. Words fail me too.

“Well stand up straight.” she asked. “I can hardly see what you look like stooping like that!”

I looked up at her, gulped and croaked an apology.

“I'm not looking for an apology Peter... I want to see what you look like... come on, head up.” she insisted in an almost chirpy tone.

I raised myself to my full height but still wanted nothing more than to shrivel and die. My eyes flicked between the middle distance and my mother. Her eyes flicked from my head to my feet and back again before something else caught her attention. “And I suppose you were planning on wearing these?” she asked knowingly as she crouched and picked up a pair of her shoes. Shoes which normally lived on the rack in the bottom of her wardrobe.

I gulped and nodded.

She sighed again. “Well I don't know whether to make you change or let you stew in your own juices.” she said in a disheartened tone. I murmured my preference, which I fully believe to be the most reasonable of the two options, but this only encouraged Mother to go the other way. “Well I think you should stew for a while.” she suggested. “Do these fit?” she asked, referring to the pair of black heeled sandals I’d selected.

I nodded. “Please mum.” I pleaded when she suggested I put them on. “I don't want to.”

“Well I assume you wanted to before I came home.” she retorted. “And you know how I feel about you doing things behind my back.” she added. “Now please Peter... put them on, and then we'll talk.” she insisted.

I told you it was short!

A-Z Story index 

Abigail's Party

“Peter!” shouted his mother from the foot of the stairs.

“What?” Peter shouted from his bedroom.

“I need to go into town to get some things for Abigail's party on Saturday.”

“OK.” he shouted back.

A moment later his mum shouted, “Well come on then, I haven't got all day.”

“Can't I stay here?” he replied from his room.

“No, you can help me choose a nice birthday present for her.”

“Oh mu-um.” he moaned, “I'm busy!”

“Busy playing that play station thing!” his mum retorted, “Now come on, I'm not leaving you in the house alone.”

“But I'm ten!” he replied.

“Well act like it and do as you're told!”

Peter turned off the play station and dawdled down the stairs to where his mother was impatiently waiting for him. “It's about time!” she said as he appeared, “Come on, we haven't got all day.”

His mum pulled out of the driveway and headed for the town centre. On the way she made small talk with her son but didn't get much of a response. “Oh give me some help Peter!” She blurted, “I'm only trying to think of something for her present, and seeing as you're the one who'll be giving it to her you really should help me choose something.”

Peter sighed impatiently, “Well I don't know what girls like.... a doll or something.” he suggested.

“I think she's a bit old for dolls love.” she replied, “She's the same age as you... you don't want Action Man any more do you?”

“I guess not.” Peter moaned.

“What about getting a pretty dress for the party?” his mum suggested.

“Whatever.” Peter replied unenthusiastically, paying more attention to the passing scenery that his mother's dulcet tones. “Girls like that sort of thing I s'pose.”

“Well that's settled then... do you want to choose one?” his mum smiled.

“What do I know about dresses?” he shrugged.

“Well I'll help you if you like.” she suggested.

“OK.” he moaned.

A Trip to Granny's

 

“But... you said...” he stammered as he looked fearfully at the panties. “...you only wanted to check the hem and then I could take it off!”

“Well if I’d said Let's see how your new dress looks you'd have run a mile.” I replied.

He stared at me in disbelief. Of course he'd have run a mile but now the dress is on, he's not running anywhere. His eyes dropped to the panties I held.

“Aren't they pretty?” I grinned. “They match your dress perfectly.”

A Suitable Punishment - part III

New to this story?
if you've missed part two, click here
if you missed part one, click here 

 

After spending most of the previous week dressed as a school girl,
Jon is finally allowed his own uniform back. He and his sister Mary head for school.

As they neared the school gates, Jon expected the jeers and taunts he'd received the previous week. Fortunately nobody batted an eyelid when he and his sister entered. However when Jon entered his form room a few of the kids taunted him. “Did you remember your gym-slip? You've got P.E this afternoon!” one laughed. “Did you shave your legs this morning?” asked another.

Jon ignored them, not wanting to get into trouble. The form teacher entered and scanned the classroom. On noticing Jon in his normal uniform she said. “Welcome back Jonathan... I trust you'll continue last week's good behaviour now you've got your trousers back?”

“Yes Miss.” Jon replied.

“Well let's hope so.” she added, knowing full well what he could be like.

The teacher in Jon's first lesson said pretty much the same thing, but added, “Although knowing you, you'll be back in your skirt before long.”

Jon impudently replied, “It's not my skirt Sir... it's my sister's!”

The teacher checked his watch before replying. “Hmm....” he frowned. “... it's not even 9.30 and your back-chat has started already....” some of the children giggled. “...maybe you'll be back in your skirt sooner than I thought.” he added, raising more giggles from the class.

Mother's Day

*I meant to post this in March... sorry it's late.

It was the Friday afternoon art class and as we all filtered in and took our seats, the teacher announced, “Now children I'm sure you're all aware it's Mother's Day on Sunday... so today we're all going to make Mother's Day cards.” A few of the kids put their hands up and said they'd already bought a Mother's Day card, however the teacher responded by saying there's nothing wrong with giving her two cards. On the board she drew an example which we could copy, or choose another idea.

As we sketched, scribbled and stuck yellow crepe paper to our cards, the teacher checked our progress, asking if we were going to do anything special on Mother's Day. Next to me sat Paul Dobson who just shrugged, claiming nothing special would be happening at his house. The teacher suggested maybe he should help her make lunch or something nice like that. Again he shrugged.

“That's very nice Peter.” she said looking at the gluey yellow mess of crepe paper splodged on my card. “Maybe if we add a little...” she suggested, before mending my mess and creating something which resembled the head of a daffodil. “And will you be doing anything special on mother's day?” she asked.

“Erm...” I hastily replied, “Er.... my Granny will come to visit and she always bakes cakes and scones...”

“That sounds nice... and will you be doing anything special for your mother?” she replied.

“Er....” I gulped. “I'll help granny serve the cakes and scones... and maybe help mum make dinner.”

“Well that's very nice of you.” the teacher replied before moving onto the next desk.

What I didn't tell my teacher is that as usual, I’d spend the whole day wearing a pretty dress whilst pretending to be the daughter my mother never had. Each year mum buys me a new dress and each year she makes such a fuss over it. This year's monstrosity has been hanging in my room all week and I'm dreading having to wear it.

Life on a small island

I was mostly brought up in in a small town a few miles outside of Bath. I lived with both parents and my big brother. He was fifteen and I was eleven when my parents dropped the bombshell that we were moving to the channel islands. And when they showed us which one, we weren't impressed. My parents had bought a house on Alderney, one of the smallest islands in the archipelago, and thus begun the most tedious and boring years of my life! Our parents are very successful IT freelancers and mostly worked from home. This meant they can easily carry on their normal working lives, retain their earnings and live on a remote island away from the hustle and bustle.

My brother and I hated the idea, but nothing we could say would deter them from their selfish dream. They wanted a big house, a sea view, tax breaks and plenty of time relaxing. They hated having to socialise with friends and acquaintances every weekend, having to visit their respective relatives every month or so and figured island life would stop all that. They could work and relax and do little else. My brother was much more vocal in his opposition to the move than I, but our parents made it perfectly clear that it was not our decision to make. So as soon as I finished Junior school in July, we packed up and left. I was looking forward to going to high school in Bath with my friends from junior school. It was far more appealing then going to a high school in a small town on a tiny island where I’d have to make new friends from scratch.

The top of the telly...

This has been just a caption for too long...

Ashford Academy - Part Two

if you've missed the prologue, read it here

if you've missed part one, read it here

The first week at Ashford was mainly 'getting to know you' and drawing up their time table for each day's classes. Once in school Michael didn't feel too self conscious about the uniform. However walking to and from school, he was subject to the occasional tease from the kid's who attended the 'normal' schools. He was keen to change out of his uniform as soon as he returned home, however come the second week at Ashford, Michael’s mother had a different idea.

“Oh Mu-um!” He moaned as he stood in the kitchen, “Do I have too?”

“Yes Michael, you do.” She replied, making him space to work at the dining table. “If you've got homework I want you to get on with as soon as you arrive.”

“I will... after I've changed... it'll only take a minute.” He pleaded.

His mother glanced down at his short culottes, his pale legs, his white socks and Mary Jane's. “School isn't over until your homework is complete.” She stated, pulling a chair out for him. “Plus, I like seeing you in your uniform.” She smiled.