No Surprises

“Kenny Linch is getting a Play Station 5 for Christmas.” I mentioned to my mother over breakfast one morning.

“Lucky boy.” my mother replied. “I hope his parents can afford one. They're still not cheap.”

“I know.” I replied. “The FIFA game is like sixty-five quid!”

“Hmm.” Mum replied as she buttered her toast. “Remember what we talked about before your birthday?” she said. “I don't want you getting your hopes up this year.”

“No.” I replied, glaring glumly for a moment into my cereal bowl.

~o0o~

A few days later. It's break time at school and me and a couple of friends are sheltering in a doorway, keeping out of the icy biting wind. Robert said he was hoping to get a gravel bike for Christmas and Peter said he'd got a CX bike for his birthday. “I'd like a PS5 but my folks can't afford one.” he added.

“Kenny Linch said he's getting one.” I commented.

“I'm surprised he hasn't already got one. His Dad's loaded!” Robert claimed.

“So what you getting for Christmas?” Peter asked me.

“Petticoated.” I bluntly replied. His eyes widened and Robert's jaw dropped.

“You're kidding?” Peter chuckled, somewhat nervously. I shook my head and gulped. “You're not kidding!” he said. I skewed my jaw. “Jeez that sucks.” he said.

“Yeah.” I frowned. “Mum was gonna do it for my birthday but she decided to delay it.”

“I thought you had to be thirteen.” Robert said. “My cousin got petticoated on his thirteenth birthday.”

“My aunt reckons it should be the twelfth birthday coz after that you're in your thirteenth year.” I replied.

“Have you got a petticoated cousin too?” Robert quizzed.

“Nah. She's got two daughters.” I stated. “What's your cousin like?”

“Well he's about twenty now so back to normal... but I remember him when I was a kid, having to wear a dress every Sunday...”

“I can't believe you're gonna be petticoated Mike!” Peter said.

“Me neither.” I replied. “I can think of better things to get for Christmas.” I dryly added.

“Will you have to dress like a girl for school?” Robert asked.

“Dunno.” I shrugged. “I hope not.” I said. “Did your cousin?”

“Dunno.” Robert shrugged. “I only really saw him on Sundays when we visited my gran.”

~o0o~

A week passed. “I bumped in to Peter's mum in town today.” my mother told me as I sat quietly doing my homework. “You told him about being petticoated.” she said.

“Yeah.” I replied. “He asked me what I was getting for Christmas.” I added.

“Oh.” Mum said. “I thought you'd have kept it to yourself.” she presumed. “Was he OK about it?”

“Well he said he couldn't believe it... and Robert said he had a cousin who was petticoated.” I told her.

“You told Robert as well?” she quizzed. I nodded. “And was he OK with it too?”

“I don't know! They didn't tease me but they weren't exactly envious either.” I retorted, sighing.

“Hmm.” Mum responded. “I didn't think you'd tell anyone.”

“Well they'd prob'ly find out sooner or later.” I figured.

“Hmm.” Mum said. “So... what did Robert say about his cousin?” she asked.

“Not much.” I replied. “He's about twenty now so all back to normal.” I told her, adding that he was petticoated on his thirteenth birthday.

“That's a year too late according to Auntie Andrea.” Mum commented, before guessing that Robert would have been about five years old when his cousin was first petticoated.

“Yeah.” I concurred. “He only saw him on Sundays when they visited their grandmother.”

“So he'll have been wearing a Sunday dress then?” Mum said. I nodded. She smiled.

“Will I have to wear a Sunday dress?”

“Of course.” she replied.

“Every Sunday?” I asked. She nodded. “It's gonna be so weird.” I said.

“Only at first.” she told me. “You'll get used to it in no time.” she claimed.

“So... what did Pete's mum say?” I asked after a moment of silence.

“Not much. I think she thought Peter was making it up because she looked quite surprised when I said you were. I also got the feeling that she didn't really approve of petticoating, but she didn't say anything untoward.”

“Hmm.” I replied. “I wish you didn't approve.” I glumly said.

“I know.” Mum said in a warm friendly tone. “It's only natural that you're...” she began. “Actually... it's nurtural that you're hesitant.” she said. “Boys will be boys and girls will be girls are social constructs. Girls aren't born wanting to wear pretty clothes; that's drummed into them from day one. It's the same for boys. If the world was different a boy wouldn't bat an eyelid if he was given a nice dress... just like girls don't bother when they're given boyish clothes to wear.”

“But the world isn't different. It is what it is and boys don't dress like girls... well... not normally.”

“I know... but petticoating is changing the world one boy at a time.” she told me. “You'll come out the other end a perfectly normal young man. You'll have excellent school grades, a strong sense of self, plenty of confidence and a much broader outlook than your peers.”

“Yeah... but apart from the grades, I’m not sure what all that means.” I said.

“You don't need to really.” Mum replied. “Think of it like all those kids who only eat pizzas and burgers and fries... they don't understand why they should have a healthy balanced diet, but when they're older and unfit and possibly obese as well... they'll look back and wish they'd done things differently.”

“But it's not their fault. It's their parents that feed them loads of cra... I mean, bad food.”

“Exactly.” Mum smiled. “I don't want you being thirty years old; working in a minimum wage job, wishing you'd done better at school and regretting getting in with the wrong crowd... but ultimately it's down to the parent to steer the child in the right direction so they can do their best at school and curtail their social circles when they're at their most vulnerable.” she explained, adding “If that makes sense?”

“I think so.” I replied, although I wasn't really sure. It wasn't the first time she talked about the ins and outs of petticoat discipline.

~o0o~

It's only a fortnight until Christmas and the last week of term before school breaks up. It's registration and as the form teacher is reading out the final few names from the register, the headmistress enters the form room and smiles ominously in my direction.

“Vanessa Watson.”

“Here Miss.”

“Paul Wilkinson.”

“Here Miss.”

“Andrew Woods.”

“Here Miss.”

“Claire Yates.”

“Here Miss.”

“Andrea York.”

“Here Miss.”

The register is closed. “Right class... don't worry. You're not in trouble.” the form teacher said, turning her attention to the headmistress. The usually stern woman smiles at the class, before asking me to stay behind after the class has been dismissed. All eyes turn on me for a brief moment before the school bell rings; then the room is filled with a cacophony of scraping chair legs and clattering feet as everyone grabs their coats and bags and filters out of the class room. Everyone except me, that is.

There have been occasions when, after being assured that I'm not it any trouble, it turns out I am in trouble, so I can't help but fearfully wonder why the headmistress wants to speak with me. She and the form teacher wait patiently for everyone to leave and once they have, the door is closed. “Don't look so worried Michael.” the headmistress smiled. “You're not in any trouble.” she assured.

“Erm... OK.” I gulped. I wasn't convinced. She and my form teacher pulled up a chair each, close to my desk.

“Now....” the headmistress smiled. “Your mother informed us some time ago that erm... things are going to err... change... for you... over the Christmas holidays.”

“Oh.” I said, knowing exactly what this was about.

“It's OK. Don't worry.” my form teacher said. “You're not the first petticoated boy I've had in my class and you certainly won't be the last.”

“And you won't be the only one in the school.” the headmistress added. “...and before you ask, I shan’t tell you who the others are.” she informed me. “Similarly your confidentiality is assured but occasionally...”

“I've already told Peter and Rob.” I interrupted.

“Oh.” the headmistress chirped. “Did you let something slip or err...?”

“No Miss... they asked me what I was getting for Christmas and I said said I was getting petticoated.” I replied. They seemed surprised. “I mean... I’d rather not but... I am.” I told them. “Mum was gonna do it for my birthday in the summer but decided to delay it 'til Christmas.”

“Yes.” the headmistress replied. “New year, new start.” she said.

“How were Peter and Robert when you told them?” my form teacher asked.

“OK I guess. They didn't say much. They couldn't believe it but... Robert said he had a cousin who...”

“Was petticoated?” my form teacher said.

“Yes Miss... it was years ago.” I said. She asked when I told my friends. I thought for a moment. “Couple of weeks back.” I replied.

“And no one else has said anything to you about it?” the headmistress asked.

“Err... no.” I said. “Is this about them?”

“No no. Not at all.” the headmistress replied. “We're just here to assure you that you have our full support and if you experience any taunting, teasing or bullying, to report it immediately.” she said.

“Erm... OK.” I said.

“Now... do you know if your mother is planning on you attending school wearing the err... girl's uniform?”

“Erm... I don't know Miss.” I said. “I hope not.”

“Well, if you do... we have a zero tolerance policy regarding any teasing or taunting of petticoated boys.”

“I'd have thought you'd have a zero tolerance policy for that sort of stuff for all the kids.” I said. “Petticoated or not... I don't want any special treatment.”

Stammering somewhat, the form tutor said that they do have a zero tolerance approach to all bullying of any student. “...we're not trying to single you out Michael as some sort of 'special case'...” she said, performing and air quote. “...but some of the other kids might single you out and should that occur, we want to nip it in the bud, so to speak.”

“OK.” I said. “Thanks.”

“Now the equal opportunity policies we have to abide by means we can't stop a parent or guardian from sending a petticoatee to school wearing the girl's uniform. Sometimes it happens only occasionally if you've been misbehaving at home or... we did have a boy who wore it day in day out for several terms, similarly his PE kit, swimming class...” she explained.

“Well err... like I said, I hope Mum doesn't but... if I have to wear it I have to wear it.” I shrugged. “I s'pose I'd better ask her.”

“Yes.” the headmistress replied.

“May I add that it's not just on the school grounds... if anything happens on the way to or from school, or even at the weekends or during the holidays... if it involves one of our students, we want to know about it.” my form teacher said.

“Yes... absolutely.” the headmistress concurred.

“OK. Thank you.” I said. “Shall I err...” I began to stand. “...get myself to class.”

“Erm... not just yet Michael.” my form teacher replied.

“Yes there's still a couple of other things to discuss.” the headmistress added.

“Oh, err... OK.” I said, sitting myself down.

“Now... as mentioned, you're not the first petticoatee we've had and you won't be the last... and whilst we don't want to single you out as a 'special case'...” the headmistress said, performing an air quote. “...the simple fact remains that as a petticoated boy, you are a [cue another air quote] 'special case'.”

“Or... will be... next term.” my form teacher interjected, smiling, briefly.

“Yes.” the headmistress concurred. “You... will be expected to be on your best behaviour at all times.” she informed me.

“I usually am Miss...” I stated.

“Usually.” my form teacher said.

The headmistress continued. “We will not tolerate any disruptive behaviour, teasing, taunting or bullying, rudeness, back-chat, lateness, truancy, incomplete or late homework assignments...” The list went on and on, so much so my mind began to wonder. “...as a petticoated boy, you're a heartbeat away from being put in isolation or being given a half or full detention. Do you understand?” she informed me.

“Erm... yes Miss.” I replied.

“I hope so.” she sternly replied. “Because being put in isolation or being given a detention means you shall report to the school nurse first and foremost and you will be put in a nappy.” she informed me. My jaw dropped. “...and you shall remain in one until you arrive home.” she stated. I wanted to say 'are you fucking kidding me?' but I knew she was being absolutely serious. “Your mother will be informed and depending on the severity of your misbehaviour, may send you to school the following day wearing another one.” I gulped. I could feel the blood draining from my face. “Should that be the case, which I sincerely hope it never will be... you shall report to the school nurse before registration, again during morning break, once again at lunch time and finally during your afternoon break.” she told me. “Is that absolutely clear Michael?”

“Yes Miss.” I humbly replied, feeling myself blushing profusely.

“I certainly hope so Michael.” she told me.

I glanced at my form teacher who cast me a brief yet friendly smile. “It'll never come to that will it Michael?” she said.

“No Miss.” I humbly replied. I was given leave to attend my class so grabbed my coat and back. “Thank you Miss.” I said as I scuttled away. Technically I wasn't in any trouble but I felt like I'd just been given the bollocking of a lifetime. Talk about putting the fear of god in me!

~o0o~

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

“OK.” I replied.

“You don't sound so sure.” she said. “Has something happened?”

“Not really... I was kept back after registration so the headmistress could talk to me about being petticoated.” I told her.

“I see.” Mum replied. “What did she say?”

“Well... first of all it was just about if anyone teases or bullies me... but then she said that if I misbehave in anyway, I'll be put in a nappy and then put in isolation or given a detention.” I told her. “...and sent home wearing it!”

“You won't misbehave will you?” my mother casually replied.

“I never do. It's just the thought of it.” I fearfully replied. “I suppose you already knew that?”

Mum nodded. “I figured it was best that the school told you since it's their rule and not mine... but they did ask me to sign a consent form, which I did.” she told me. My eyes widened as I realised my mother gave them permission to do that. “It'll never come to that so long as you behave yourself Michael.” she defensively claimed. “And you'll be wearing nappies for bed anyway.”

“It's one thing wearing a nappy for bed, it's something else being put in one at school!” I retorted. “...and having to walk home in it!”

“So long as you behave yourself.” my mother casually reiterated. “Which I'm sure you can. You've only had one detention since starting high school, and that was for a stupid prank.”

“Yeah but... the way Mrs Trimble spoke, once I'm petticoated I'll get done for the slightest little thing.” I whined.

“Behaving is easy Michael. Misbehaving takes a bit more effort. You've nothing to worry about. The chances of you being put in a nappy at school are slim.” Mum said. “Providing...”

“Yeah I get it.” I replied. I hoped the headmistress was laying it on thick for effect. Being given a detention for the slightest bit of back-chat seems a bit harsh. “Oh that's another thing.” I said.

“What?”

“Will I have to wear the girl's uniform?” I asked. “When I’m petticoated.”

“You mean a skirt?” Mum replied. “If you want to.” she added.

“Why would I want to?”

“There's always a handful of boys who don skirts in the height of summer because they can't wear short trousers.”

“Oh yeah.” I replied. “But you're not gonna make me dress like a girl for school?”

“So long as you're good, you can wear what you like.” Mum told me.

“Cool. Thanks Mum.” I smiled. “Mrs Trimble said if you wanted to send me in a skirt she couldn't do anything to stop you.”

“She can't. The Law says they can't specify one uniform for boys and another girls.”

“Yeah I know that... I’m just making sure I won't have to wear a skirt for school.”

“Well like I say, it's entirely up to you.” Mum smiled. “But you will have a school skirt.”

“What! Why?”

“To wear when you're doing your homework.” she told me. I sighed. “You'll probably prefer it to a pretty dress... which is what you'll be wearing after you've done our homework.” she added.

“Yeah prob'ly.” I replied.

~o0o~

The following Friday was the last day of term before school broke up for Christmas. After that I'd have one more week of normality before becoming a petticoated boy for the next.... I don't even want to think about it. Lessons were so relaxed we may as well not have attended. Some teachers conducted a quiz, others let us play games or just chat, and most of them enthusiastically asked if we were all looking forward to Christmas. “Yeah!” most would respond. I'd murmur something vague, glancing at either Peter or Robert who'd look at me with pitiful eyes.

During the afternoon break, we huddled in a doorway, out of the breeze. “I take it you've not told anyone else what you're getting for Chrimbo?” Robert said.

“No one else has asked.” I replied.

“So it's just us two that know?” Peter asked.

“You and all the teachers.” I told him.

“How do they know?” he quizzed.

“My mum told them, months ago.” I said, before telling him that Mrs Trimble and my form teacher kept me back after registration on Monday to tell me that they'll support me and that I need to report anyone who teases or bullies me. “Apparently I’m not he only one, but they wouldn't tell me who else is petticoated... not that I’d want to know .” I told them. “So... have neither of you two said owt about me?” I asked.

“I told my mum but no one else.” Peter confessed.

“Me too.” Robert said.

“I half expected it to go round like wild fire after telling you.” I said.

“Well if it was me, I wouldn't want anyone to know.” Robert replied. “So I didn't tell anyone, apart from my mum.” he told me.

“Same here.” Peter said.

“My mum bumped into yours a couple of weeks back.” I told him. “Your Mum thought you'd made it up... or, that's what my mum reckoned when she asked her about it.”

“She did.” Peter replied. “I got told off for making up stories, then she apologised after seeing your mum in Teen Scene.” he said. “She doesn't approve. She reckons boys should be boys and girls should be girls.”

“So do I... funnily enough.” I dryly retorted.

“I bet you do.” Robert commented.

“So what did your Mum say?” I asked him.

“Same really... although when my cousin was petticoated, she reckoned he needed it 'coz he was goin' off the rails.”

“Do you remember that? ...coz... I was tellin' my mum and she reckoned you was only like, five when he was thirteen.”

“I was seven... turns out he's eighteen and not twenty.” Robert replied. “...and yeah... I do remember because I had to wear a dress to his birthday parties.”

“You wore a dress?!” Peter and I blurted in unison.

“Yeah.” he frowned. “He was being petticoated so he was wearing one, and his mum requested all boys attending wore dresses too... so my Mum put me in one of my sister's party dresses.”

“What was that like?”

“Bit weird but... everyone else was wearing one so...” he shrugged. “But when he was fifteen and I was ten I was like, nah... not wearing one.”

“You wore one every year?! Blimey!”

“You kept that quiet.” Peter said.

“Do you blame me?” Robert replied. “...and it was only three times, and they weren't mine... they were my sister's.”

“I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse.” I replied. On the one hand, Robert is the only one of us who's already had to wear dresses, but on the other, it's over for him and I'm yet to begin.

“Did your cousin know he was gonna be petticoated?”

“I don't think he did.” Robert said. “He cried a lot on his first birthday.”

“Can we change the subject?” Peter suggested.

“Yeah.” I replied. “I want one last week where I don't have to think about it.”

“That's gonna be easier said than done.”

“I know, but I’m gonna try.”

~o0o~

It was the quickest week of my life. I'd met up with Pete and Rob a couple of times and we didn't mention the P word. At home it was another matter. My big sister was back from Uni and she reckoned it'll be fun, being petticoated... like having a little sister. Although Mum insisted that I'll always be her brother, petticoated or not. Mum and my sister were looking through some old photo albums, focusing on the pictures from Christmas past rather than the summer holidays we enjoyed. “Oh this one's nice.” they agreed, revealing a picture of me aged nine. I'm proudly holding the Lego Hogwarts Castle that I got for Christmas that year and my hair is hanging on my shoulders. “You really should grow your hair out again... you looked so cute!”

“I was nine! Course I looked cute.” I retorted. “I'll be thirteen in the summer.”

“You'll also be petticoated.” my sister said. “If you grew your hair out again you'd look like a girl.”

“I don't want to look like a girl.”

“Maybe not today but what about when you're wearing a dress?” she said. “Would you rather people think you're a girl or know you're a boy?”

“I don't know.” I frowned. I tried to imagine myself in a public place, dressed as a girl yet looking like a boy. “Everyone's going to know I'm a boy anyway.” I figured.

“Not if you grew your hair again.” my sister stated, once again showing me the photograph taken on Christmas day, three years previously. “What do you think Mum?” she asked.

“It's entirely up to your brother.” Mum replied. “People who don't know him will probably think he's a girl whether he's got short hair or long hair... but what we don't do with petticoated boys is pretend that they're girls.”

“What's the point of making me dress like a girl then?”

“To curb any boisterous urges.” Mum replied. “It's been well documented that boys behave better when they're dressed like girls.”

“I behave myself anyway.” I reminded her.

Mum told me that in that case, the only way is up, before embarrassing herself by bursting into some ancient old eighties song and dancing along. “...baby... for you and me nowwww.”

Mum and my sister spend a lot of time rummaging through boxes in the attic and I knew they were sorting through her old things for me. I'd overhear her saying stuff like Do you think this'd fit him? and Mum saying No but he'll grow into it... and these are cute followed by I know, I can't wait to see him in them. The attic isn't a pokey space at the top of the house, it's a floor in itself with a landing, a large dusty attic room, a small box room and several storage spaces in the eaves. Every time I crept up the attic stairs to find out what they were doing, Mum would hear the creaky steps and tell me to go back down stairs. As well as sorting things in the attic, they were also sorting though my things and I'd say stuff like Can I keep this? and Mum'd say Well you won't need it, or you won't read it, or you're too old for toys like that. I couldn't fathom her logic; my Woody from Toy Story toy was to keep, but Buzz Lightyear had to go. I could keep the Lego Hogwarts but not the Minecraft Fortress. When I noticed that half of my books and boardgames had gone I crept up to the attic to see where they were, but no matter how lightly I trod on the stairs, they creaked and alerted Mum. “The attic is out of bounds in December Michael... you know that!” Mum told me.

It's where she always hides the Christmas presents, but that's not what I'm looking for. “I know I'm just getting loads of girl stuff for Christmas... I'm looking for my Harry Potter books.”

“You don't need them this instant and the attic is out of bounds.” she stated. “Down you come, and don't let me catch you sneaking up there again.”

“Sorry.” I murmured as I descended the stairs, each one emitting its own distinctive creak. “I wasn't looking for Christmas presents.” I told her.

“I know you wasn't.” Mum replied. I've seen half of them already because Mum has made no bones about me seeing some of the things she's bought me, such as a girls Xmas jumper with a reindeer and its name Dancer in glittery lettering. I also saw a girls hat, scarf & gloves set on the kitchen table, and Mum told me that they're for Christmas before packing them away, and several pairs of 'girls winter tights' with snowflake and star patterns, which I was also told are for Christmas before being put away... but worst of all was a few days ago when I couldn't help but blurt what the packaging stated... “Boy's knickers!”

“They do make them for boys.” Mum told me. “...and they're for Christmas so leave them be.” she added, putting them away. Part of me wondered if I was better off knowing what was coming or if, like Robert's cousin, it’d be better to know nothing until the last minute. I figured I was better off knowing and thinking about it, if I had been petticoated on my twelfth birthday, I'd have been six months in by now and probably totally accustomed the being a petticoated boy. It's too much to process so I tried not to think about it, but that's so much easier said than done.

~o0o~

Christmas Eve was upon me. My final day of normality. Mum allowed me to meet up with Peter and his sister in town. She gave me a five pound note with which to buy my sister something nice. “I've already got her a present.” I replied, that being a box of Thornton's chocolates. When I met my friend, his sister immediately asked if I was the boy being petticoated.

“Helen!” Peter blurted. “We don't mention the P word.” he told her.

“Sorry.” she said. “Must be a bit daunting.” she said, smiling empathetically at me.

“Just a bit.” I replied. She asked if I was 'all set' which means, have I bought all of the gifts I'll be giving, so I told her I had to buy something for my sister. “She's nineteen.” I told her, adding that I have a five pound budget. She suggested Thornton's chocolates. “I've already got her some of those.” I replied.

“How about a nice soap and shower gel set?” she suggested. “Bayliss and Harding do some nice ones.”

“Where's that?”

“It's not a shop its a brand.” she grinned, and promptly marched us to TK Maxx.

There was huge selection to choose from and plenty priced at five pounds; mostly packaged in pink and flowery boxes. I'll probably be unwrapping something like this myself, I figured as I chose a set that Peter's sister suggested. The route to the counters took us through the girls clothes section and Helen stopped a few times to admire a skirt, then a dress, then the handbags. I felt completely out of place in the girls' department, as I expect Peter did too... but I couldn't help but wonder if I'd soon begin to feel comfortable amongst the skirts and frocks and flouncy tops in any of the high street shops. The toiletries set was gift wrapped free of charge at the counter, in pink sparkly paper and tied with a baby pink ribbon. “Didn't you get a carrier?” Peter asked as I joined him, clutching the overtly girlie gift. I didn't think about that. Maybe I should have, but it's too late now. “People might think it's for you.” he added.

“No they won't.” his sister said, before asking if everyone knows that I'm going to be petticoated.

I told her that Peter and Robert know... and all my teachers at school. “But it's only a matter of time I guess.” I mused.

“No offence Mike but I'm glad it's you and not me... I'd be mortified.” Pete told me.

“I am mortified.” I replied. “And will be even more tomorrow.” I said, looking at my sister's gift. “This is probably what all my Christmas presents are gonna look like.” I frowned.

“Is it your birthday tomorrow too?” Helen asked me. I shook my head. “Huh... I thought boys were always petticoated on their birthday.” she said.

“Not me.” I replied. “But my mum was thinking about doing it then.” she asked when my birthday was, then asked how long I’d known. “Since summer.” I told her.

“Weird.... normally they're just dropped straight in it... no warning, no nothing.” she told me.

“I think it's cruel doing it like that. One day you're hoping to get a new bike or a games console, the next you've got dresses and make-up.” I said.

“I suppose they drop them in at the deep end so they don't run away or something.” Helen said.

“That's what I'd do.” Peter said.

“And go where?” I asked. “You're twelve.”

“You'd only get caught and put in one of those petticoating boarding schools where they make them wear a nappy instead of knickers.” his sister told him. Peter claimed she was making it up and I'd never heard of such a place, but Helen was adamant that there are boarding schools that enforce petticoating and that the boys at least have to wear nappies at bedtime. “...so I guess it could be worse, Mike.” she said to me.

“Yeah.” I replied, before suggesting we change the subject.

We browsed the gaming shops and loitered outside a couple of girls clothes shops whilst his sister went inside. First she spent ten long minutes in Teen Scene, then wanted to go into Candie Girl. “Don't be ages.” Peter told her. She suggested we could come inside. “No thanks.” we more or less said in unison. “She's takin 'ages.” Peter moaned after five minutes.

The sign above the door has big pink letters with heart shaped dots over the i's. The display on one side of the door was of winter coats and boots, the other is sparkly dresses. “It must be freezing wearing a dress at this time of year.” I commented.

“You'll have tights.” Peter said, adding that plenty of girls at school don't even wear those in the winter. “Will you have to dress like a girl next term?” he asked.

“No... thank god.” I replied. “Would you still me my mate if I did?”

“Course I would.” he told me. “It'd be a bit weird to begin with but after a while it'd just be normal I guess.”

“That's what my mum keeps sayin'.” I said, sighing. “You won't be offended if I don't invite you round to my house?” I quizzed. “I think my bedroom's supposed be getting redecorated...” I added. “...so it's like a girls room... which will be pretty embarrassing.”

“Blimey!” he grimaced. “Will you still be allowed to come to mine?”

“I hope so... and Mum said I wouldn't have to dress like a girl all the time.”

“Just most of the time?” he said. I nodded. “Finally!” he said when his sister exited the store. “You were ages.”

“Well there's lots to look at.” she said. A couple of Candie Girl bags hung from her hands. She checked the time and said we should think about heading home soon. “Do you have a curfew Mike?” she asked me.

“Mum just said home before dark.” I replied.

We browsed a couple more gift shops before parting company. I said my goodbyes and Helen gave me a hug, which was nice I suppose, before giving me one of the Candie Girl bags. “I got you present. I hope you don't mind and I don't mind if you don't like it.” she told me.

“He won't want owt from there Helen!” Peter exclaimed.

He was right, but politely I said it was OK and thanked her. “Have a good Christmas.” I said. “I guess I'll see you on the other side.” I glumly added. “And... thanks again for this.” I said to his sister.

“Hope you like it.” she smiled.

I walked home with the pink gift wrapped present for my sister in one hand and the pink Candie Girl bag in the other. Mum asked if I'd had a nice time. “Oh... you got her something from Candie Girl?” she presumed, noticing my carrier bag.

“Err... no... I got her this.” I said, raising the pink wrapped package. “Peter's sister gave me this.”

“What is it?”

“Dunno.” I shrugged. “Something girlie I guess.”

“A Christmas present?” she asked. I nodded. “Well put it under the tree.” she said. Whilst I was out, the base of the tree has been stacked with numerous gifts; each and everyone in girlie gift wrapping. I froze as I noticed them. “They're not all for you.” Mum said.

“Phew.” I replied. Mum smiled. “Are we allowed to open one gift before bed this year?” I asked.

“Of course.” she told me.

“I wanna see what Helen got me.” I said.

“You'll have to wait for morning to open that. I've already decided which one you're going to open tonight.”

“It's not gonna be a nightie is it?” I knowingly replied, having seen a girls nightwear set, age 12-14 on the sideboard a couple of weeks ago.

“It's a surprise.” she told me.

“I'm not gonna get any surprises this year.” I told her. “Unless you've decided you're not gonna petticoat me after all.”

“After all the money I've spent on nice things for you... that's really not going to happen.”

“I know.” I glumly said. Mum smiled down on me. I hated the idea of being petticoated but I knew she was doing it because she loved me. “What?” I asked and her smile grew ever more empathetic.

“Well... I do feel the need to forewarn you of something.” she told me.

“What?” I cautiously asked.

“Well... your petticoating starts tomorrow.”

“I know that.” I murmured.

“And tomorrow starts at midnight.”

“Err... yeah.” I cautiously replied.

“Well... that means you have to wear your first bedtime nappy tonight.”

“Whaaaat?!” I whined. I tutted. “I thought that would be tomorrow.” I huffed.

“It's an important part of your changeover that you're petticoated when you wake up.” she told me. “But you won't have to go to bed early... you can go at your usual time, one last time.” she added as if that was some sort of consolation I'd be grateful for.

“But that's not fair Mum. I thought today was my last day when everything would be normal.” I whined.

“And tomorrow's your first day of being a petticoatee, and you need to be aware of that from the moment you wake up, which is why you need to wear a nappy tonight.” she told me. “I'm sorry.... maybe I should have waited until bedtime to tell you?”

“At least I wouldn't have spent the rest if today knowing I'd have to wear a nappy tonight... I thought that was tomorrow!”

“I'm sorry my love... but either way, you'd have been wearing it tonight and you’d still wake up wearing it tomorrow... and your first pair of knickers won't seem so bad after a nappy... do you understand?”

“I guess.” I sighed.

“What's up?” my sister asked, entering the kitchen and hearing my woeful tones.

“Petti-stuff.” Mum told her. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Mum says I have to wear my first nappy tonight instead of tomorrow.” I grumbled.

“Oh. I see.” my sister said. “Well, that's not so bad considering you were supposed to be petticoated six months ago.” she told me. “...and even then, you'd have had to wear your first one the night before your birthday, isn't that right Mummy?”

“It is.” Mum replied. “It's just the way it's done.”

“OK.” I mournfully said.

“What do you want for supper tonight?” Mum asked. “Anything you want. Burgers, Pizza, KFC?”

“Can we get KFC?” I enthused.

“Yes but it will be very busy tonight... it'll be a long wait.” Mum said.

“Not if I pre-order through the app.” my sister said, getting out her phone. “What time do you want to eat?” she asked.

“About an hour?” Mum replied.

My sister tapped and swiped, ordered a boneless family box, plenty of fries, wings, some sides and the drinks. “All done Mummy.” she smiled. “It'll be ready at six-forty-five so if I set off at half past...”

“It's amazing what you can do on the phone these days.” Mum said.

“You wanna come with me?” she asked.

“Can I?” I enthused. There's no excitement in going to KFC and back but I've never been in my sister's car before so being driven somewhere by her rather than by Mum is what I'm looking forward to. Half an hour quickly passed before my sister grabbed her car keys and handbag. Mum told me to be good as we left. “I will.” I said, although I struggled to think how I could possibly misbehave just going across town and back with my sister. “Can I sit in the front?” I asked.

“Course you can.... one last time.” she replied.

I opened the door and climbed in, pulling it shut. She got in the driver's side. “Why is it one last time?” I quizzed.

“Because there's lots of little rules for petticoated boys and one of them is they only ever sit in the back of a car... so this is the last time you'll be allowed in the front seat.” she told me. “Here, hold this on your lap.” she said, passing me her handbag.

“Erm...” I grimaced, not actually wanting to hold the dainty pink satin bag with it's girlie bow design and sparkly clasp.

“It's nothing to be afraid of.” she grinned. “...and you'll have handbags of your own soon enough.”

“It's gonna be so horrible having to dress like a girl.” I told her, nervously holding her handbag.

“Only 'coz you've dressed as a boy your whole life. You'll have loads more choices after tomorrow.”

“No I won't. It'll just be dresses and skirts.”

“Yeah but there's loads of different types of dresses and loads of different types of skirts.” she told me. “Plus you'll have long pants and short pants, cropped pants and pedal pushers, jumpsuits, play-suits, dungarees, culottes... shirts and blouses, T shirts, vests and camisole tops... you'll be overwhelmed with how many different types of clothes you'll have to choose from.” she told me. “I'm looking forward to teaching you how to mix and match and accessorise.” she smiled. “I know you'll always be my brother but it'll be like having a new little sister.” she said. “And we've sorted out loads of my old clothes for you, so it won't just be prissy little girl dresses like most petticoated boys have.. you'll be able to be fashionable and trendy as well.”

“I just want to be a normal boy.”

“You will be. And Mummy's only doing this because she loves you.”

“That's the other thing that's going to be weird.... having to call her 'mummy' again.”

“It'll be normal before you know it, and little things like that, and going back into bedtime nappies is to help you not grow up too quickly... which can be a big problem for a lot of teenage boys.”

“Yeah I know.” I glumly replied. I didn't know, to be honest, but Mum has talked to me about it sporadically yet extensively in recent months so much so that even in my ignorance I feel like I understand why I need to be petticoated. “It wouldn't be so bad if every boy had to do it... but I feel like I'm the only one.”

“There's quite a few boys at university who were petticoated. It's easy for us women to spot who they are because they're respectful and humble and intelligent and talented... the others who weren't act like over grown children, treating the campus like a school yard.” she told me. “You won't fully understand for years to come but a little bit of girl time goes a long long way.”

“The next three and a half years is more than a little bit of girl time.” I sighed.

“I does seem like a long time but at the end, it'll only count for around twenty percent of your life... that's one fifth, which is a small portion.” she told me. “When you're twenty-one it'll be a seventh and when you're thirty it'll be one tenth... not long at all in the great scheme of things.” she said as we turned into the retail park that is home to KFC.

“Yeah I suppose when you put it like that.” I said.

She found a parking space close the entrance and asked for her handbag. Checking the app on her phone she said we were five minutes early and thus had a five minute wait. She propped the phone on the dashboard where it displayed a countdown, and after topping up her lipstick, she handed the handbag back to me to hold. “Hey do remember going to Auntie Sandra's wedding?”

“Vaguely.” I replied. “Why?”

“I reckon my bridesmaid's dress might fit you. I'd love to see you in that.”

“Eugh.” I grimaced. “Was it flowery?” I recalled.

“No it was ivory.” she replied. “The flowery one was for Janice and Ken's wedding... that'll be far too big for you.” she informed me. “Right... two minutes.” she said. “I'll be back in a tick.” She grabbed her phone, opened the door and got out.

“Don't you need this?” I said, holding out her handbag.

“I've already paid, you hang on to it.”

The door slammed shut and I found myself alone with the girlie pink handbag in my hands. I gulped at it... you'll have handbags of your own soon enough, I recalled my sister telling me. “Handbags.” I said to no one but myself, dwelling on the plural. That means more than one, I mused. All the time I've been worrying about being petticoated I've focused mostly on the dresses.. but there's so much more; handbags, heels, lipstick, hair clips and the prospect of having my bedroom redecorated so it's like a girls room with pink wallpaper and Barbie bedding.

I was so lost in my thoughts (and fears) that I jumped out of my skin when my sister opened the car door. She gave me her phone to put in her handbag and put the KFC bag in the rear foot well. “I hope Mummy's remembered to warm some plates.” she said.

“You don't have to call her Mummy... it's me who has to do that, from tomorrow.” I said.

“I know... but if it helps you adapt, I don't mind calling her Mummy too... in fact I quite like it. It feels more friendly than 'mum', don't you think?”

“It's infantile.”

“Yeah but that's the point.” she said as she started the engine. “It's still nice though.” she added. “Mum's too blunt. Mother's too formal and Mummy's just right.”

“Hmm.” I responded. Given the choice I'd prefer 'mum' but like many things in a twelve years old like, most choices aren't mine to make. “Well I’m not gonna call her 'mummy' until I have to.” I retorted.

“And is that when you're wearing your nappy or your knickers?” my sister asked. I didn't reply. We barely chatted at all on the way back. “Penny for your thoughts.” my sister eventually said. “What are you thinking?”

“Oh I don't know. All sorts of things.” I sighed. “This time tomorrow'll be my bedtime.” I grumped, glancing at the digital clock on the dashboard which reads eighteen-fifty-four. “Seven o'clock's way too early.” I whined.

“It does seem very early.” she agreed. “But rules are rules... and it'll be eight o'clock when you're thirteen.” she told me.

“And it'll still be eight o'clock when I'm fifteen.”

“Well it's better than burning the candle at both ends.” she said. “Some of the boys at uni stay out partying 'til the early hours and can barely stay awake in their lectures... it's stupid really because they're wasting their education. Being petticoated means you'll get the most out of yours.” she told me. Mum has said the same time after time after time. It's like a mantra being drummed into me.

“We're back Mummy.” my sister hollered as we entered our home.

“Oh good. I've warmed some plates.” Mum replied. “And the Amazing Mr Blunden is about to start.” she added.

“Oh I love that film.” my sister gushed.

“It's a new version. Not the old one.” Mum warned her. I'd never heard of it but it ticked the Christmas ghost story box. We chomped through the KFC sat in front of the TV.

“Can we open a present after supper, Mummy?” my sister asked.

“Of course.” Mum smiled. “But only a small one.” she added.

Once we'd had our fill, my sister offered to clear the plates and cutlery, again addressing her as 'mummy'. I offered to help but avoided the infantile address. “It's weird you saying 'mummy' all the time.” I said as I put the KFC bags in the kitchen bin.

“We'll get used to it.” she smiled. We returned to the living room and on the coffee table was three small gifts. “This one's for you.” my sister said. It's a small gift, very small, so small in fact that I can only think that it might be some lipstick.

“No it's not lipstick.” Mum smiled as I began to peel off the wrapping.

I discarded the paper and carefully opened a tiny cardboard box. “A key?” I quizzed.

“A door key.” Mum smiled. “Which room do you think it might be for?” she asked.

“I've no idea.” I replied. “The only doors that have locks are the front door, the back door and the doors in the attic.” I thought. “...and the garage, and shed.” I said.

“Well it's not for the garage and it's not for the shed.” Mum replied.

“And the front and back doors have Yale locks.” my sister added. “So let's have a look upstairs shall we?”

My sister and mother followed me up to the attic. The stairs, predictably, creaked underfoot. First I tried the door to the larger attic room, but the key didn't fit. But it slotted straight into the lock of the small box room which, last time I saw it, was packed full of all the things we didn't want yet hadn't got rid of; appliance boxes, suitcases and old dining chairs. I turned the key and pulled the door open. I gasped and froze. The small room has been cleared out and thoroughly cleaned. A wood framed single bed fills a third of the available floorspace. On it is a lilac duvet set with a butterfly pattern in pink, purple and blue, and perched on the pillow is my old cuddly Woody toy, along with Jessie the cowgirl and Bo-Peep, both of which belonged to my sister. A wooden bedside cabinet with heart shaped handles fits between the bed and the wall. On the floor beside the bed is a Hello Kitty rug, but other than that, the floorboards are bare. “Is this my bedroom now?” I eventually managed to croak.

“Just until we get your room redecorated.” Mum told me, prompting me to step inside. The floor creaks under every step and even when standing totally still, they continue to creak and squeak beneath me.

At the foot of the bed is a dressing table with an ornate oval mirror and an old wooden chair facing it. Next to that, a chest of drawers on which a small fluffy pink Christmas tree is perched beside my Lego Hogwarts castle. An empty clothes rail stands beside the door and above that, some bookshelves containing my books and games, some of them anyway. My sister said it was compact and bijou. I didn't know what that meant. “Small and cosy.” she told me.

“Do you like it?” Mum asked.

“At least it's not been painted pink.” I replied, glancing around the plain white walls and painted white furniture... although the neutral palette made the pale pink drawer handles and other pastel and pink details stand out all the more.

Mum told that there's plenty of clothes in the big chest of drawers and my nightwear is stowed in the small bedside cabinet. “Knickers in the top, nighties and jimjams in the middle, and nappies in the bottom drawer.” she added.

“Do I have to wear one now?” I gulped.

“No you can watch your film first.” Mum told me.

“OK.” I timidly said.

My sister suggested we returned down stairs since the movie will have already started. “These floorboards need sorting out.” she said as every step creaked loudly under foot.

“They're fine as they are.” Mum said. “And with Michael's new room being directly above my room, I'll be able to hear if he gets out of bed in the middle of the night.” she added.

“When are you gonna decorate my room?” I asked as we passed by my proper bedroom.

“We'll get Christmas and New Year out of the way first.” Mum told me. “I've been so busy getting the box room ready I haven't even thought about paint and wallpaper for your big room yet.”

I wasn't expecting any surprises this Christmas but a new bedroom was a big surprise, doubly so since it's so very small. The fact that it's not that girlie came as a small consolation, but the Hello Kitty rug and two of my sister's old cuddly toys were things that a twelve year old boy could really do without.

It must be the umpteenth time that I've watched Home Alone and there were moments that I got so engrossed in the action that completely forgot about my new room and impending new life... but only for a moment before the reality came flooding back to me... your nappies are in the bottom drawer. Those words seemed to echo inside my skull, over and over.

When the film finally ended, Mum wasted no time in telling me to say goodnight to my sister, before taking me upstairs. I loitered nervously as she removed a pair of knickers from the top drawer of my bedside cabinet; they're big and white and very frilly. “Do you want a nightie or pyjamas?” she asked.

“Erm.... pyjamas.” I timidly replied.

She placed a neatly folded set on the bed, alongside the knickers. They're white and looked girlie, with lace and frills and baby pink piping. From the bottom drawer she removed a folded nappy, and a pair of rubber knickers, which she handed to me. “We'll get this on in the bathroom.” she told me.

The stairs creaked noisily as we descended to the landing. She told me not to look so frightened. “I'm not going to put you in it like a baby.” she said. “It's big boys nappy that you put on yourself.” she informed me. “But I need to show you what to do.” she added, removing a tub of cream from the bathroom cupboard. She told me to have a wee and insisted I sit because petticoated boys are expected to sit whenever they use the toilet.

“Like a girl?” I moaned.

“Exactly like a girl.” she said. She told me to undress and I told her it was embarrassing doing so in front of her. “You've nothing I haven't seen before, and once you know what to do you'll be allowed to get ready for bed on your own... OK?”

I frowned and nodded. She opened the tub and told me what to do with the nappy rash cream, then I washed my hands, dried them and pulled on the nappy, sniffling as I did so. She apologised for the experience being so humbling for me, but assured me and that it will get easier after a few weeks when I'll be more accustomed. “Rubbers next.” she said. I pulled those on and the elastic bit into the tops of my legs and waist. “They're supposed to be snug but they're certainly not too tight.” she told me after checking. “Right, hands, face and teeth.” she told me. “I'll be up in your room.”

I was glad to be on my own and felt thankful that my little sniffle didn't turn into full on tears. After brushing my teeth, I carefully opened the bathroom door and made sure my sister wasn't anywhere near the landing, before trotting across the carpet and up the creaky wooden stairs. Mum smiled as I entered. The pyjamas were laid out waiting on my bed, along with the big white knickers. She handed them to me. “Why do I have to wear those if I'm wearing pyjamas?” I asked.

“They're called over-knickers... to wear on top of a nappy.” she said. I huffed and pulled on the over knickers and Mum showed me the drawstrings; one on each leg and another on the waist, each threaded through a small metal heart shaped toggle. “These need to be snug but not too tight.” she told me. “Otherwise they'll be uncomfortable.” she said. “That's right.” she smiled. “Now these metal toggles have a special magnetic lock which only I can undo, so don't bother trying to take your nappy off. It stays on until morning.” she told me. I began to silently panic. “And the drawstrings are made from Kevlar which even a pair of scissors won't cut through.” she added.

“So I'm locked in it?” I gasped.

“Just until morning.” she told me.

“But... I don't have to be locked into it Mum! That's cruel.”

“Unless you were planning on taking it off the moment my back's turned, it makes no difference.” Mum replied. “And it's Mummy from now on, remember.”

I hung my head, sulked and said “You're treating me like a baby.”

“I'm not treating you like a baby.” she insisted. “And we've discussed this plenty of times before.” she said. “The problem with boys your age is you want to grow up to quickly... and putting you back in nappies is to remind you that you're still very much a child.” she told me. “...and it's just for bedtime, providing you're good.” she said. “Now jim-jams on and into bed.” she smiled. “And once you're in bed you must stay in bed.” she instructed as I pulled on the pyjamas. “No getting out and creeping about... if you need to wee, you've got your nappy.” she informed me as I climbed into bed. “I'm right below you remember so I'll hear if you do get out of bed.”

“OK.” I mumbled.

“Now give Mummy a hug.” she told me, opening her arms.

“Night night...” I said, pausing, gulping and adding “...Mummy.”

“Good boy. Night night.” she stood and glanced around my room. She smiled at me one last time before shutting the door and turning off the light (the switch is on the outside), then locking the door. I gulped and cast my eyes around the darkened room. It's late even for me and I'm tired. I planted my head on the pillow and drifted almost immediately to sleep.

I woke and it was still dark outside, so other than it being before around 8.00am, I wasn't sure of the actual time. My eyes were well adjusted to the darkness and for a moment, I wondered where I was until I remembered that I'd slept in the small box-room in the attic. I cast my gaze to the dressing table with it's overtly feminine ornate oval mirror. How many boys have a dressing table? I wondered as my eyes shifted to the chest of drawers on which my Lego Hogwarts castle is displayed, alongside the fluffy pink Xmas tree. I sigh and turn on my side and spy the horribly cute rug on the floor. I turned over to see the cuddly Bo-Peep, Daisy and Woody sitting next to my pillow. I didn't mind having Jessie present but Bo-Peep is an overtly girlie doll who sits grinning at me, as if amused by my predicament. My hand finds the bulk of my nappy beneath my girlie pyjamas and despite having not used it, I can't wait to get out of it. Knowing how creaky the floor boards are, I daren't step out of bed so lay awake, patiently waiting for Mum to unlock the door. “Oh and I have to start calling her Mummy.” I muttered to myself, sighing at how infantile that's going to make me feel each and every time I say it.

I suppose an hour passed before the creaky attic stairs alerted me. The box room light turned on before the door was unlocked and the round bag on the back of the door was revealed to me. “Happy Christmas!” my sister beamed as she entered my room. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, perching on the edge of my bed. I nodded, frowned and pulled the duvet up to hide the frilly details of my pyjamas. “How's your nappy?” she asked me. I blushed instantly. “Mummy said you've got to go and tell her if you're wet.” she told me

“I'm not!” I blurted.

“OK... let's go for breakfast.” she grinned, tugging at my duvet. “Love your jimjams.”

“They're horrid.”

“No they're not. They're my old ones.” she smiled. “Come on, it's Christmas Day!” she beamed.

“Yeah and all I'm gonna get is loads of girl stuff.”

“Nothing you wanted but everything you expected.” she replied. I frowned and nodded. “Aren't you gonna wish me a happy Christmas?”

“Sorry... happy Christmas.” I said. She smiled and opened her arms. We hugged for a moment and I finally got out of bed. “Was this your rug too?” I asked, planting my feet on the girlie Hello Kitty rug. She nodded. The floor creaked, the attic stairs more so.

“Good morning.” Mum chirped. “And happy Christmassss!”

“Happy Christmas Mummy.” I glumly muttered.

“How's your nappy?” she asked, glaring at my bulbous hips.

“I haven't used it.” I defensively retorted.

“It doesn't matter one way or the other.” Mum replied. “Do you want a glass of orange juice, milk or a cup of tea?” she asked, directing the question to both me and my sister.

“Could I have tea please Mummy.” my sister replied.

“Tea please... Mummy.” I said, before asking when I could get dressed.

“After breakfast.” she said, cracking a load of eggs into a pan.

“Oohh.”

We enjoyed scrambled eggs with croissants and brittle bacon before Mum took me up the bathroom and released the drawstrings on my over-knickers using a special magnet. “Right, over-knickers off, nappy in the bin and you in the shower.” she said, telling me to make sure I rinse off all the cream and wear a shower cap to keep my hair dry. “I'll fetch you some normal knickers and you can put your pyjamas back on.”

I couldn't see my usual shower gel... just the floral scented stuff my Mum uses. And the only shower cap is Mum's and that's got flowers on it too. At least the 'normal' knickers she fetched me were plain white with a thin lacy trim; no frills or flowers and only one tiny bow on the front... unlike my pyjamas which have frilled lacy cuffs around the ankles and sleeves, a lace trimmed collar, a frilly yoke and baby pink piping. “Are you warm enough or do you want a vest on too?” she asked.

Knowing it'd be a girl's vest, I said I'd be OK. Mum raised an expectant eyebrow. “Mummy.” I glumly added. “Can I put my slippers on?” I asked, glancing down at my bare feet.

“Well... technically you haven't got any slippers... but who knows what's under the tree?” she gleefully replied. “Come on.”

We went to the lounge and my sister patted the seat beside her. I sat and she hugged me. “You smell nice.” she told me.

“I had to use Mum's shower... I mean... Mummy's shower gel.” I replied.

“Well it smells much better than that Lynx stuff you used to use.” she told me.

“Here... I think you should open this one first.” Mum said.

“Thank you.” I replied, adding “Mummy.” as I took it from her. I read the gift tag which predictably was addressed to me, and from 'mummy'. It's wrapped in girlie pink paper which I slowly peeled apart to reveal a pair of pink and white slipper socks with rubberised 'paw' prints on the sole for grip.

And so it began; countless gifts in pink wrapping; most from 'Mummy', many of which I'd already seen when she'd left them laying around in the kitchen, such as the reindeer jumper and gilrie hat and goves set. I also have a few girlie gifts from my sister, plus aunts & uncles, my grandparents and family friends. Each was as girlie as the last, if not, more so. I had several dresses, some skirts, blouses, T shirts and jumpers, tights, socks, outerwear, underwear, a hat, scarf & gloves set, nighties, toiletries and a make-up set which my sister said she'd show me how to use later on. I got some shoes; with heels, and some more, without. Some ankle boots with fur lining and a concealed wedge which are possibly one of the least girlie gifts I received, and I got some boot-cut jeans too, with butterflies and flowers embroidered on the back of one leg. I also got some denim shorts but not the sort that boys wear. They're short ones which my sister said would look really cool with thick black tights, trainers and a casual hoodie. I guess they would... on a proper girl. My casual hoodie is pink with an Adidas logo on the back in pale blue, and my trainers are pale blue with sparkly lilac stripes on the sides. I also got two handbags; one, a casual denim one that's more of a messenger bag style, and the other, a small shiny satin one for best.

It could have been worse because as I understand it, most petticoated boys have to wear really prissy dresses all the time where as most of my new clothes are, all things considered, relatively normal. I guess if I had to choose a favourite gift it would have to be the one that Peter's sister Helen gave me... 

There's no denying that it's a girl's T shirt but I could appreciate the sentiment. I recalled Helen's words when she gave it to me; I don't mind if you don't like it... followed by I hope you do like it... and I kind of do.

“So...” Mum asked. “...do you want to get dressed?”

“I guess.” I reluctantly said. She let me chose, providing I wore one of my new dresses so I chose the most sedate; a dark red frock with a plain 'crew' neck and no sleeves. I wore it for the rest of the day over a white blouse and white tights, with a pair of shiny black Mary Jane's strapped to my feet.

If anything, I thought I’d be overwhelmed with embarrassment wearing my first ever dress, but if anything, it was a rather mundane experience, helped by the fact that no-one outside of our immediate family would be visiting on Christmas Day. We watched TV and enjoyed a hearty Christmas Dinner followed by pear & ginger trifle. “I'll do the washing up Mummy.” my sister said, but Mum insisted on doing it herself, instead suggesting that my sister and I have a play with my new make-up set. “Oh yes I'd forgotten about that!”

We went up to my room with my new clothes bundled in our arms. “Careful in the stairs in your new heels.” my sister advised.

“I'm OK.” I said.

“You're doing really well.” she told me.

“They're not that hard.” I replied.

“It took me ages to get used to heel when I was your age.”

“You're were probably higher than these though.”

“No they were about the same.” she claimed.

“Where did all those come from?!” I blurted seeing a load of clothes hanging from the formerly empty clothes rail in my bedroom.

“Just a few of my old things that should fit you.” my sister told me.

Those coupled with the clothes I was given as Christmas gifts meant I had loads of girls clothes. We hung my gifted clothes on hangers and put some in the drawers, which also had more of my sister's hand me downs in them. My clothes rail was now two thirds full. My sister said I had some nice things. “...and they're not all really girlie.” she said, sliding the hangers from one side to the other. “I used to love this one.” she said, drawing my attention to a pale floral frock which she unhooked and put at the end of the rail. “This one's pretty too.” she said, admiring one of my new dresses, and putting that on the end of the rail.

“Why are you moving them?” I asked, not that I had any issue... I was just wondering.

“I'm putting all your Sunday dresses together.” she told me.

“What exactly is a Sunday dress?”

“Something nice, and conservative... the sort of thing you'd wear for church on Sunday.”

“I don't have to go to church do I?” I feared.

“No Michael, we're still atheists.” she smiled. “But you will wear one on Sunday's.”

“Every Sunday?” I asked. She smiled and nodded and sat me at my dressing table, laying out all the various items and naming each in turn; eye shadow, eye-liner, mascara, foundation and blush and lipsticks. “What's the point of wearing make-up?” I moaned.

“To look pretty.” she told me. “...and before you say you don't want to look pretty... you've got lots of pretty new clothes to live up to and you don't want to look like a boy in a dress, do you?”

“But I will be a boy in a dress” I sighed, adding “...or a skirt or whatever.”

“The point of being petticoated is so you get lots of girl time, and that means doing lots of girl things as much as it means wearing girl's clothes.” my sister explained. “I know it all probably seems quite boring now but...”

“It's more than boring... it's embarrassing.” I interjected. “Look at me... and even this isn't so bad compared to what I have to wear at bedtime. All my friends would freak if they knew I had to wear a nappy and rubbers and frilly over knickers.”

“Don't worry about your nappies. You're friends don't need to know about those and Mummy's right... you will be asleep most of the time you're wearing them.”

“I know but...”

“Here... start with this.” she said, handing me a flat round tin. “It's called foundation.”

“What do I do with it?”

“Well first, you put a hair band on to hold your fringe back...” she said, opening a small shallow drawer on my dressing table, to reveal a variety of hair accessories. “...then you apply a very thin dusting of powder all over your face.”

I followed her instructions and saw my familiar face become an unblemished even tone all over; from ear to ear and hairline to chin. My sister said she'd do my eye make-up for me but explained every step, from blending two shades of eye-shadow, applying my eye-liner and tidying the line with a cotton bud, and finally, applying my mascara. “You're gonna freak when you see this.” she said, grinning.

“Why, does it look bad?”

“No it looks great, but I remember when I first saw myself with my eyes made-up and it just looked soo different.” she told me. “Now make sure you don't touch them. No rubbing or itching or you'll ruin it.”

“Can I look?” I asked. She nodded. “Blimey I see what you mean!” I exclaimed. “That doesn't look at all like me!!”

“Well it does... it's just you with make-up on.” she smiled. “Do you want to do your own lippy?”

“Erm... not really but.” I replied, taking the unlidded lipstick from her. She told me to apply it to the bottom lip only, then to roll my lips together which puts a coat on my top lip. “And that's it?” I asked. She nodded. “Is that OK?” I asked, looking at my reflection after rolling my lips together.

“Perfect.” she smiled.

“Should I take this off now?” I asked, referring to the headband. She nodded. My fringe flopped onto my forehead and I looked in the mirror. My sister asked my thoughts. “Well... I look weird but... I suppose at least now I look like a belong in this dress.” I said, casting my eyes over my dark red dress, prissy white blouse and white woolly tights.

My heart began to race as we descended the stairs. I just knew Mum was going to shower me with compliments, saying how lovely I look and blah blah blah. And she did. We watched the Queen's speech which as usual, bored me senseless and made five minutes feel like an hour, then with an average Christmas movie on the TV, we played Trivial Pursuit and for a while, I actually forgot I was spending my first day as a petticoated boy... but not for long. As the time neared 6.00pm, Mummy reminded me that it'll soon be time for my bedtime bath and that bedtime is at seven o'clock sharp. “Ooh it seems so early.” I moaned.

“I know but you'll soon get used to your new routine.” Mummy replied. “And boys your age need all the sleep they can get.” she added.

“But I didn't go to bed at seven 'o'clock when I was eleven years old.” I pointed out.

“No but had you been petticoated when you were eleven, you would have done.” Mummy informed me.

“And when you're thirteen you can stay up 'til eight o'clock.” my sister added. “Isn't that right Mummy?”

“It is.” Mum replied, before suggesting she show me how to take my make-up off whilst she runs my bedtime bath.

“I hate these floorboards.” I said as we entered the box room and the creaked underfoot.

“Well Mummy needs to know that you're in bed after bedtime.” my sister replied. “So creaky as they are, they do serve a purpose.” she added. “...and when you've adapted to petticoating you'll be able to have your old bedroom again.” she told me.

“When's that going to be.” I asked as I sat in front of my dressing table mirror. “God I look weird.” I sighed as I observed my well-defined doll like eyes, porcelain sin and pale pink lips.

“You don't look weird, you just look lovely.” she told me. “And I suppose you'll know when you've adapted because you'll look at yourself with make-up on and won't feel weird.” she reckoned.

I donned the stretchy fabric head band to hold my fringe off my forehead and from a drawer in my dresser, removed a pack of make-up wipes, some baby-oil, cotton buds and cotton wool balls. The wipes removed my foundation and lippy, the balls removed my eye-shadow and the cotton buds swept away my eye-liner, leaving my face blank and looking very very bland. Much to my embarrassment, my sister helped me undress right down to my knickers and training bra and wearing just those, she sent me to the bathroom where Mum was waiting. “Did you bring a nappy and some rubbers?” she asked. I grimaced and shook my head, before trotting back to my room in the attic in my girlie underwear to fetch a nappy and a pair of rubber knickers. I can't imagine ever getting used to this... it's one layer of humiliation on top of another, and when Mummy actually began to bathe me, it was even more humiliating. “I need to make sure you're clean.” she said as she squeezed a big pink sponge over my head, rinsing out the shampoo. “And you need to condition your hair so it's nice and soft and shiny in the morning.” she added.

After my bath, Mum dried me with a big soft towel and covered me in talcum powder. She handed me the tub of nappy rash cream and told me to make sure I apply it properly, “...otherwise you'll get nappy rash which means you'll need a nappy in the day until it's cleared up.” she warned. “I'll be in your room.” she said, leaving me to don my nappy on my own. Once again, I cautiously poked my head out of the bathroom door to check the landing was clear before quickly trotting up to my room. Mum smiled at me as I entered. On my bed lay a pair of frilly white cotton over knickers and a pale blue nightie with frilly white trim. I frowned at them, but didn't complain. Once ready for bed, Mum asked me to choose a dress to wear tomorrow. “Now?” I asked.

“It's as good a time as any.” she said. “And you've still got a few minutes before bedtime.” she added.

“Can I wear my jeans and the T-shirt Helen gave me?”

“It's Sunday tomorrow so you have to wear a Sunday dress.” she told me. “I can choose one if you prefer.”

I looked at the selection; five or six in total and all too girlie for comfort. “OK.” I said.

“I think this one.” Mum said, selecting the pale blue one. “It used to be your sister's.”

“I know.” I mournfully replied as she hung it from the back of my bedroom door. Mummy told me that when I wear a blue dress, that I need blue knickers, a blue training bra and a blue vest. “OK.”

I got into bed. We hugged and Mummy left me alone, locking the door and turning the light out. I huffed and sighed, feeling not the least bit sleepy. I lay awake for hours and wet myself long before I drifted off to sleep. On Boxing Day morning I discovered that my nappies turn pink when wet, which means Mummy will always know if I've used it or not. She let me and shower before breakfast and told me that it doesn't matter if I needed my nappy or not. “It's there just in case and it's better to wet your nappy than your bed.” she told me, before sending me to my room to dress. “Matching knickers and training bra remember... and don't forget to put a vest on.” she said.

“OK.” I moaned. My sister had showed me how to put a bra on properly but it was still really fiddly. The dress Mum chose was quite stretchy so pulled on quite easily. I wasn't sure if I should wear tights or socks or which shoes so I went downstairs barefoot.

Mummy said I looked lovely and my sister said it was so nice to see her old dress getting some use again. “We'll do your make-up after breakfast.” she added.

“Then we'll go to Granny's.” Mum said.

“I can't go to Granny's like this!” I gasped.

“We always go to Granny's on boxing day.” Mum reminded me. “She knows you've been petticoated and she knows you'll be wearing a dress, and auntie Claire and uncle Paul and your cousins will be there too, and they know you've been petticoated too.” she informed me.

A panic began to well up inside me. Being dressed like a girl yesterday wasn't so bad because it was just my mum and my sister... two cousins plus my uncle and aunt and my grandmother is too many people too soon... but there was no getting out of it. After breakfast, I donned a pair of thin 'nude' tights and my flat ballet style shoes and once again, my sister helped me with my make-up. This time I did my eye-shadow myself, but she did my eye-liner and mascara for me. I wore a blue Alice band in my hair and Mummy told me that I needed my little satin handbag. “What should I put in it?” I asked.

“Your lipstick.” my sister said.

“And a clean pair of knickers, a nappy, rubbers and over knickers.” my mother added.

“What?! Why?” I exclaimed.

“Because petticoated boys always carry clean knickers and a nappy... just in case.” Mum relied.

“Just in case of what?” I whined.

“Just in case we get stranded and have to stay overnight somewhere.” Mum told me. “You'd need a nappy for bed and clean knickers in the morning.” she said.

“OK.” I frowned

“And the other reason is if you misbehave.” she added. “Your knickers are a privilege, not a right and if can't behave yourself you'll be put in a nappy and everybody will know about it.”

My jaw dropped. I felt so self conscious knowing there was a nappy inside my handbag. In fact that worried more than my dress as we exited the house. The December air nibbled through my thin tights as we walked to Mum's car, but my woolly dress coat felt nice and warm, although to look at, it's clearly a girl's coat despite being navy blue. My aunt, uncle and cousins were already at our grandmother's house when we arrived, and to be honest, they didn't seem at all phased that I was dressed like a girl. Granny said she didn't think my Mum was going to go through with petticoating me, after delaying it from my birthday, but added that she was glad she had. “My mother always said that little boys are best behaved when dressed as girls.” she told me, claiming that her brothers each had a Sunday dress when they were boys. My cousin Samantha, aged fourteen, said she liked my dress and auntie Claire recognised it as one of my sister's hand-me-downs. Little Lottie is only five and probably too young to realise that there's anything odd about a boy in a dress, and Uncle Paul didn't comment on my attire at all, but did say I'd grown since he last saw me, and asked how I was getting at school. All in all, they just pretended it was normal that I was dressed like a girl and after a short while, I kind of felt normal too.

The next day I wore more casual clothes; a trendy canvas skirt that I'd got for Christmas, with black tights and my new trainers, plus a peach cardigan over a plain pink long sleeved t-shirt. Mummy put some sparkly slides in my hair which looked a bit girlie but I guess that's to be expected now I'm a petticoated boy. My sister continued teaching me to apply my make-up and although I wasn't very good at it, I was doing my own eye-liner and mascara, as well as eye-shadow, foundation and lipstick. Practise makes perfect, my sister told me... and I suppose it does.

By new year's eve, I began to feel like I'd got used to dressing in girls clothes everyday but I hadn't got used to my bedtime routine. It was by far the most humbling aspect of being a petticoated boy. If I didn't wet myself before falling asleep, I’d wake in the middle of night, desperate for the toilet and hang on for as long as possible before wetting myself. It's horrible but as Mummy says, it's better to wet my nappy than my bed.

Mummy took me shopping on new year's day for some new school clothes and let me wear my new jeans for the first time. When she said I could wear long pants for school, I figured she meant the pants I'd always worn; boy's pants. But no. She bought me several pairs of girl's school pants which have their fastening on the side and a bow on the front, plus a school skirt to wear whilst doing my homework, a pack of navy blue school tights, some white pelerine knee socks and a new pair of school shoes which, whilst being girl's shoes, are lace-ups so they’re not that girlie at glance.

We returned to school on the 3^rd and I was so embarrassed walking to school on the first day of term wearing my navy blue dress coat and girl's trousers over a pair of white knitted knee socks. I figured the best thing to do was come clean, so when anybody asked why I was wearing a girl's coat or girl's socks, or of anyone asked what I got for Christmas, I'd shrug and tell them I've been petticoated. They didn't know whether to laugh or pity me and I expect behind my back, my classmates did both. No one teased or picked on me and my form teacher kept me back after the afternoon registration and asked if I was getting on OK, to which I'd apathetically reply “I guess Miss.”

“Do you think it's wise telling everyone that you've been petticoated?” she asked.

“Would you rather I lie Miss?” I smugly asked.

Mummy asked how my first day back had been and seemed surprised when I told her how my classmates didn't know how to react when I told them that I'd been petticoated. “Most boys try to keep it secret.” she said.

“What's the point of that, Mummy?” I retorted. “There's no lie I can think of to justify why I'm wearing a girls coat, trousers and socks.” I said.

“True.” Mum frowned. “Have you got any homework?”

“Just an English assignment.” I told her.

“Well go and put your school skirt on. You can do it at the table in the kitchen.” she told me. “...and bring that white Alice band down with you.” she hollered as I left for my room

I changed out of my girlie school pants and pulled the skirt on. It's short, pleated and charcoal grey and coupled with my pelerine knee socks, I look every bit the school girl. I put the Alice band in my hair and checked my reflection before returning downstairs. Mum said I looked lovely before asking what my English assignment was. “Five hundred words describing what I did over the Christmas Holidays.” I replied.

“Oh.” Mum said, seeming somewhat abashed.