Epiphany

by Sarah Bayen

Part Three

Revelation

 

Limp stood rooted to the doorstep. I had to push him to get him to go through, and he staggered a little into the garden. I slammed the door behind me. Turning around, with much swishing of satin, his crumpled face looked at me in terror. "Oh God Jenny! Why did you do that? I haven't got a key with me!" I smiled. So now he was locked out of his house wearing a bridesmaid's dress! That was even better. "How am I going to get back in and get my own clothes back? You'll have to lend me some!"

I grinned again. "It looks like I already have!" I observed. His bottom lip jutted out, and he looked extremely sorry for himself.

"Oh that's just too much Jenny!" he complained petulantly, folding his arms over his chest. "You've done that deliberately!" His face looked really cross, and, although I couldn't see it under his dress, I could have sworn that he stamped one of his feet.

Well I don't know if you've ever been told off at by a boy in a pink bridesmaid's dress, but it's quite an amusing experience. I tried to keep a straight face, because I could see he was cross, but it was no good. I burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!" he said, getting even crosser with me.

"I'm sorry," I managed to say between laughs. "But you laughed at me too!"

"I never locked you out of your own house wearing this!" he exclaimed, lifting the dress up to show me. I found myself laughing again.

"I'm sorry Limp," I said. "I didn't know you didn't have a key."

"Well where would I put a key in this?" he went on. "It hasn't got any pockets!"

"I know that," I told him. "I wore it too remember?"

He sighed in desperation. "Perhaps your Mum's got a spare," he said, more in hope than expectation. I shrugged my shoulders in response.

"Come on then," I said. "Let's go and ask her!"

He winced at the idea, and turned to walk down the path. He hadn't got very far, when his legs got tangled up in the dress. I smiled. I had had the same problem myself, and it was worse for him, being a good three inches shorter. My Mum's words to me came back into my mind, and I repeated them to him. "Now when you're wearing a dress like that, you have to take nice little ladylike steps. And hold the skirt up a bit in front of you!"

He flung a look at me over his shoulder, and I saw his shoulders tremble at the ordeal I was putting him through. Nevertheless, his hand went down to the front of his dress, and clasped some of the material, freeing his legs for at least a modicum of movement.

Still echoing my Mum, I said. "That's the idea. We'll make a lady of you yet!" I was really beginning to enjoy this now, putting him through all the humiliation I had had to suffer. He still looked good in the dress, too good for comfort, but being able to vent my pent up resentment on him was feeling cathartic!

He tiptoed down his path, and onto the pavement. Although we lived next door to one another, there was a three-foot wall between the houses. Normally I would have simply vaulted it. Limp never did. He walked all the way down his path, and up mine, obedient to every rule. I smiled to myself. It would have been unnecessarily cruel, although amusing, to get him to try and vault the wall in his new dress!

Making agonisingly slow progress, he managed the four yards or so distance to our gate. "These shoes make it almost impossible to walk!" he complained.

"No need to tell me," I reminded him. "I had to wear them nearly all day Saturday."

I rushed in front of him to open our little wooden gate. "Ladies first again!" I said, delighted with myself. There's a little step up onto our path from the road. Normally you don't notice it's there, but to him, in his little heeled shoes, and big heavy dress, it probably looked like a mountain. Gingerly he lifted one foot, and then the other, and was able to mount it.

"Well done," I beamed. I then looked over his head down the road. "Oh look! There's Billy and Joe from school!"

His face was an absolute picture. I'd never seen his eyes go so wide, or his mouth so open. "Oh God, where?" he gasped.

I laughed out loud. "Fooled you!" I exclaimed.

"That wasn't very nice!" he said petulantly, and began his laborious journey up our front path.

"Round the back," I directed. "We can go in through the kitchen."

We made our way to the side door, which I opened, and in spite of my newly discovered gentlemanliness, I went in first. The kitchen was empty, and I waited for him to mount the step in, still looking as if he was climbing Everest. He had a sour face, and scowled at me. "I don't know why you're doing this," he complained. "All I did was laugh at you a little bit."

"Well it still hurt!" I told him. "Now, let's see if I can find my Mum."

"Don't forget to ask her about the keys!"

I went through to the hall, and looked into the lounge. No sign of her there. I shouted up the stairs, and, after a few seconds there was a response.

"Mum," I said, "Can you come down here for a minute. There's something I want to show you!"

"Can't you bring it up here?" she asked, out of vision. "I'm cleaning the bathroom."

"No," I replied. "You'll have to come on down."

"Well give me a moment then," I heard her say. "I hope it's important, interrupting me like this."

"It is," I assured her, and went back into the kitchen to wait for her. Limp was standing there, looking sorry for himself. He looked wistfully at one of the stools, and I saw him make the obvious decision that climbing onto it in his full-length dress would be too difficult. He sighed, and folded his arms across his chest again.

"Now remember what you've got to say," I said. "Dressing up like this was your idea, all right?" He scowled at me, and pouted, as he looked away. "Now come on," I said, "you agreed that you would."

"All right," he replied. "But she's going to think I've gone bonkers."

"No she won't," I assured him, although in truth, I had no idea what my Mum's reaction was going to be. Mum made us wait. I knew she would. She liked to make sure I knew that she wasn't at my beck and call. Any time I asked her to do anything, she always took as long as she could before doing it.

"I hope she's got a key. My Mum leaves her one when we go away I think," Limp said, looking dolefully out into our back garden.

"Well she either has or she hasn't," I observed unhelpfully. "It's no big deal. You can stay here until your Mum and Dad get back can't you?"

He glared at me. "Then they'll see all my stuff strewn across the front room. They'll think I stripped off or something."

"Well you did."

He shot me another look. If looks could harm or kill, I'd be pretty much dead by then. "Well if she hasn't got a key, you'll have to lend me some jeans or something. I'm not letting my Mum and Dad see me like this!"

I smiled at him. "They might think you look cute. I do!"

He actually bared his teeth and growled at me! I'd never seen him do that before, not my little puppy. I heard footsteps on the stairs. My Mum was at last answering my summons. She turned at the foot, and came down the hall.

"Now what's so important?" she began, and then saw Limp. "Oh!" she said, with genuine surprise on her face. "Well, you've decided to be a girl today have you William? That's nice."

"He wanted to try on my bridesmaid's dress, and I said yes." I explained. My Mum cast me a look, and then stared at Limp some more.

"Well it looks very nice on you my dear," she said. "I'm glad somebody wanted to wear it. Jenny thought it was horrible."

"Well it suits him more than me!" I retorted.

Mum walked through, and gave him an appraising look over. "Well, you may be right Jenny, but that's because he's not scowling the whole time." She turned to me. "Do you see Jenny? Not everyone hates wearing dresses. Some people think they're nice, don't they William?"

He looked startled at the question, and sort of mumbled a yes.

"Well I just wish you'd have a word with Jenny here, and tell her how nice it can be," she went on. I should have known she'd take the opportunity to start off another lecture on how I should be more ladylike, more feminine, rather than simply delight in the sight of Limp in a dress. She went on and on, and, over her shoulder; I could see Limp smiling at her tirade against me. So he thought this was funny did he? Well I'd show him!

"Well we can't stop," I said, interrupting her flow. "He wants me to take him down the High Street now, to see how people react to him being dressed like that."

My Mum stopped her rant, and looked at me curiously. Over her shoulder I could see Limp panicking, and wildly gesturing at me. I smiled as innocently as I could. "I see," my Mum said, thoughtfully, and turned to face him. "Well, that's a very brave thing to do," she explained to him. "But it might not be such a great idea."

Limp was speechless. "What do you mean?" I asked, in lieu of him.

"Well I can see it might be fun, to see what being a girl's like when you're out and all that," my Mum went on, "but you'll stand out a bit dressed like that. I mean, you don't see many bridesmaids down the High Street do you?"

Limp shook his head meekly, but still was unable to speak.

"But it'll be nice for people to see how good he looks in that dress!" I protested.

My Mum turned back to face me. "Well perhaps," she began. "But once people realise he's a boy, well, they might get a bit nasty."

"What do you mean?" I demanded.
"Well, they might not see it as him being curious, or brave. They might think," she hesitated for a moment. "Well, they just might think, you know."

"That he's gay or something?" I said for her.

"Yes. That sort of thing. I'd hate to see him get hurt, wouldn't you?"

I looked over her shoulder at Limp, who was looking deeply mournful at the suggestion that he should go down the High Street dressed as a bridesmaid. Personally, I thought it would be a great laugh, and I was sure most other people would too. It would be poetic justice for all the shoppers to laugh at him, as a boy in a bridesmaid's dress, after what I'd been through, and if anyone did try and beat him up, well, I could step in and save him.

"He'll be all right," I said.

"Well I'm not so sure," my Mum went on. "What do you think William? I mean, I know you want to try it out, but it really could be a bit dangerous. It's not as if it's Halloween or anything, you might get away with it then."

He looked at me, and then at her. "Yes, I think you might be right," he agreed. "It sounds a bad idea to me."

"Rubbish!" I interjected. "You were so keen on it before!"

He glared at me, and then went on. "Yes, but that was before your Mum pointed out how silly and dangerous it might be."

"Oh dear," my Mum said, putting her hands on his shoulders. "I hope you're not too disappointed!"

"No, I'll be fine," he assured her, still glaring at me.

"I mean, don't get me wrong William," she went on. "You look lovely, and I think it's sweet that you wanted to try that dress on." I saw him blush as she complimented him. "But it really would look a bit out of place. It'd just draw attention to you, and people would soon realise you're a boy, especially with your hair."

He nodded. "It's okay Mrs. Williams," he said, smiling at her. "I think you're right."

"He could borrow my wig!" I suggested, feeling a little desperate that my Mum's concern for his welfare might curtail my fun. She turned to face me, and put her head to one side to think this through. "Well I suppose he could," she conceded. "But he'd still look a bit silly in a bridesmaid's dress in the middle of the week." Behind her, Limp smiled, and stuck his tongue out at me. His expression soon changed however.

"You know," my Mum said, turning back to him. "If you really wanted to go down the High Street dressed as a girl, you'd be better off wearing something a bit simpler. More day-to-day if you know what I mean."

It was my turn to grin, and stick my tongue out at him. "I've got lots of stuff I could lend him," I suggested. "Maybe a nice skirt and top or something."

"You never wear a skirt!" he protested in panic.

"Yes, but I've got lots. My Mum keeps buying them for me, don't you Mum?"

"I do," she agreed. "Not that you ever seem all that grateful. I suppose in some ways it would be nice to see one of them put to use."

"Well that's good isn't it Limp?" I said to him. "We've solved all your problems!"

He grimaced, and looked put out. My Mum turned back to him.

"And does your Mum know about this, this little experiment of yours William? I think she should."

"No!" he said in panic. "I, err," he stuttered, looking at me to plead for assistance.

"We just thought we'd try it first," I said, smiling for my Mum's sake. "If he likes it, and wants to do it again, obviously we'd tell his Mum."

My Mum frowned. "Well I'm not sure," she said. "I really ought to tell Betty you know. I think I'd like to be told if you were doing something like this Jenny."

"But I do something like this all the time!" I told her. "You're always telling me I'm going out dressed like a boy."

She considered this. "Well I'm not sure it's exactly the same thing," she said, although there was doubt in her mind, I could tell. I decided to press the point home, for Limp's sake.

"Of course it is! I like dressing as a boy, and Limp's going to see if he likes dressing as a girl. It's as simple as that."

"I do wish you wouldn't call him that Jenny, it's not very nice," she said, musing over the point I had made. "Well all right," she said, turning to Limp. "I'll keep quiet, not that I'm entirely comfortable about it." He smiled with relief. "Actually," she added, looking at him closely, "you could probably do with a bit of make up as well as the wig. Yes, that would be a good idea. That way you'll probably get away with people thinking you're a girl."

"Good idea!" I agreed, nodding vigorously. "Can he borrow some of yours Mum? I haven't got any."

"You got some for Christmas!" she said, accusingly. "Aunt Sophie gave you a set!"

"I've lost it," I muttered. I'd actually swapped it with Anne, a girl from school, for a couple of CDs that I liked.

"Oh good heavens Jenny!" she went on. "Still, he can borrow some of mine I suppose. Do you want me to do it for you dear? It's not easy if you've never tried before, and Jenny won't be any good."

He looked flabbergasted by the suggestion, but was boxed into a corner. "Err, yes. Thank you Mrs. Williams. That would be nice."

She smiled sweetly at him. "It's no problem. It'll actually be quite nice to put make up on someone who wants to wear it!" she said, glaring at me in accusation. "Sit yourself down somewhere, and I'll go and get my kit." Then she turned to me. "What you can do, is go and sort some clothes out. Nothing too fancy, either, and bring the wig down as well."

"Yes Mum," I replied, happily, and leaving Limp to consider his fate, we both rushed upstairs to our respective bedrooms. I went straight over to the wardrobe, and, pulling some of my shirts and trousers out of the way, tried to peer into the back of it, the hanger of no return where any skirts and dresses anyone bought me went.

It wasn't easy finding him something to wear. For a start, I had no real idea what was in there. When I got a skirt, I hardly ever looked at it, before stuffing it out of sight. I was vaguely aware, from conversations at school, that a lot of my peers had an intimate knowledge of what was in their wardrobes, when and where they had worn it before, and what might possibly go with it. I had none of these advantages when trying to find a new outfit for Limp.

"Don't be too long," I heard my Mum say, as she headed back downstairs. "And don't pick him out anything too silly."

"No Mum," I replied, and went back to examining the hidden depths of my clothes collection. There were all sorts of stuff in there, going back years. God, there was even a stupid party frock my Mum had bought for me when I was nine! I had had to wear it to Deidre Jenkinson's party, I remembered. I shuddered at the thought. I had been sent home from that party for hitting some boy or other, someone who had told me I looked pretty if I remember. I smiled to myself, imagining Limp wearing it. He'd look quite sweet in a little girl's pink party frock! Still, it probably wouldn't fit him. He wasn't as big as me, but squeezing him into a nine year-old's party frock was probably hoping for too much.

I yanked a whole load of stuff out onto my bed. There was a lot more than I had imagined; skirts, tops and dresses all lay there on the bed, accusing me of having forgotten them. Well they weren't going to be so neglected now! I was going to pick out some for Limp to try! I examined a few things up, with feelings of revulsion that anyone should have bought them for me, and excitement at the thought of getting Limp to wear them. One or two I had to reject because of what my Mum had said. If he was going to stand out too much in a bridesmaid's dress, then all the party dresses were a bit over the top as well. There was also some stuff that, like the frock I'd had when I was nine, were likely to be a bit small, even for him.

After much musing, I decided that a simple skirt and top ensemble would probably be best, but which ones? There were what seemed hundreds of stupid skirts to choose from, ranging from tiny mini skirts, through to an ankle length velvety number I had been forced to wear the previous Christmas. I thought about it. He had good legs, I knew that, from seeing him put his stockings on over at his house. So that meant he could probably wear something quite short. Short would be good too, because it would embarrass him more, having to show off his legs. That would teach him for laughing at me in a dress!

I laid a few of the shorter ones out on the bed and looked at them carefully. The plain ones had the look of the school uniform, or at least, the uniform some girls wore. I always took the option of wearing trousers of course. My Mum kept saying how lucky I was to be able to. Apparently in her day girls hadn't had the choice! Then I saw the perfect skirt for Limp! I had forgotten all about it, and couldn't even remember where it had come from. It was a horrible little pleated thing, in a sort of mock tartan, although it was mainly pink. Oh yes, that was ideal! I picked it up, and smiled to myself, imagining his face when I showed it to him. Excellent! That was his skirt. All I needed to do was to make sure he had an equally suitable top.

I rummaged around in the pile to find the tops. There were seven or eight that were more or less the right size, recent additions to my forgotten wardrobe. There was a lovely one I had to reject though. A pink top with cap sleeves and a big Barbie logo on it! I really would have liked to have got Limp to wear that, but it was far too small.

I laid the pink tartan skirt out on the bed, and tried various tops against it. I giggled to myself. It almost looked as if there was a very thin person lying down there, as I tried each one. I've got no natural talent when it comes to colours, as you can imagine. I tried a lemon yellow one, which just didn't look right with the pink, and then a green one, which looked even worse. I really wanted something that screamed 'girl', but the only one with a logo, other than the Barbie one, just said 'Smile", which wasn't all that great.

Then I saw one in a similar pink to the skirt. That might look all right. I laid it down, and stood back to look. The colours certainly went, and I quite liked the neck on the top. It had a sort of peek-a-boo hole on the cleavage, and a horrid little flower at the top of the hole. I was about to pick it up, and run downstairs with it, when I hesitated for a moment. Mum had told me not to pick anything too silly. Would she think the skirt and top I'd so carefully selected to cause the most embarrassment were too silly? I didn't really know; what would my Mum define as silly? I shrugged to myself, and decided to risk it, and went downstairs.

I could see my Mum kneeling in front of Limp, sitting very still in a chair, as I came along the hall. It was only when they both looked around at me crashing through the door that I got a clear view of him. "My God Mum!" I exclaimed. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"It's all right isn't it?" she asked.

All right was hardly how I'd describe what she'd manage to achieve. Limp looked absolutely beautiful. He had nice red cheeks, instead of his normal pasty white, and his eyes were large and prominent, with thick curly eyelashes. His mouth, normally fairly non descript and thin, was now full, and delicately coloured in a sort of pastel pink. Sitting as he was, in that ghastly bridesmaid's dress, he looked every inch a girl, even with his short hair. Even his normal mournful expression, looked different; sultry I suppose you'd call it.

My Mum stood up. "Well what do you think?" she asked.

I was speechless, utterly speechless, and just stood there, open-mouthed, staring at him.

"Well say something!"

"He looks," I began, but words were failing me again. "He looks, well, beautiful."

"Yes I think so too!" my Mum agreed. "He's got a nice complexion, and high cheekbones, so it wasn't all that difficult. But I still think I've done quite a good job."

"Well I don't think he'll have any trouble down the High Street now!" I exclaimed.

"Well I don't know about that," Mum went on. "He'll still look a bit odd in a bridesmaid's dress, and then there's his hair. It's a bit short, even for a modern girl."

I was still staring at Limp, seeing him as I'd never done before. He was starting to look a little uncomfortable with the attention, but I couldn't help it. He looked gorgeous! I couldn't believe that wimpy little William, the boy next door, would make such a fantastic looking girl.

"So what have you sorted out for him?" Mum was saying. "I hope it's not too silly. I'll not let him go down the High Street in anything too silly you know."

"No," I said, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the vision of beauty sitting there. "I thought he might have this skirt," I said, handing it to her, "And this top. It sort of matches."

Mum took hold of both items, and looked from one to the other, without her face giving away anything of what she might have been thinking. I was worried, assuming she was going to reject them, and tell me to get something plainer. Eventually, however, she spoke. "Well that's not a bad choice," she said, "Not bad at all. Honestly Jenny, you can pick out nice clothes if you put your mind to it can't you? I just wish you'd do it for yourself sometimes!" I winced at this renewed assault on my tomboyishness, but fortunately, this time it was a brief one. She held the clothes out, and showed them to Limp. "Are these all right for you William?" she asked him. "The skirt's a little bit short, but it's modern. And the top's quite sweet."

He looked aghast at the question, and glared at me, his eyes big and bright from the eyeliner and shadow Mum had done for him. I grinned impishly back at him.

"So do you think you'll be all right in them?" my Mum went on.

"I suppose so," he muttered.

"Good, well, give me a hand to get him out of this dress then Jenny, and we'll see if they fit. Come on William, stand up, that's it."

"Good girl!" I said, and laughed.

"Don't be horrid to him!" my Mum admonished. "Right, now let's get you out of that dress."

She turned him around so that his back was to us, and unfastened the zip at the top. She slid it all the way down, and then, carefully, pulled the sleeves off his arms. "Oh, I see," she said suddenly. "I wondered what he was wearing underneath. It's your basque isn't it Jenny?"

"Not really, it's his," I said, not wanting to admit to owning such a thing.

My Mum tutted at me, and helped Limp step out of the dress. I felt a fresh wave of butterflies, seeing him again in his underwear, especially now, since his face looked so different. He looked a little shamefaced about exposing his lingerie to my Mum, and stood rather awkwardly, with his hands in front of himself.

"Well," my Mum began, looking carefully at him. "I didn't realise he was wearing that."

I wasn't sure whether she approved or disapproved. "He wanted to wear it. He insisted in fact," I put in. Limp glared at me for this, but didn't contradict me.

"Well I could tell he had something on, because of his cleavage, but I didn't think it would be your wedding basque Jenny." There was still a note of accusation in her voice.

"Well like I said," I responded. "He was adamant that he wanted to try the whole outfit on, weren't you Limp?"

He glared at me again, but said. "Yes Jenny." I smiled at his compliance.

"And he looks good in it," I put in. Mum circled around him for a moment, considering this.

"Well I suppose you're right," my Mum said at length, still looking him over. "He does look good in it. Not that you didn't." It was my turn to tut. "But I'm not sure he can wear those stockings with the outfit you've picked for him. They won't go."

I looked at the white stockings, with their little wedding motifs, and felt more than a little sad that he might have to take them off. "They look all right," I put in.

"Well yes," Mum admitted, "but they hardly go with a pink mini skirt do they?" I shrugged in reply. "Well they don't," she asserted. "I tell you what, see if you can find him a nice pair of tights." I was about to rush upstairs to see if I could remember where I might have any, when she suddenly gasped. "Oh my goodness!"

"What's the matter?"

"I've just seen his knickers!" she announced. "They're ones you wore for the wedding!"

"I know. I told you. He wanted to try on the whole outfit." I protested. She widened her eyes in disbelief.

"Well, I didn't know that would include the knickers. I'm not sure about sharing underwear you know, it's not hygienic."

"They've been washed!"

"I know that," she went on, shaking her head. "Still, I suppose they look good on him."

"Yes they do!" I agreed, happy that she hadn't demanded he take them off.

"Well, he can keep them on I suppose, if he wants to."

"Of course he does. Don't you Limp?"

He scowled at me again. "Oh yes please," he said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. I smiled at him, and his beautifully made up eyes glared back at me.

"Well go and get him some tights then Jenny," Mum went on. "I'll help him out of the basque."

"What?" I demanded. "He likes it!"

"I'm sure he does. But he can't wear it with tights can he? They won't go on under it properly."

I stared at her. This was terrible. She wanted Limp to take off the best thing he was wearing, the thing that gave him such a lovely waist and little boobs. "But it helps his figure!" I managed to say.

Mum thought about this. "Yes it does," she admitted. "Let's think. I know! He'll have to have a bra instead. You don't mind that do you William? I know you want to wear the basque, but it won't really go with tights and the little skimpy top Jenny's got for you?"

I saw Limp shudder at the thought of wearing a bra, and decided to step in before he had a chance to refuse. If he wasn't going to be able to wear the basque, a bra was the next best thing. "I'll get you one from upstairs!" I put in quickly.

"Yes," agreed Mum. "We can pad it out for you William. Don't worry; it'll still look as if you've got boobs. Now turn around and I'll help you out of the basque."

I stayed to watch him turn around. He looked fantastic in the basque from the rear, and the stockings and flimsy knickers just added to the picture. I felt a pang of regret that I wouldn't be seeing him like that again. I turned to go back upstairs before the thought hit me, why not? Why shouldn't I see him like that again? It had been easy enough to persuade him to put it on this time, so getting him to do a repeat performance should be even easier. Yes, that would be really good! I could get him to put on all the girly stuff I'd been hording over the years. That would teach him for laughing at me, and, something or somebody at the back of my mind added, he looked bloody good in it. Too good for comfort in some ways, but something was impelling me to get him dressed up again, just to see him.

Slightly confused, I arrived at my bedroom, and opened my underwear drawer. Compared to the basque and the flimsy knickers that went with the bridesmaid's outfit, everything in it seemed more than a little dull. All my bras were plain and undecorated; I couldn't stand the feel of lace against my skin, or any underwiring or nonsense like that. This was going to be difficult. Then I noticed an unopened packet at the back of the drawer. I pulled it out. Yes, this would be the perfect thing! It was a bra my Mum had bought for me, fleshy pink, it said on the packet, with balconette cups, whatever that might mean. I ripped the packet open, and took it out, holding it up to look at. Oh yes, this was the perfect thing for Limp! If he couldn't have a basque, then this was exactly what he should have instead, a lovely feminine bra, complete with ridiculously lacy straps and cups. Grinning wildly to myself, I decided that this was the bra for him. I noticed something else in the packet, and took that out. My oh my, it was a matching pair of knickers, just as lacy and just as feminine. What a pity he already had a pair on, I thought to myself, stuffing them back in the packet with the bra, and looking for a pair of tights. I found an unworn black pair still wrapped up. That was perfect. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I rushed back downstairs.

Back in the kitchen, Mum had managed to get the basque off Limp, and he was taking off his stockings, now free from the suspender. He looked fabulous doing it, and I stood, rooted to the spot, gazing at him. "Did you find something dear?" my Mum asked.

I nodded, and handed her the bra and panty set. She looked at it, and shook her head. "I don't know Jenny, you've never even worn these have you?"

"No Mum." I confessed.

"Well I suppose at least they'll get some use today. Once you've got your stockings off William, we'll try this bra on you." He looked briefly and solemnly at me as she said this, and I smiled back at him. He let the stockings slide down his legs, and then pulled them off his feet, before handing them to me. "Come on then, let's see if it fits you," my Mum went on, turning him around so his back was towards her.

She slipped the bra around him, and did it up at the back. I felt something of a thrill seeing him there with a bra and his see through panties on. This simply wasn't the Limp I was used to. Then she fussed with the shoulder straps, shortening and tightening them so that the bra fitted better.

"How's that?" she asked him at last.

"It's a bit tight," he grumbled. She fiddled with the straps some more.

"I think it's all right William," she concluded. "It has to be quite tight to give you the right sort of support you know." This made me smile, the thought that Limp would need support for his 'boobs'.

"Right," Mum went on, "We'd best get your tights on now. You give him a hand Jenny, I don't supposed he's used to putting tights on, are you William?"

"No," he said, turning to me with his made up face looking at once beautiful and cross.

"Me?" I said. "I'm not that used to it myself!"

"Well I'm sure you've had more practice than William," my Mum went on. "Come on, make yourself useful."

There was no arguing with her in this sort of mood. I made Limp sit down, and rolled the tights onto his feet, and up to his knees. God his legs looked attractive, I found myself thinking as they once again became covered in nylon, this time black. I looked up at him. He looked so glum, sitting there quietly, and yet so wonderfully and unusually beautiful with his made up face. "Stand up," I told him.

It was a bit of a struggle getting the tights up his thighs. Not that he was fat; far from it in fact, but being new, there wasn't a lot of give in the tights, and I was wary of touching him too close to his manhood. Well, given that it was covered in a gorgeous pair of gossamer knickers, perhaps I should say womanhood!

With much struggling, and some help from him, I managed to get the tights up. "He hasn't got much by way of hips," my Mum observed. "They're going to ride down unless we can think of something."

I had suffered from a similar lack of hip on the rare occasions I had worn tights, and a solution forced on me once came back to me. "He can wear another pair of knickers on top!" I announced. Limp looked startled at the suggestion, and, with a pleading look in his eyes shook his head at me. I smiled again, looking firmly into his eyes.

"That might do the trick," Mum agreed. "Go and get him some."

"There's a pair in the packet with the bra," I told her. "It was a set."

"Oh yes," she remembered, and retrieving the packet, pulled out the lovely pink knickers. He was going to look so cute in them, I just knew it. I snatched them off my Mum, and handed them to him. "Here you go," I said brightly. "Put these on. There's a good girl!"

He looked at them dubiously for a moment, and then shrugged, and stepped gingerly into them. He hesitated for a moment with them around his ankles, and looked daggers at me, before pulling them up his legs. I watched in fascination as they slid up his nylon clad thighs, before settling around his groin. This was a revelation to me. I had always regarded knickers, particularly ridiculously feminine ones, as inventions of the devil before. They were simply one item in the panoply of weapons of oppression that my Mum seemed so anxious to use against me. Now I saw them in a whole new light. They somehow made Limp suddenly fascinating; enticing even, a feeling I had never had about him before.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he demanded, petulantly. I took my eyes from his groin to his face. I was speechless, and just shook my head.

"Yes they should do the trick," Mum put in on a more practical level. "Now let's see, we ought to pad you out a bit before we put your top on. Let's see, what can we use?"

I thought about this. "Tissues?" I suggested.

"No," my Mum replied. "They're okay to make yourself a bit bigger if you've already got something there. But William's more or less starting from scratch. Let me think. I might just have something in the dressmaking box. You help him into his skirt, Jenny, and I'll go and have a look."

She went out into the hall to search for whatever she had in mind. I turned to face Limp. I was a bit reluctant to cover up his underwear; he looked so good in it, so I just stared at him again.

"Stop looking at me like that!" he said, "It makes me feel uncomfortable."

"Sorry," I mumbled, but was still unable to take my eyes from the pinkness encasing him.

"Well let's have a look at this skirt then," he went on, after an awkward pause. "If I've got to wear it, I might as well see what it's like."

Shaking myself out of a trance, I picked up the skirt and handed it to him. He looked at it and pulled a bit of a face. "It's a bit short," he grumbled.

"With legs like yours I shouldn't worry," I replied, eyes still fixed on them.

"Stop it Jenny!" he whined. "Don't look at me like that! I'm going to put on the skirt to make you stop!"

I glanced into his eyes, which showed genuine concern at my newfound obsession. He stared back at me, and blinked a few times, before looking down at the tartan mini skirt, and undoing the zip on it. Like a practiced veteran, he held it out, and stepped delicately into it, before slipping it into place, and refastening the zip at his back.

"There," he said, "That'll stop you ogling me." But he couldn't have been more wrong. He looked so good with the tiny little skirt pleated around his middle that I just stared all the more. It hung there, covering up his gorgeous knickers, but was so short, floaty and flimsy to hold the promise that the slightest breath of wind would reveal them to me again.

"Jenny!" he complained. "You're looking at me funny again!"

I moved a step closer to him. What I really wanted to do was flip his little skirt up, and feel his knickers. I knew it was wrong. I shouldn't fancy a boy in a skirt, especially Limp, but I couldn't help myself. My hand moved forward of its own volition rather than mine, and a frightened look came over his eyes.

"Here we are!" I heard my Mum's voice from behind me. "These should do the trick." My hand fell to my side, but my eyes stayed locked on Limp's. "I got them to fill out the bust on a dress I was making a few years ago." Mum went on, oblivious to my arrested desires. "They should look all right, if we put something behind them as well. I saw Limp's eyes fill with relief for an instant, and then with dread, as my Mum came towards him carrying some dressmaking bust forms. Without much ceremony, she slipped one into each side of his bra, and then pushed some hankies in behind to give him more bulk. It took her a while to be totally satisfied with her work, but eventually she stood back.

"Now, that looks better," she announced. I looked around her, and saw that Limp now had proper boobs, not just a flat bra around his chest. And God, did they suit him! They looked pert and full, without being ridiculously large. I liked them immensely!

"Now let's get the top on you as well," my Mum went on. "That skirt looks nice by the way. It suits you." She took the pink top off me, and gently put it on over Limp's rather startled looking head, before pulling it down over his newly-acquired chest, and pulling it tight. I liked him in his underwear, but to see him in a pink top, pulled oh so tight over his new boobs made my heart leap.

"God Limp, you look gorgeous!" I exclaimed. He pulled a face.

"I do wish you wouldn't call him that Jenny," my Mum admonished. Another thought came to me, and I grinned at them both.
"Well I tell you what," I said, "I won't call him that any more. I think I'll call him Wendy!"

"No!" he groaned.

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "You'll have to have a girl's name for the High Street won't you? And Wendy suits you!"

My Mum looked at me, and then at him. "Well she's got a point. She can't call you

William while you're out can she? Not really, not without arousing suspicion anyway."

"But not Wendy!" he complained.

"It's a good name for you," I insisted. "You look like a Wendy, doesn't he Mum?"

"Well I don't know about that," she replied, eyeing him and considering it. "Do you mean like in that book, what was it called?"

"Peter Pan," I told her. "Yes, he can be Wendy, and I can be Peter!" He scowled at me. "Well it's true!" I went on. "I'm always getting into trouble and things, and you're a goody two shoes aren't you?"

"No," he muttered, though I could tell he knew it was true.

"Well that's true enough Jenny," Mum agreed. "He always was much better behaved than you. Betty and I have often remarked on it. And speaking of shoes," she went on, "You'd best find him some. And sort out his wig."

"Yes," I agreed. "Come on Wendy, let's go upstairs and see what we can find."

He glared at me, before slowly moving forward, and following me upstairs to my bedroom. He walked through, and I shut the door behind him, and leant against it, so I could get a full view of him. He looked briefly at all the skirts and tops on the bed, the skirts and tops I had resolved he would wear for me; each one, allowing me to channel all the unwanted femininity my Mum tried to force on me onto him. I smiled to myself, and looked carefully at him again.

"You're staring at me really funny," he complained. "What's the matter with you?"

What was the matter with me? I didn't know, but I continued to stare. He looked so vulnerable in his little skirt, and his made up eyes, so vulnerable and so sexy! I grinned to myself. I moved slowly towards him, and held out my hands. "Well hello Wendy," I said gently. "Let me have a good look at you."

I slipped my arms around him, and felt him shiver a little, as he tried to turn his face away from me. I caught it in my hand, and gently turned it back to mine. "Don't worry Wendy. Peter will look after you. Let's take a trip to Never Never Land."

It was then that I realised why I had put up with Limp hanging around with me all those years. He was the girl who was going to make a man of me!

  

  

  

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