Neighbours

by Sarah Bayen

Part Six

 

Once we were back outside, I dragged him up the High Street at a frantic pace. My goal was the Chemist shop, more or less half way up. This was special only in one respect. It was a corner shop, with one entrance facing the main street, and, hopefully unbeknown to him, another leading onto a little side road that led off to the left.

"Slow down!" he complained. "My legs ache walking this fact."

"We're nearly there," I assured him. "Stop complaining."

Eventually we reached the outside of the shop in question, and we stopped. I caught my breath for a moment, not only because of the exertion, but also to gather my energy to do what I had to do next. "I'm just popping in here for a moment," I told him, in as friendly a voice as I ever used to the boy. "You wait here. I'll only be five minutes."

His big eyes opened wide as he looked at me in panic. This was good; he was obviously worried about being left outside the shop in all his make up and his pretty little skirt. "All right," he said, resigned to his fate. He lowered his eyes, and showing off his eyelashes to me. "Don't be too long, Jen. Please!"

"I'll be as long as I need to," I told him, and walked into the shop. Once there, I broke into a smile. It had been so easy, so amazingly easy. I skipped through the displays as quickly as I possibly could, knocking into one old lady, who muttered something about the youth of today. I made my way to the side door, and out into the street. I found myself laughing out loud. Now he was for it, completely stranded in the High Street, dressed as a girl. Was I brilliant or what?

I didn't hurry on the way home, dawdling along the streets, occasionally still breaking into laughter. Eventually I arrived back home, and walked up to my bedroom, briefly announcing my arrival to my Mum. I lay down on my bed, and laughed some more. What would he be doing now? He didn't have a watch, so he would probably not know for certain how long I'd been. He probably wouldn't start to worry until fifteen minutes or so had passed. Then what would he do? He might just go into the shop and start looking for me. That would be amusing. There had been a cosmetic sale on, with full makeover offers. Perhaps he would be cornered by that, and given one. Failing that, there was always the possibility that someone would spot that he was a boy, albeit a pretty one, wearing a little blue skirt, and with his face all made up. His embarrassment would be priceless, and the only pity was that I wouldn't be there to see it.

He would eventually realise that he had been abandoned. Then what would he do? I could hardly imagine that he would try and come back home, not dressed as he was. He would probably try and sneak back to the den to get changed back into his boy clothes. Hopefully people would see him on the streets, and realise he was a boy. Either way, the shame and humiliation of the experience would almost certainly stop him from ever wanting to bother Katy and I again. Feeling really satisfied with myself, I switched on the radio, and listened to some amiable nonsense, as I wondered what I should do with myself for the next few days until Katy got back.

 

I must have dozed off, because it was a good three quarters of an hour later that I was suddenly jolted by the sound of my Mum's voice shouting up the stairs.

"Jennifer Smith!" she bellowed. "Come down here immediately."

It took me a few seconds to adjust to being awake. Damn, what was she so cross about? I was never 'Jennifer' unless she was cross. With a sense of some foreboding, I opened my bedroom door, and walked down the stairs. To my horror, standing in the hallway with her was none other than John, still wearing his 'Charlotte' outfit, and both of them were looking up at me as I descended. I cursed the boy. Rather than take any of the actions I had anticipated, he had obviously decided to come and grass me up to my Mum.

"You've got a lot of explaining to do," my mother said menacingly, as I reached the bottom. "What have you got to say about this?" she went on, pointing at the boy.

I feigned ignorance, and shrugged. My mother was about to explode into another rant, when he spoke.
"Oh God Jen!" he said, pushing past my Mum to hug me. "I'm so pleased you're all right. I was so worried when I couldn't find you in the shop, I thought you must have been abducted or something." I stared at him in astonishment. Had he really been worried about me?

"Never mind about that," my Mum said, pushing him out of the way again to assail me. "What have you done to him?" she demanded.

I shrugged again, and tried to think of something clever to say.

"You've dressed him up like this, and left him stranded down in town!" she went on. "The only reason I've found out about it is that the poor boy was worried about you! Imagine that. He was worried about you, when all you could think of was dressing him up like this, and leaving him stranded down in town! That's a fine welcome to the neighbourhood that is!" She stopped for a moment, and I wondered if I was going to be able to get a word in edgeways, but I wasn't. She started firing off again.

"And look at him! He looks like a girl! What were you thinking of, getting him to wear a skirt and make up like that! People will think he's queer!" As I braced myself under this onslaught, I felt a little grateful that she hadn't decided to look under his skirt, or even in his shopping bags, to see what other things I had made him put on.

"It's not as if you ever wear a skirt is it? I mean, the Lord knows I've bought you enough stuff over the years. And what about his make up? I knew some of mine had gone missing. You must have stolen it to put on him! Well it's not good enough Jennifer my girl. Not good enough at all. "

"Excuse me Mrs. Smith," he said, tugging gently at her sleeve. She was not to be interrupted however.

"You might well have scared him for life; emotionally that is. Boys don't like wearing skirts, you should know that. You're as bad as a boy in that respect anyway, never wearing skirts. He'll probably hate girls for the rest of his life thanks to you young lady."

"Excuse me Mrs. Smith," he said again. "It's not Jen's fault."

"What do you mean it's not Jen's fault?" my Mum shot off again, in his direction, before returning her fire to me. "Well you've gone too far this time my girl. I thought it was a bit strange that you were being so nice to him. I thought perhaps you'd changed, since that bloody Andrea girl left. I thought you'd turned over a new leaf, and decided to be nice to someone for a change."

"She was being nice to me," he put in insistently. "Don't blame Jen Mrs. Smith," he went on. "I asked her to dress me as a girl."

This silenced my Mum. Both she and I looked at him in astonishment. He was unabashed, and stared firmly and politely at us both. "I wanted to see what being a girl was like, so I asked if she would dress me up as one, and help me with my make up and stuff." He smiled sweetly to complete his little false confession.

"Well," my Mum said at length. "That's all very well, but there was no need for Jennifer to abandon you down at the shops."

He dropped his eyes at this, shooting his 'I'm so sweet' darts at my Mum. It seemed to have some effect, because her tone was becoming softer.

"I tell you what," I said, brightly, and now able to speak. "Now you've had the chance to see what being a girl's like, let's go back to the den, and you can get changed back!"

I sidled past my Mum towards the door, but was stopped by her hand on my shoulder. "Not so fast my girl!" she said. "There's still the matter of stealing my make up without asking me as well."

"That was my fault really," the boy said brightly.

"You mean you told her steal it?" my Mum demanded.

He flushed a little. "Well not quite, but I did ask her to get me some."

"Well she should have gone down the shops and bought some," my Mum retorted. "Well I'm sorry John, but I'm afraid Jennifer's grounded for a week. I know that leaves you without friends, but if they're the sort of friends who strand you down at the shops then you're probably better off without them."

"But Mum!" I protested.

"No buts," she said firmly. "If I were you John, I'd get myself back into trousers as soon as possible. I wonder if I ought to have a word with your Mum about this being a girl nonsense."

"Oh no!" he gasped. "Please don't! I won't do it again!"

She looked at him appraisingly. "Well all right, see that you don't."

"Thank you Mrs. Smith," he said, winningly.

So that was that. I was grounded for a week because of what I had supposedly done to the boy. I rather hoped the next morning that my Mum would relent, but no. I was set to work, cleaning and polishing the house. I did a fair job of it, I felt, but Mum found something to criticise in everything I'd done, and made me do it again. There was no respite the following day either. Mum had to go into the city to buy some carpets. In spite of my protests, and promises to keep boys in trousers from now on, I was dragged along. It was as boring as sin, as we drifted from one warehouse to another, each several miles apart, and even made return trips to at least two of them. When we got home, I did venture to suggest that I should be allowed to go off to the den, but no, it was not to be. I was roped into helping cook the family meal that night, and then doing the washing up at the end of it.

The third day was laundry day, I was told. The most ghastly thing of the whole affair was that my Mum took my jeans off me, and insisted I wear a skirt! I mean, me, in a skirt, it was awful. Skirts were the sort of things Katy wore, or boys, not me. Once I was in that, there was no way I was going to go out. No one, but no one was to see me in a skirt, it would be just too embarrassing.

Finally, on the fourth day, my Mum relented. "Well I hope you've learnt your lesson now young lady," she told me. "I'm prepared to let you go out today, but no more stupid tricks, particularly on that poor boy. I don't know what could have come over you, and to think, he was actually worried about you, and came to tell me you'd gone missing, even though you'd dressed him as a girl!"

"He asked me to!" I protested, almost forgetting that this wasn't true.

"That's not the point," she went on. "So you make sure you're especially nice to him if you see him today. Though to be honest, if I was him, I'd steer well clear of you from now on, but you never know."

"Yes Mum," I replied meekly, and waited to be dismissed.

"Well off you go then. I can't stand another day of you hanging around my feet looking miserable."

"Yes Mum. Thanks Mum," I replied, and shot off out of the house like a rocket. I wondered for an instant whether I should call for the boy. I looked at his house, or rather Andrea's house, as I walked past, and shook my head. No, I wouldn't call for him. He may well have saved me from a worse punishment by suggesting that he had actually wanted me to dress him as a girl, but he was still a boy, one of the enemy. And even worse, he made me feel strange inside, a feeling I had no name for at thirteen. No, it would be better if I avoided him from now on. I ran off up the streets, and through the fields to the forest. A couple of hours relaxing in the den would sort him out, I was sure of that.

I got to the clearing, and saw to my dismay that the padlock was off the door. Had we forgotten to close it the last time we had been here? I thought about the sequence of events. What had probably happened was that after leaving my house, he had come back here to change back into a boy, and had left it open then. Then I saw a movement at the window. Someone, probably him, was in there. But what shocked me more was the window itself. Someone had hung a pair of curtains in there. What was that all about?

I strode across the clearing, and pulled the door open. A transformation had taken place inside that was immediately obvious. Instead of all the clutter and mess I was so used to, things were actually on the shelves, and not the floor. There were no leaves from the previous autumn left strewn about, and, most noticeable of all, there was a sweet smell in the air instead of the dank, dusty aroma that I normally got when walking through this threshold.

Then he appeared from the other end of the shed, carrying in his hands a vase of flowers. His mouth opened when he saw me, and he nearly dropped it. His big eyes opened even wider, and then he broke into a smile, and came across the room and planted a little peck of a kiss on my cheek.

"Jen!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think your Mum would let you come so soon!"

I looked around the familiar shed, now not so familiar. The three-year-old cobwebs had been removed from the ceiling, and the armchairs appeared so much brighter. Even the stains on the thin bit of carpet had gone by some magic.

"What's been going on?" I asked, in some dismay.

He looked at me sheepishly. "I thought I might tidy the place up a bit," he confessed. "It was a bit grubby you know."

I looked at the window. "Curtains?" I said, almost sneering.

"I just thought it might look a bit more homely," he said by way of explanation. "If you don't like the colour, I've got some other ones."

"Homely?" I said in amazement. "The Wild Girls don't do homely."

"I'm sorry," he said, biting his lip, and obviously upset that I wasn't gushing my praise at his work. "I was only trying to help. To say thank you."

I stared at him again. "Thank you for what?"

He shrugged a little. "For letting me be your friend," he simpered. "I'm sorry if I've over done it. It'll soon get messy again if we don't bother to clean up any more."

I walked through, and looked at my armchair, now back to something more like its original maroon colour. It smelt better too, and looking at the shelf behind us, I saw a can of air freshener that he must have been using. I sat down, and looked around the place once more. In spite of myself, I could see that what he had done was something of an improvement. He had straightened the pictures on the wall, even the one of Andrea and me together, and there were three vases of flowers adding colour and fragrance to the place.

"I've kept to the rules while you've been locked up," he said, looking at me. I hadn't really noticed what he had been wearing when I had first come in, I had been too shocked by the state of the shed itself. "Look," he said, holding out the hem of his white skirt. "This is the one we bought, do you remember?"

He was wearing his little RaRa skirt, and he allowed it to swish, as he swayed his hips for me to see. Underneath, he was wearing a pair of black tights, and his white trainers. I didn't remember buying him any tights, it suddenly occurred to me. "Tights?" I said, more to myself than him.

He looked dolefully downwards for a second. "Yes," he confessed. "I went and bought a couple of pairs the day before yesterday. It was getting a bit cold, but I knew I should still wear a skirt."

His legs looked really good in the tights, I had to admit that, better than mine ever would. I wondered, in spite of myself, whether he'd be wearing his pretty knickers over or under them? Perhaps he'd let me look and find out in a minute. I looked upwards. He had a white sleeveless T-shirt on, which I had not seen before, but most noticeable of all was his boobs. Either he'd had a miraculous growth spurt, or he'd padded himself out. "You've got boobs!" I gasped.

He looked at me abashed. "Yes, sorry. I hope you don't mind. It's just that if anyone sees me, there less likely to think I'm a boy if I've got boobs."

I stared at them again. He was right. It was a darn sight less likely that anyone would think he was a boy with them. He'd somehow got the size just right for his frame. Normally when boys decided to give themselves boobs for a laugh, or whatever, they went for ridiculously large ones, made out of balloons, or melons, or something. He'd got the balance just perfect however, and his two new boobs poked teasingly out towards me from his narrow chest.

I looked up to his face as well. His make up was much better. A few extra day's practice had obviously had its effect. You could hardly tell he was wearing any now, but you saw that he had incredibly long and dark eyelashes, and a full, bright red mouth. He looked gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.

I stood up, and walked across to him. He looked nervous for a moment, and his eyes flashed and fluttered as I got nearer. My breath felt cold in my nose and in my lungs, as I gulped faster and deeper. Without a word, I grabbed his shoulders, and pulled him towards me, and planted a firm and furious kiss on his mouth. Immediately, ashamed of myself, I let him go.

"Oh, that was a surprise," he said, grinning mischievously. I felt the blood rising in my head, and could not draw my gaze away from his cheeky smile, and his huge brown eyes, staring and daring me to do it again.

"Let me feel you," I hissed to him, cursing myself almost immediately for saying it, and even more so for feeling the desire. I cupped my hands on his new breasts, and squeezed them gently. I had no idea what he had constructed them from, but through his flimsy T-shirt, and bra, they felt realistic enough.

"Do you like them?" he asked me, looking up at me and shooting 'love me' darts at me with his eyes. "They're not very big."

"They're big enough," I managed to grunt, although I was being swamped with all sorts of contradictory feelings. I slipped one of my hands down onto his legs, and began lifting his skirt. He caught it, and held it firm.

"That's naughty!" he said, still grinning.

"No it's not," I said, through gritted teeth. "You can do the same to me if you want."

"I'm not sure I want to," he replied. I felt a hot flush come over me, what was he doing to me, why was he so powerful suddenly?

"Let me," I found myself saying. "Please!" What did I mean by saying 'please' to a boy, I admonished myself, but it was too late, I had said it.

"No," he said, teasingly. "It's naughty, I told you so."

His hand still held mine. I knew from our previous arm wrestling experience that I could probably have forced the issue, but somehow that didn't seem right. "Just for a minute," I pleaded.

"A minute! You must be joking!" he responded. Then he looked at me impishly. "Five seconds, that's all you can have."

"Five seconds! That's not long enough!" I protested.

"Ten then, and I'll be counting!" he responded, and then let go of my hand, and stood in front of me, with his eyes now shut, awaiting my invasion.

I hesitated for a moment, in spite of his compliance, but eventually let my hand slip upwards, under the thin hem of his RaRa skirt, up his nylon-clad thigh, and onto a smooth, silky mound of nylon. I exhaled, and realised I had been holding my breath for some seconds. I could feel him through the knickers and the tights, but what caught my attention more than anything else was the lovely feeling of the lace around the legs of the knickers. I stroked the trim between my fingers. It was so soft, so exquisite, so gorgeous. I bent over and kissed him again, this time on the forehead.

"That's enough," he announced, and backed away, smoothing the front of his skirt down as he did so. We stood and stared at each other for some seconds, before he broke the silence again. "Do you want to be my girlfriend then?" he asked. How did he get to be so powerful, I wondered again, as a whole part of me screamed that it agreed. Instead I shrugged.

"Only, if you want to do that again, you'll have to be," he said, rather coquettishly. "I don't let people put their hands up my skirt unless they're my girlfriend."

I wanted to feel his knickers again, so badly that it made my stomach ache. But I hated him for making me feel like that, and fought the contradictions out as I pondered a reply.

"Would I be able to do it for more than ten seconds?" I found myself hissing at him, through my gritted teeth.

He looked at me for a moment, "Maybe," he said, flashing me another smile.

"Then I'll be your bloody girlfriend," I snapped, "Now just come here and kiss me again."

I pulled him towards me, but he held a hand up between us, and put it to my lips. "Well perhaps," he said. "But, if you're going to be my girlfriend now, you'll have to stop calling me that name."

I stared at him in disbelief. So this was it. He was going to use my new entrancement with him to undo all the work I had done on feminising him. "You mean you don't want me to call you Charlotte anymore?" I asked.

He cast his eyes heavenwards. "No," he replied. "I don't mind that, silly! In fact I'd rather you called me Charlotte than John."

"Then what are you on about?" I demanded.

He smiled, and looked up at me. "I want you to stop calling me what you did when you had your hand up my skirt."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I insisted.

"You do!" he replied, and then, iterating each syllable with a gentle tap of his finger on the tip of my nose he said, "Don't call me Andrea!"

I fell back in shock and surprise. "I never call you Andrea!" I gasped.

"You do!" he exclaimed. "Whenever you're looking at my legs, or trying to get a look at my knickers! I know you don't mean to, but you do, and I don't like it."

My mouth fell open. I was about to protest that I never looked at his legs, or tried to get a look at his knickers, but I knew it was hopeless. He had seen me do it. I knew I did it, and he knew I did it. But surely I had never called him Andrea? Why should I? She was tall, and strong, and, it occurred to me, not there. Then I realised. Yes, I had probably called him Andrea, many times, the times when I felt the blood rising to my face, and contorted my position in the chair to get a better look at his legs. He had taken Andrea's place in more ways than one, and this time, I didn't hate him for it.

  

  

  

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