The Contest Beginnings

by Sarah Bayen

  

Part Ten

Here's To You Mrs. Robinson

 

As we walked up the street, Anita linked her arm through mine. I could feel the warmth of her pressing against me. In spite of my attire, I felt somehow that I had might make some progress with her.

"So it's just me and you now," she said, lifting her shoulders slightly in a show of pleasure. "Right through until nine tomorrow evening."

It hadn't really occurred to me until that point that I was going to spend so much time in Anita's company. Although my boots hurt, and the denim mini skirt restricted my walking, I was beginning to think that perhaps agreeing to enter the contest hadn't been such a bad plan after all. I was put on the defensive by Anita's next comment though.

"So you can start by telling me why you were acting so funny at Nikki's just then."

I was caught off my guard. I shook my head, "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do. You were being all gushy about that dress."

"Well," I stumbled for words. "It was nice."

"I know that. So was the one in the shop; you didn't gush about that. In fact you haven't gushed about anything else we've got you to wear."

Some of the hair from my wig fell across my face in the gentle breeze, and I brushed it away. I really didn't want to tell Anita about what had happened in the shop; it seemed so unmanly.

"Well, I just liked it." I said feebly, unable to make eye contact with her.

"Rubbish!" Anita responded. "You just didn't want to go back to the shop did you?"

"No," I whispered, after a pause.

"But why not? Even if you didn't want to wear the pink dress, there were hundreds more you could have tried."

"I know," I replied. "It wasn't that. I just didn't like Sylvia."

"Sylvia, why? She seemed nice enough to me."

I shook my head again. "I don't know. I just didn't."

Anita wasn't going to let this go. "She seemed friendly enough when you were in the changing room together." She paused for a moment, but I still resolutely refused eye contact. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were snogging!"

"No!" I responded vehemently.

"You were, weren't you?" Anita went on, having found a weak spot in my defences. "That's what this is all about. She snogged you, and you didn't like it! That's why you didn't want to go back to the shop. Admit it."

I continued walking, trembling at the memory.

"I thought it was because you didn't want to have to work there, but it's not that is it? She snogged you, and you didn't like it."

I decided to admit to some of what she was saying at least. "Well, she did try and get a bit friendly." I admitted.

"Steve!" she squealed. I cringed, because a couple on the opposite side of the road turned their heads to see what the fuss was about. I tugged Anita's arm gently, and nodded my head in their direction. She acknowledged my concern, but went on.

"You are a dark horse! She's twice your age for a start!"

"It wasn't my fault!" I exclaimed.

"But you must have done something to encourage her!"

I shook my head. "No," I blurted. "She just put her hand up my skirt to straighten my slip, then she got a bit carried away."

Anita's face showed both her amusement and her surprise. "Well that was encouraging her for a start, letting her put her hand up your skirt!"

"Well you did it earlier," I said defensively.

She considered this for a moment. "Well, yes. But I was showing you what to do."

She looked at me for a while again, and shook her head. "I can't leave you alone for a moment can I? Ten minutes alone in a changing room with another woman, and you already let her put her hands up your skirt."

I was blushing furiously by this point, and bit my lip to relieve my anguish.

"So is that why you burst out crying then? Because she'd tried it on with you?"

I hung my head in shame rather than reply.

"I thought it was just that you'd got a bit overcome, like you did in my kitchen earlier."

Again I made no reply. That too was a painful memory.

Anita shook her head. "Well, it looks as if I should give you some lessons in repelling unwanted advances along with all your other lessons in being a girl."

She hugged my arm in a friendly way, and I managed a wan smile.

"We're nearly there now," she told me, and I realised that we had turned into the street where she lived. We walked along the road to her house, through her gate, and up her path.

"Oh," she said, as we approached the front door. "It looks as if my Mum and Dad are back."

I immediately froze, my feet rooted to the path through my boots.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

My eyes were wide with terror. "Your parents!" I hissed.

"Well what about it? You knew you'd be meeting them eventually."

"Yes I know! But I thought I'd have time to gather myself together first!"

She shrugged. "Well you won't," she said bluntly. "Come on, let's get in, and I'll introduce you."

She rummaged about in her bag, and found her keys, and then walked to the front door. I still stood immobile in the middle of the path.

"Come on Steve," she urged, and then smiling said, "Oh, I mean Sarah of course!"

I inched forward towards the door, my head spinning. I was about to be introduced to Anita's parents, as Sarah. She opened the door, and we walked through into the hallway. Anita called out a greeting, and there was a muffled female reply from the kitchen.

Anita's Mum appeared, an older version of Anita herself, with tidy blonde hair, and blue eyes. She smiled at me. "Well you're back," she said.

"Yes," replied Anita. "Mum, this is Sarah, a new girl at school."

"Hello Sarah," said Mrs. Robinson in a friendly way. I managed to smile, and whispers more than say a greeting in return.

"She's dead good at French. We've got some homework to do, and I was wondering if she could sleep over tonight."

Mrs. Robinson looked at me. Good at French, what was Anita thinking of? Of all the subjects at school, languages were probably my worst.

"Yes that's fine; as long as Sarah's parents are okay with it."

"Yes," responded Anita. "We spoke to them earlier."

There were footsteps on the stairs beside us, and out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand on the banister.

"Hello Anita. Who's this?" a masculine voice asked.

"Hi Dad. This is my friend Sarah!" Anita replied brightly.

Her father reached the bottom of the stairs, and turned up the hall to where we were. He was around fifty, small, but well built. He held his hand out to me. "Hello Sarah."

I took his hand weakly, out of fear, but it did occur to me that it was a feminine gesture.

"Hello," I said, as sweetly as I could.

"Anita asked if Sarah can sleep over tonight," Mrs. Robinson said, talking to her husband. "Apparently she's a whiz at French. She's going to help Anita with their homework."

Mr. Robinson looked at me. "Well, if you can help Anita with that, you're a better teacher than any she's had at the school. Well it's okay by me, but you'd best check with your parents Sarah."

"We already have!" put in Anita.

He looked from me to her. "Yes," he said. "Good. But one thing first Anita; the house was a right mess when we got back. There were clothes all over the place."

Anita looked contrite. "Yes. I'm sorry. We meant to get back earlier to tidy up a bit."

He looked sternly at her. "Yes, well that would have helped." He went over to the table by the front door and picked something up. "And I found these in the hall." Like a trophy, he was holding up my underpants from the morning. I cringed; I had discarded them in the hall and not picked them up. Now we were done for, I was sure.

"Oh I'm sorry Dad," Anita responded, in her best sorry voice. "We were playing dressing up."

"With boy's underwear?" her mother asked, incredulously.

Anita thought about this. "No, but one of the boys from school was here. We dared him to put on a pair of my knickers, didn't we Sarah?"

I was baffled by this subterfuge, but nodded my head eagerly.

"He must have left them behind." Anita went on.

"So what did he go home in then?" her mother asked, not unreasonably.

"My knickers," Anita replied, almost without hesitation. "That was part of the dare."

Her father looked at us, and raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "I'm not sure like the sound of all that. What do you want me to do with these?"

"Throw them away," Anita replied. I almost turned to her to object, but held myself back. "It serves him right for leaving them here."

"Well he might throw your knickers away as well," her mother said. "Not that you're short of a pair or two."

Her father still looked stern. "Yes, well I think I'll just do that. In my day young men didn't go leaving their pants all over the place; or go home in girl's knickers."

He walked past us to the kitchen, and out into the back yard, carrying my underpants. This was terrible. If he really did throw them away, as Anita had suggested, not only would be a dressed as a girl until nine o'clock the following evening, I'd even have to go home in Anita's knickers.

"What time's tea?" Anita asked her mother.

"Well, George and I thought we might ring through for a pizza," her mother said. "Do you like pizzas Sarah?"

"Yes," I answered, again as sweetly as I could.

"Good. Then that's what we'll do. It'll probably be ready in half an hour or so"

"Okay Mum. Sarah and I'll go upstairs and play some records or something until they come." Anita replied, and led me up the stairs to her bedroom.

The irony of it did not escape me. I had waited years to get into a bedroom with Anita, and now I at last I was about to. There was only one thing wrong, something that didn't gel with the dream scenario; I was wearing a pale blue sweater and denim mini skirt, as well as girl's underwear and make up. As we entered the room, it occurred to me that in my dreams, Anita was wearing more or less what I was, and I would have been wearing a plain T-shirt and jeans, exactly the outfit Anita had on.

Anita was an only child, and her room was quite big. The bed itself didn't dominate the room as much as it did in mine. Along one wall was a built in wardrobe, the centre of which was a dressing table of sorts, with a low level mirror. The doors on the cupboards were covered in pictures of pop stars and various film hunks.

"Thanks for that!" I said.

"What?"

"My pants. The ones your Dad is just throwing away."

"Well what else could I have done?" she asked. "I thought I did pretty well covering your arse with that story anyway."

She was cross with me, and it was a fair point. Much as I was angry at my underpants being thrown away, and being stuck in girl's knickers even longer, she did make up the story to cover me from being discovered.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "Yes, it was a good cover story."

She looked over to me. "Yes it was," she said. "You know it wouldn't really matter if they knew you were a boy. They'd understand, you know about the contest and everything."

I felt a sense of panic; did this mean she planned to tell them? "Yes," I stuttered. "But I'd still rather they didn't know."
"Oh me too!" she declared enthusiastically. "They'd never let you sleep over if they knew you were a boy!" She sat on the bed, and motioned for me to sit next to her. With some caution, I did so, remembering to smooth my skirt out before I did.

"You're getting quite good at that," she congratulated me. "I don't think anyone would have seen your knickers that time."

I smiled thinly at her compliment. Then a thought occurred to me from what she had said. "Don't they let John sleep over then?" I asked, as casually as I could.

"No," she responded, as if shocked. "They would never allow that sort of thing!"

My heart jumped for joy. In the pangs of jealously I often suffered when thinking about Anita and John, I envisaged them making love rampantly, here on this very bed.

She stood up again, and went to a sideboard on which there was a stereo system. Selecting a tape, she slipped it into the machine, and switched it on. She had chosen something fairly anodyne, I was a heavy metal fan myself, but the music was fairly soothing.

She sat down next to me on the bed, causing me to bounce a little as the mattress readjusted itself. "You don't mind do you?" she asked.

"Mind what?"

"Well, dressing up as a girl. I know you've complained about it, and I know you won't necessarily want to admit to liking it or anything, but you don't really mind do you?"

I shrugged; I wasn't at all sure where she was heading with this.

"Because it would be awful if you hated me for ever for doing this to you," she went on, with the same sweetness of voice and tone that I had tried to use on her parents.

"I won't," I stammered.

"Good!" she said enthusiastically. "I want to be your friend for ever, especially now you've done all this for me." She placed her hand tenderly on my knee. "I can't imagine many boys would have agreed to all this," she went on. "I mean, I know there's lots going in for the contest, but I bet they won't be practising as much as you; and I bet they won't be wearing the right underwear and stuff. You're just so good to me!"

She removed her hand. I looked at her eager face, and her smile. "No, it's fine really," I managed to say.

"You're a great friend Steve!" she declared, and then, with a conspiratorial look on her face, and a mischievous grin continued, "Or I should say Sarah here shouldn't I, in case my Mum or Dad are listening at the door!"

I winced at her preferred name for me, but said, "Probably,"

"And you're so good at it too. I mean, I knew you'd be all right as a girl; you're fairly small and quite good looking; that's why Nikki and I decided to ask you; but I never dreamed you'd be this brilliant at it!"

I looked at her smiling face. She was genuinely pleased that I looked so good as a girl; there was no doubt about it. I decided to take a different track. "So why exactly did you decide to ask me?" I asked, hoping against hope that the answer may have something to do with fancying me.

"I told you," she replied. "You're nice and small, and quite good looking. That's the sort of boy we thought would look best as a girl."

"But I'm hardly the smallest in the school," I said, to defend myself.

Anita considered this for a moment. "No, you're not," she conceded. "We did think of asking Peter, but Chrissie had already nabbed him."

"Peter Jones?"

"Yes," she replied.

Peter was a small asthmatic kid, with blond, almost albino hair and looks. He looked more like a corpse than a girl to me, he was always so pale and washed out;

"Just like Chrissie to try and get in first," Anita spat.

Chrissie was Anita's bete noir, her enemy amongst all enemies. I had no real idea why. They had gone to Junior School together, and by the time I met them, they were already at one another's throats. Anita was fairly restrained in her hatred, but Chrissie went out of her way to try and make Anita's life difficult, I had noticed that. When we were younger it would be with little trips as Anita walked by, or the occasional pulling of hair. More recently it had been with snide comments about her looks or her clothes.

"She'll try and make a good job of him too, just to spite me." Anita went on, bitterly. "I heard her say she'd bought a really nice long blonde wig for him, and talking with her mate Jenny about how good he looked in it."

I thought about this; "Well, he probably would I suppose."

"I know!" she snapped angrily. She then turned to me with an earnest look on her face. "But you've got to help me beat her. She'll make my life hell if Peter does better in this contest than you."
"But why?" I asked.

"She just will. She'll say it's because I don't know anything about make up or fashion. She'll say I made you all dowdy because I'm dowdy, whereas Peter won because she got him to be pretty just like her."

"I don't think she's that pretty," I said. This was not entirely true. I had rarely spoken to Chrissie out of loyalty to Anita, but I could hardly deny that she was pretty. Most of the boys did, and Chrissie knew it.

"She does," Anita grumbled, folding her arms, and looking cross. "She thinks she's the bees knees, the prettiest girl in school."

"Well I don't think that," I said, staring at Anita's face, turned down though it was. There was a silence for a while, before I continued. "Well I'll do what I can for you Anita. I'm not sure I make such a good girl as you say, but I'll try my best."

She looked up at me and smiled. "Thanks Steve!"

Several times during our conversation I had wondered whether to try and kiss her. This seemed the best moment of all, so I began to summon my courage, turning to ready myself.

"You need to straighten your skirt out a bit," she whispered to me, pointing at my leg. She was right. My skirt had ridden quite a way up, and was revealing the scalloped hem of the slip. I lifted myself to straighten it, and to my dismay, Anita stood up. My moment had passed.

She walked elegantly over to the Hi Fi, and changed the CD. I gazed longingly at her as she considered what to put on next. Downstairs I heard the doorbell. I guessed that it was the arrival of the pizzas. Soon I would have to go downstairs and run the gauntlet of eating with her parents. Anita didn't seem to have heard it, and carried on musing over her music collection beautifully.

Her mother shouted up the stairs, and Anita looked up. "Sounds like dinner's ready. Shall we go?"

She walked to the door, and I stood up to follow her.

"You can take your boots off actually," she said, looking at my legs. "Most girls don't wear their shoes indoors."

I sat back down and removed the boots, while Anita watched me.

"You're getting better at that you know. You kept your knees together nicely. I didn't see a thing; well done."

"Thanks," I responded. If she wanted me to be good at being a girl, then I'd do my damnedest to comply for her. "This practising is helping."

"I knew it would," she replied, with the sweetest of smiles. "Come on, let's go and eat!"

We went downstairs and through to the main room. Mr and Mrs Robinson had laid the table where I had had my make up done earlier that day. The pizzas smelt appetising, and were set out on large white plates.

The meal passed without major incident. Anita's parents kept trying to engage me in conversation, which I was trying to keep to a minimum, but Anita helped me out. It appeared I had recently moved down from Newcastle, as we had told Nikki's Mum. I was really good at French, because I had lived there for a while, in Paris, apparently, as this was the only French city I could think of in a hurry. I didn't have a boyfriend yet, and true enough, like Anita, I was an only child.

When we had finished eating, Anita went off to the kitchen to make some coffee, which alarmed me. I managed to keep the pretence together, though, agreeing with Mrs. Robinson that today's music was too loud, and disagreeing with Mr Robinson that girl's skirts were too short these days. This last was a nice touch I thought; especially in view of the one I was wearing myself.

While we were drinking our coffee, Mr Robinson went over and switched on the television. It suddenly occurred to me that I had not picked up the soccer results for that day, which was my normal interest on a Saturday afternoon, rather than fashion. Casually, I stood up from the table, and went through to the lounge, standing beside him as the results summary was broadcast.

"Do you like football then Sarah?" he asked.

I nodded. "A bit."

"I suppose you support the Magpies then?"

I was baffled by his comment for a moment, and then remembered that I came from Newcastle. "Oh no. Actually I like Chelsea."

"She fancies one of their players!" Anita crowed from the table. "Which one was it Sarah?"

Mr Robinson turned to me and smiled. "It's all those muscled thighs I expect."

I blushed, and looked intently at the screen instead. Chelsea had drawn, which was better than nothing.

Anita offered to tidy the dinner things away, and I helped her. We took the plates through to the kitchen.

"What was that about me fancying football players for?" I asked her accusingly.
"Well I had to help cover you for showing such an unhealthy interest in the scores!" she retorted. "You could have given yourself away with that you know."

She was right; I had been careless. We stacked the dishwasher, and decided to go back upstairs.

"What shall we do tonight then?" Anita asked me. "I've got a stack of videos we could watch if you want, or we could just play some music."

"I don't mind," I replied. A Saturday night in with Anita was my ultimate dream.

"Well we can watch a video later," Anita decided. "Before that we can just listen to some music and chat."

I nodded in agreement.

"Anita," I said, as she picked out another CD to play. "I need to go to the toilet."

"Oh," she said. "It's just across the hall."

I didn't move. She turned to look at me, confused. "Just across the hall," she repeated.

"I know. But I've never been in a skirt before. Have you got any," I hesitated for a moment, "tips?"

She laughed. "Haven't you been all day? Oh I'm sorry Sarah, I should have thought. You just have to sit down, and pull it up at the back. It's easy."

"Oh, thanks," I said, moving over to the doorway.

"And you have to take your knickers and tights down as well of course," Anita added. "Not all the way down. Just pull them down to your thighs."

"Thanks."

I went across the hallway, and relieved myself as she suggested. It felt mighty weird sitting on the toilet and seeing two pairs of knickers and a pair of tights around my thighs, with the denim mini skirt, rather than my normal view. I got up and washed my hands, and saw myself in the mirror. I was shocked. I hadn't really looked at my face since that morning. The make up had worn off a little, but with my long hair falling down either side of my face from the wig, I had to admit that I looked like a girl. I turned my head from one side to the other; quite a pretty girl too, I had to admit. Perhaps I might be able to do better than Peter Jones, and earn Anita's eternal gratitude.

I finished in the bathroom, and walked across to Anita's bedroom. Her mother was coming up the stairs.

"We'd better fix you up with a bed Sarah," she said, carrying a spare duvet and a pillow. "There's a guest bed under Anita's bed. All you have to do is pull it out. Do you think you and Anita will be able to manage that, or shall I send George up? Sometimes these things need a man's touch."

I wondered who George was for a moment, then realised she meant her husband. "No that's all right Mrs Robinson," I said brightly. "I'm sure Anita and I can manage. We're quite liberated these days."

"Yes. Well here you are then, you take these," she said, handing me the duvet and pillows.

"Thanks."

I pushed the door of Anita's bedroom open and went on through. She stood up to help me, and we threw all the spare bedding onto her bed.

"We can sort that out later," she said. "I was just looking through these videos. Which one do you fancy?"

I sat down on the bed, and looked through the collection. They were all what we tended to call dismissively chick flicks; all about romance, and love conquers all obstacles. I hadn't seen any of them before, so it was all the same to me.

"I don't mind," I said, "Are there any you haven't seen?"

"Quite a few," she told me. "I did the whole Brad Pitt set last month, because he's so yummy. But there's this one with Johnny Depp in; I like him too."

She handed me the box, and I read the back. Apparently Johnny Depp was a gypsy who won the love of an unorthodox owner of a chocolate box or something.

"Yes, that should do." I replied, handing the box back to her.

"Okay, we'll put it on later. I've just remembered, I'm supposed to be ringing John aren't I? Oh God," she declared, looking at the clock which said a quarter to seven. "I've left it a bit late. He's supposed to be here at half seven. Still, he'll have to put up with it. Will you be all right here on your own?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," I replied.

"Okay, I won't be a moment."

She breezed through the door, and off downstairs to make her phone call, and I was alone in her bedroom. I looked around, and after a while stood up to investigate. I'm not sure what I was looking for; perhaps some evidence of her hitherto well disguised love for me. Would there be a little note somewhere, with my name in a heart? Needless to say there wasn't. I saw a collection of school books in the corner. I flicked through one or two, and saw that Anita's marks were consistently higher than mine.

Still she hadn't returned. One of the drawers on the dresser was slightly opened. I looked in it. There was a small collection of jewellery, and, making me blush, a box of tampons. I walked to the window. The curtains were undone, and being late May, it was still light outside. I leant on the windowsill, and watched a few cars pass by.

I thought of my current position, and shook my head. I stood, and looked down at my chest, hidden by Anita's lovely fluffy jumper, and saw my boobs jutting pertly away from me, just like hers did. I pulled a face to myself.

I put my hand up and rubbed my ears. The throbbing caused by the screw in earrings had long since passed, but I felt them still in place. God, no wonder everyone out in town had thought I was a girl, I was wearing so much stuff. I added it all up in my mind, the clothes and the jewellery. I made it come to fourteen bits and pieces, without the make up and the wig. I wondered if I'd ever worn so much boy stuff. I doubted it.

All this sacrifice, and still no nearer to snogging Anita. Still, I told myself, I had her to myself all evening. That must give me some sort of chance. In fact, she was at that moment standing up her beloved John for me! That thought cheered me up considerably.

I wandered back into the room, and looked at myself in the mirror. My make up really had faded quite a lot from how I'd remembered it the morning. Either that, or, God forbid, I was used to seeing myself in it now, and didn't notice it so much. I sat down on the small stool in front of the mirror, remembering to smooth my little skirt out as I did so, even though there was no one to watch.

I stared at my reflection, which stared back at me. Was I really as girly looking as Anita and Nikki were saying? I studied myself carefully. The thing I noticed most was the wig. It framed my face from the front, and certainly gave it a feminine look. My eyes were also looking quite girly, but I put this down to the mascara, which had made my eyelashes look much longer and made them curl up. My lips didn't look as startling as they had when I had seen them that morning, which was good, and as far as I could see, the eye shadow had all but gone. Perhaps I would look a bit more masculine to Anita this evening.

Suddenly the irony shook me, and I smiled. I was sitting there in a tiny little mini skirt, with pert boobs under my fluffy sweater, and thinking that I might look a bit masculine to Anita. In my current state, I wouldn't even look masculine in a room full of ballerinas!

At that moment Anita came back in. "Oh Hi," she said, brightly, seeing me by her make up table. "Were you thinking of touching up your make up? That's not a bad idea actually! We could think about how to do your hair for the final as well!"

I couldn't speak for a moment. I had been trying to plan some sort of tryst between Anita and myself, but instead had gotten myself trapped into another cosmetic and hair session. I tried to think of some valid objection.

"You're such a sport being so enthusiastic about this!" she declared, coming over and putting her hands on my shoulders, and looking directly into the eyes of my reflection. "I hadn't thought about doing any more work with you this evening, but it such a good opportunity. You should have mentioned that you wanted to do it earlier."

I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You just sit there, and we'll do you like we should for the final," Anita went on. "You'll need a different sort of look for that. We'll play around and see what we can come up with."

She found a couple of bags of make up over by the mirror, leaning over me as she reached for them. She looked inside them, and seemed satisfied by what she had found.

"Turn around a bit," she asked me. I shuffled around on the stool till I was facing her. She hunched down in front of me, only inches from my face, and looked carefully at my forehead and eyebrows. Suddenly she smile broadly. "You are such a sweetheart to me." She leant forward, taking my head in her hands, and kissed the end of my nose. "Sarah Sweetheart! We chose a good name for you."

Any thoughts of resisting this new make over were completely banished from my mind by this. I'd be happy to wear make up every day of my life if it meant being kissed by Anita.

"First of all we'd better clean you up," Anita announced, taking hold of a wet wipe she had taken from its packet. "Then we can start with a clean slate." She proceeded to wipe my face around with the cloth, taking care to miss no bit out. She rubbed my chin, and finished with another wipe of my nose. I was cross in a way; I hadn't intended to wash that spot where she had kissed me for some time.

"How was John about being stood up?" I decided to ask her.

"He was a bit grumpy about it, I knew he would be."

I was delighted with this news. Perhaps I'd managed to start an argument between them.

"He said he'd go down the pub with his mates instead," she told me. "It suits me, he can be a bit clingy sometimes." She had taken another wipe, and was rubbing my eyelids with it by this stage.

"Clingy?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know," she said, still proceeding in a business like manner. "He just wants to see me all the time. We never go anywhere unless I suggest it. He just likes to stay in, watching telly and stuff."

"Sounds a bit dull," I put in.

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I love him and all that," she went on, looking to see what sort of job she had made on my eyes. "But he can be a bit boring."

"Yeah," I said, sympathetically. John was boring, this was excellent news!

"It's just that I like to go to discos and things like that sometimes; not every night, but sometimes it's nice." She took a tube of what I recognised now as foundation from her make up bag, and began to squeeze some out onto her fingers.

"Well couldn't you go to discos with," I hesitated for a moment. "someone else?"

"Oh I'd never two-time him!" she declared. "I've been going out with him for ages!"

Don't I know it, I thought to myself, as she began to rub the cream into my face.

"Well you could go to a disco with Nikki," I suggested, and after what seemed to me a meaningful pause added, "or me."

Anita stopped rubbing my face for a moment, and looked worried. "Oh," she declared, smiling with revelation, "you mean as Sarah! That would be fun. For a moment there I thought you were asking me out!"

I opened my mouth to object, but Anita beat me to it.

"Oh that could be a real hoot! Going to a disco with you as Sarah! What a good idea! Mind you, you're so pretty you'd get all the attention, I wouldn't get a look in." She smiled broadly at me, "When shall we do it?"

"Well I hadn't really thought it through," I stammered. I was still shell shocked by her dismissal of the possibility of me asking her out on a date.

"We could have gone tonight, but it's getting a bit late," she went on. "How about next Saturday? There's always one on at the community centre. Or if you're up for it, we could go into town."

"Next Saturday," I stuttered, "that's after the contest." There could be no reason for me to practise after the coming Thursday.

"Yes," she said, missing the point entirely, "maybe we could ask Nikki and Sue as well, and make a real girls' night out of it. It'd be fun!" Her enthusiasm for the idea was plain to see, and my mind struggled to see a way out of it. She had got a soft brush from a stand by the mirror, and was now stroking my cheeks with a pink powder. "Oh you are good Steve, agreeing to dress as a girl to take me to a disco!"

"I didn't," I began to say, but the delight in her eyes as she brushed at my face seemed too good to take away, "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Mind?" she asked incredulously. "No, I don't mind at all. I think it's a brilliant idea. We'll ask Nikki and Sue tomorrow. My Dad can drive us there, and bring us back, he won't mind. You can even sleep over again." She was planning the whole thing and boxing me in. She now had a compact in her hands, and was buffing at my face with it.

"You're just such a little sweetie!" she declared, as a waft of powder went up my nose. "All I did was tell you I'd like to go to a disco once in a while, and you came up with such a fantastic plan! You're such a good friend to me."

She put the compact away, and, after some searching, found what I now knew was an eyeliner pencil. Instinctively, I tilted my head up, as she held my chin.

"Well thinking about it," I began, "you don't really need me there do you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you could just go with Nikki and Sue on your own. I'd just get in the way."

"You wouldn't get in the way!" she declared, stopping for a moment, and allowing me to open my eye. "Anyway, it was your idea, you have to be there!"

I struggled to think of other excuses to back out of this, without admitting that I had actually been trying to ask her out.

"Well I was just thinking Anita, you'll be wanting to get yourself ready; you know, with make up and clothes and stuff. It'd be a fuss having to do me as well."

"Oh I don't mind that!" she declared, starting on my eyes again. "It's the least I can do, besides, the more often we do it, the more you'll be able to do yourself. I mean, you can already get your tights on and off quite easily can't you? By the time we've done the contest you'll be as good at getting yourself ready as I am; it'll be no extra work at all."

She moved to start work on my other eye, and I cursed my luck. She seemed to have an answer for everything I came up with. "Well thinking about it, I'm not so sure it's a good idea." I said, trying again, "I'm going to get a lot of stick for going in for the contest." She stopped and looked at me, waiting for me to continue. "If people find out I'm going out on Saturday nights dressed as a girl it'll be unbearable."

She stood up at me, and looked at me with an expression I could not fathom. "Steve," she said eventually, "you really ought to stop worrying about what other people think, and start pleasing yourself."

I looked back at her, baffled by her comment.

"You thought it would be nice to go with me to a disco as Sarah, and now you're letting other people's opinions talk you out of it." She knelt down again to look me in the eye. "Well I won't have it, do you hear? If you want to go to a disco as Sarah, then you will, and I shall make sure you do. Okay?" Her voice was firm and determined, although by no means unfriendly. "I said, okay?" she repeated.

Her gaze held mine firmly with her deep blue eyes. I felt my resolution melt away like a thin frost in the early morning sun. Next Saturday was a long time away anyway; perhaps she would have forgotten about the idea by then, or perhaps I could find a reason to go as Steve rather than Sarah.

"Yes, okay." I responded weakly.

"That's the spirit girl!" she announced, and hugged me. My arms lifted to her shoulders as she did so. I hardly noticed that she had called me a girl.

She stood abruptly, and picked up a huge box of different coloured eye shadows. She looked at them carefully. "It's a pity we didn't bring Tania's dress round here. We need to think what colour would suit it best."

"It was a sort of peach colour," I said, hoarsely.

"Yes I remember."

My head was in a spin. I had tried to subtly ask Anita out on a date, and somehow ended up agreeing to go with her to a disco dressed as a girl. The evening hadn't started as well as I had hoped by any means.

"Let's try this one," Anita said, and proceeded to brush some of a pale colour onto my lids. "Do you know what I was thinking?" she asked me, after a pause. I shook my head. "Well," she continued, "we're all going on this girls' night out next Saturday, right?" she paused, obviously waiting for some response; I nodded. "Well assuming we all enjoy ourselves, why don't we make a regular thing of it?"

This hit me like a sledgehammer. "A regular thing?" I mumbled.

"Yes. I mean, it'll be good, don't get me wrong, but just going out once isn't going to solve all my problems with John is it?"

"I don't know what you mean." I responded.

"Well it'll be fun, but after a week or two, I'll be bored again," she explained. "Whereas if it were a regular thing, you know, every other Saturday or something, then I'd always have something to look forward to!"

Things were going from bad to worse. Not only had I somehow agreed to go to a disco dressed as a girl, but now Anita was suggesting I did it every other week.

"Well perhaps we should just see how it goes," I mumbled, non-committedly. She moved around, and began to put the eye shadow on my other eye.

"Yes of course," she said, "but it's something we ought to think about."

She carried on with my make up, and conversation turned to other things. At one point her father surprised us by popping his head around the door. "I thought you were doing your French homework," he admonished. Anita merely smiled at him, and he left.

At last Anita seemed satisfied with my new make up. "That looks all right," she said, examining me closely. "Have a look and see whether you like it."

I turned to face the mirror, still licking my lips, and tasting the lipstick and lip-gloss. I was amazed. Somehow she had made me look about three years older, still a girl, but an eighteen year-old one rather than a sultry schoolgirl. I tilted my head to one side.

"What do you think of it?" Anita asked.

"It's different." I answered.

"Yes, but do you like it? I'm not so good with make up as Nikki am I"

I studied my face again. "I wouldn't say that. You've made me look," I searched for the right words, "more sophisticated I suppose."

"Well that was the idea." She pulled the hair back from my face. "We'll have to think what to do with this as well, but you've got such a gorgeous face, I thought it was worth seeing if we couldn't do something classy."

"It's not that gorgeous." I muttered.

"Oh Steve don't be silly!" she admonished. "You've got a wonderful complexion, and lovely delicate features; and your eyes," she paused, "well, there's not a girl in the school who wouldn't kill you for them."

I studied my reflection to see if I could see what she meant. She had certainly made them look girly; more girly than even Nikki had managed that morning, but I wasn't sure that they were anything to write home about.

"Well let's sort out your hair, and then see what the whole thing looks like," she suggested. "Did you have any particular ideas on how you'd like to have it?"

"Me?" I said amazed at this consultation. "No, not really."

She played it through her fingers, thinking. "We could sort of do it into a bun," she suggested, pulling it up at the back. "Maybe with a few tendrils hanging down, that might look good."

"If you say so," I replied.

"Well let's give it a try anyway." She picked up a brush, and began going through the whole wig, straightening each strand, and pulling it down when she had finished. As I looked at her reflection in the mirror, I could see the intense concentration she was lavishing on this. Doing well in this contest obviously meant a lot to her.

"I'm a bit cross Chrissie managed to spend so much on Peter's wig," she said.

"How much was it?"

"Well I'm not sure, she wouldn't say; but Jenny reckoned it had cost at least seventy pounds."

"Seventy pounds!" I exclaimed. "That's a fortune!"

"Yeah," Anita responded, "but she'd spend anything she could to beat me in this contest, the cow!" The last word came out with explosive venom that seemed to surprise even her. "So getting your hair right is important. I wouldn't want her to win just because she'd bought a better wig."

She continued to brush through, and eventually began winding some of the longer bits at the back together into some sort of knot. She held a couple of hairpins in her mouth, and when she was satisfied, she slipped them into the hair itself. I couldn't really see what was going on behind my head, and as her concentration increased, she stopped talking.

Then I heard her father's voice from downstairs. "Anita! John's here to see you."

"Oh bollocks," she said, still with some pins in her mouth. "I told him not to come around. Sorry Steve, I'll just go and see what he wants. I won't be a minute."

She went off down the stairs, and I was left alone once more. I could hear muffled conversation in the hallway downstairs, but couldn't pick out the words. John, the bane of my life! He had even managed to ruin this one evening I had with Anita. I sat staring at myself in the mirror for a few moments, but there was no sign of Anita's imminent return.

I picked up a discarded magazine from the floor, and began flipping through its pages. The contents were mainly devoted to the charms or otherwise of a range of male pop stars. The interviews were banal, mainly looking at fascinating details about what sort of trousers they wore, or what sort of aftershave. The adverts were for all sorts of perfume, or make up. There seemed to be some sort of mascara war going on between two or three companies, all of which had invented some new thing, that curled more, gave more length, or lasted longer.

Next there was a fashion feature on how to wear long dresses. Well that might be useful, I thought, and began to read it. Shoes were important, apparently. You had to make sure you had the right shoes for the dress, both for appearance, and to make sure that the dress ended up the right length. Then there was a section on slips. Nikki and Anita hadn't been lying it appeared. Apparently slips were important in making sure that skirts and dresses hung properly. It seemed that some dresses had them sort of built in, if they were lined, otherwise you had to wear a separate one. I wondered whether Tania's bridesmaids dress was lined.

The article then gave me some advice on bras. Could I, or should I, do without when I was wearing my dress? It seemed that it partly depended on what sort of back the dress had, or whether it was strapless. I was then told that there was a range of bras I could choose from, including some that had no straps at all. There seemed very little advice for a fifteen year-old boy without boobs who was having to wear a long dress, I thought to myself drolly.

I was awakened from all this by the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Anita was obviously coming back. I put the magazine down, and waited for her to appear in the bedroom door.

She did, but not alone. John was with her. My mouth fell open. I had never actually met the demon, but now there he was, standing and looking at me in all the glory of my make up, my half finished hair, and my tiny little skirt.

"Sorry Sarah," Anita was saying. "John's just staying for a little while. He couldn't keep away from me." She raised her eyes in exasperation. "John, this is Sarah."

"Hello," he said, with his deep baritone.

I nodded in response. He wasn't particularly tall, or handsome; just a regular eighteen year-old guy. His eyes looked bloodshot and dim. I knew from Anita that he was some sort of labourer, and I could see through his T-shirt that his muscles were quite well defined.

"Go on in John, I'll go and get us some drinks."

I was outraged. Anita was leaving me alone in her bedroom with this Neanderthal. He lumbered across the room, and sat himself down clumsily on the bed.

"You at Anita's school then?" he growled, picking up some of Anita's schoolbooks, and looking at them.

"Yes," I replied firmly, but impolitely.

"I never liked school; waste of time," he opined, throwing the books down. He looked at me again, and I hated him even more.

"Got a boyfriend?" he spluttered.

"No, I haven't" I said in my most unfriendly tone.

"I could fix you with one of me mates," he offered.

"I don't think so thanks."

"Suit yourself." He got up, and thumped across to the other side of the bedroom. He flipped the television on carelessly. He clicked through one or two channels, before settling on one, and then lay himself back down on the bed. I noticed that his shoes were dirty on the underside.

I picked the magazine back up, to see if I could learn more, but was unable to concentrate on it with John filling up the room.

"You from Newcastle" he said, not taking his eyes of the television.

"Yes," I replied, although I wasn't sure if it had been a statement or a question

"I hate Newcastle; the football team anyway. I've never been there; don't want to either."

"It's a very nice town," I said curtly. He ignored me, and began to giggle at some incident in the programme he was watching. This impasse seemed to go on forever, but eventually I heard Anita's footsteps coming back up. She struggled with the door a little, so I got up to help her. She came through with a tray and three cups of coffee.

"Now you're just having this, and then going; right John?" she said to him. He hadn't even bothered to look up when she came in.

"Whatever," he mumbled. Anita put the tray down on the bedside table, and rousing himself into motion, he pulled her onto the bed beside him. I sat back on the stool, feeling rather like a lemon.

He waited until the adverts came on in the programme he was watching, and then began to snog Anita. I was further outraged, but could think of nothing to do about it. I picked up the magazine, and tried to read again.

"Your coffee's over here," Anita told me. I looked up. The programme had obviously started again, because John's bulky frame was turned towards the telly again, and Anita had extricated herself from him.

"Thanks," I said, forcing a smile. Anita shrugged her shoulders, as if to say there was nothing she could do about it. "I'll get it in a minute," I went on.

The magazine told me all about period pains and something called pre menstrual tension. Apparently 50% of me would get this at some stage in my life. I was strongly advised to watch my diet, especially at 'that' time of the month, but to go and see a doctor if I was ever irregular, or bleed more heavily than usual.

There was suddenly a staccato and lumbering "Ha ha ha," from the bed. John had obviously found something on the telly amusing. His arm was draped carelessly around Anita, who seemed to have fallen asleep.

I turned back to my magazine. The next section was on summer fashion, and particularly denim wear. It seemed that this summer, I would have the choice of wearing both long and short skirts, shorts, and trousers that ended half way between my leg and ankle as well as regular jeans. It did occur to me that as fashion advice went, it was a bit non-specific. My choice, it would appear, should be guided by my leg type. What sort of leg type did I have, I idly wondered? The magazine offered to tell me if I could answer ten questions.

I looked over at the bed. There were more adverts on now, so John and Anita were snogging again. I quickly let me eyes return to the page, angry with the world.

Right, first question; were the top of my thighs wider than my hips? I had no idea; I looked over the magazine to see, but in my little skirt, it was something of a challenge. I wondered if I could pull it up to see, I looked surreptitiously over to the bed, and decided against it. Showing my knickers off to John didn't seem a particularly appealing idea.

Much as the magazine was taking my mind off things, I was beginning to find the situation intolerable. I stood up, and rather than approach the bed for my coffee, decided to head off to the bathroom.

"Are you all right Sarah?" Anita asked, having retrieved her mouth from John's intermittent attentions.

"Yeah, just going to the toilet." I responded.

I walked into the room, and shut the door, leaning against it. I had hated John before as a concept, as the boyfriend. Now I had a real figure to hate, and somehow it made me glad. The fact that he was older than me, had a job, and had a car had all played on my inferiority complex. Now I had met him, I could see that he was as thick as a brick with the manners of a rutting boar. I felt smug and superior. Anita was bound to see that all things considered, I would make a far more appealing boyfriend. The fact that I was wearing more make up than her, and a short mini skirt didn't enter my equation.

Bored, I wandered over to the sink, and looked into my reflection in the mirror. Half done, my hair was in a bit of a mess. Anita had managed to pin it up at the back at one side, but not the other, and it looked entirely unbalanced. I put my hands to the back to look for the hairpins she had put in, found them, and pulled them out. I shook my head, and the wig tumbled free.

I studied the way Anita had made me up. It really did make me look older somehow. I looked like I was more like to be a college girl than a school one. There was a hairbrush behind the sink. I picked it up, and idly began brushing my wig, gazing at myself with interest in the mirror.

Suddenly I put the brush down. What on earth did I think I was doing? I was standing in someone else's bathroom, wearing girl's clothes, and preening myself. I shook my head. This was all beginning to get to me; I had to reassert my masculinity, regardless of Anita's request for me to start thinking of myself as a girl, otherwise I would go mad.

For effect, I flushed the toilet and walked back across the landing to Anita's bedroom. They were still lying on the bed. John was watching the television intently, while Anita was drinking her coffee. She smiled at me as I came in, though John didn't look up.

"Are you okay?" she asked, smiling.

I forced a smile back, "Yeah,"

"John's going in a minute; aren't you John?" she asked pointedly.

"Not finished me coffee yet," he stated bluntly, and then, lifting his buttocks up, farted.

"John!" admonished Anita.

"Better out than in," he grunted, without taking his eyes from the television.

I sat back down on the stool, and looked around for something to do, anything rather than have to pay attention to John. I was bored with the magazine, so left that. There was a row of nail varnish bottles on the table. I picked one up to look at, thinking to myself that I had been lucky Nikki hadn't wanted me to wear this sort of thing as well. I looked at the contents, a bright pink.

I glanced over to the bed, another intermission, another snogging session. I tried to open the thin black top of the bottle. I had always liked the smell of nail varnish, and had decided to take it sniff. It was stiffer than I had imagined, and I had to use the whole of my hand to get the thing off. Flakes of dried pink fell onto my lap, but I was rewarded by the sweet smell arising from the bottle.

I glanced back at the bed; John had slipped his hand up Anita's jumper, and they were still snogging. I turned my attention back to the bottle in my hands. Gently I eased the brush out, and put it to my nose. Heaven. I slipped it back into the bottle quickly, feeling guilty about my little vice. Neither John nor Anita were taking any heed of me.

I held my left hand out in front of me. Was it really as small as Nikki and Anita had said? I looked at it curiously. I knew it wasn't large, but I suppose I was used to it. I examined the small ring on my finger, with its heart shaped design. It was quite sweet in a way. It certainly gave my whole hand a feminine appearance, and I supposed that if my hands were larger, that would have been more difficult for it to do.

Thank heavens Anita and Nikki hadn't thought to put nail varnish on me that morning, I thought to myself. If they had, then my hands really would have looked girly. I tried to imagine what they would look like. I stared at my nails. I had read somewhere that girls tended to judge a bloke by his nails, so I had always taken some care with mine. I certainly never bit them, and tried to make sure they were clean. They'd probably look all right with nail varnish on them, I thought. Then suddenly it occurred to me, while I had nothing else to do, I could try it.

No, I said to myself, it was a ridiculous idea. What on earth would Anita think of me if I started voluntarily putting nail varnish on myself? I looked over to the bed. At this moment in time it looked as if Anita wouldn't care if I painted the room with it. I pouted to myself, and looked back to my hand and the bottle.

Cautiously I lifted the brush out again, and, with a bit of hesitation, began to paint the ring finger on my left hand. If I wanted to see if I had feminine hands, I might as well use the finger that was wearing the ring. With careful strokes, I painted it, making a bit of a hash of the job with blobs and stroke marks. When I had done, I left it on the table, and stared at it. It certainly made a difference. Somehow the finger looked more delicate and ornate. I lifted my hand off the table and looked more closely. I didn't think I'd done that bad a job for my first time.

I wondered what it would look like if I did the whole hand, so I began painting one of the other nails, and then another. Stopping to look at the effect from time to time, and completely absorbed in my work.

"What's that smell?" asked John, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

"It's Sarah, she's painting her nails." Anita replied. I nearly died. How on earth had she noticed what I was doing?

"Sorry," I said, flustered, putting the brush away and the bottle down. "I was just messing about."

"It's fine," Anita replied. I dared to look at her. She had sat herself up on the bed now, and was rearranging her jumper and her hair. "Now come on John, it's time for you to go."

"Not yet, haven't finished the coffee," he mumbled.

"I don't care about that. It's time for you to go," Anita said, imperiously, as she stood up.

Very reluctantly he stood also, not taking his eyes from the television. "All right. See you tomorrow?"

"I don't think so," Anita replied. "I've got lots of homework to do."

His only response was a grunt, and Anita led him by the arm out of the room.

"I won't be long," she said to me as an aside from around the doorframe. "I'll just see him out, and come back up."

I was still flushing from the discovery of my antics with the nail varnish. I stood up, and walked around the room, not anticipating that Anita would be able to say goodbye to the monster very quickly. I lay myself down on the bed; taking great care to be on the side Anita had occupied rather than John, and picked up the remote control for the television.

I idly flicked through a few channels, and then found one showing the highlights of the day's soccer matches. Now this at last was something to take my mind off things. I settled back onto the pillows, and began to watch.

Five or ten minutes must have passed, and I was enjoying myself. Suddenly Anita burst back into the room, walked over to the television and switched it off.

"I'm so sorry about that," she said. "I told him not to come over, but he didn't pay any attention."

I shrugged. "It's all right. It's not your fault."

"You must have been bored out of your mind!" she went on.

I was still coming out of football land. She had interrupted my team's match just as they were about to score. "It's all right," I managed to say. "I read a magazine."

"And painted your nails," Anita added, sitting on the bed next to me.

I winced. "Yes, sorry, I was just looking for something to do."

"Well let's have a look then," Anita demanded.

Very reluctantly I lifted my arm, and held it out for her. She took it, and looked critically at my efforts. "That's not a bad job. Have you done it before then?"

"No," I responded.

"Well then you've done really well. You're right too. We ought to have thought about it earlier. You'll certainly need some nail varnish on for the formal round, and you might as well wear some with the uniform as well."

She let go of my hand, and I pulled it back. They say that curiosity killed the cat. In my case, it had gotten me an extra bit of girl stuff to wear for the contest.

"Do you want me to finish them off for you, and sort out your hair?" Anita asked.

"No," I responded. "Not now. Perhaps we can do that in the morning."

"Yeah, you're right," she replied, much to my surprise. She lay down on the bed next to me. "It's getting late. We ought to start watching the film in a minute."

My heart started beating faster. Anita was lying on a bed next to me. A thousand passionate visions flashed through my mind, only to be interrupted by her father appearing in the doorway.

"We're going to bed in a minute," he announced. "I thought you might want this." He brought in a three quarter full bottle of white wine, and two rather elegantly cut glasses.

"Thanks Dad!" Anita said, as he placed it on the bedside table.

"You've not made up Sarah's bed yet," he observed.

"No, sorry. John coming around made us forget."

"Well I'll give you a hand with it."

I followed Anita's lead, and got off the bed. Mr Robinson pulled out an extra mattress from underneath, and slid it to the window side. With Anita's help, he put a sheet and pillows on it, and then put the duvet carefully on top.

"There you are," he announced when they had finished. "That should be all right for you."

"Thanks Mr Robinson," I said in my sweetest voice.

"No problem. Now I don't want too much noise Anita; and don't stay up too late either. I don't want you two lounging around in bed until midday tomorrow."

"No Dad," Anita replied. "We're just going to watch a film, and then we'll go to sleep."

"All right," he replied, and stepped over to kiss Anita goodnight. For one horrifying moment I thought he might do the same to me, but instead just said, "Sleep well Sarah."

"Thank you," I replied, "you too."

He smiled at me, and left the room.

Anita smiled, "Well we might as well get comfortable to watch the film" she announced, and wandered off to her chest of drawers, and pulled out some pyjamas. The top was grey and fluffy, with a picture of a kitten on it. She pulled off her jumper, and then, turning her back to me, removed her bra. My breath was taken away; Anita was stripping in front of me. She slipped the top on, and turned to face me again.

Smiling, she said, "I'll just go to the bathroom to put the trousers on."

"I thought we were all girls together," I whispered hoarsely, hoping to dissuade her.

She tilted her head to one side. "Maybe, but you would only try on your knickers in the hall, remember."

With that she left. My mind was numb; I had just nearly seen Anita naked. My breath came fast and short.

She returned wearing a loose patterned pair of pyjama trousers as well as the grey fluffy top. "We'd best sort you something out as well. I bet you can't wait to get out of those tights, you should have taken them off earlier."

The tights were the least of my concerns at that moment. She returned to the drawer, and looked around inside. She giggled for a moment, "You could have this!" she said, pulling out something flimsy, pink and nylon.

"No!" I nearly screamed.

Giggling again, she put it back. "No, it's not very comfortable." She then found a long cotton shirt, cream coloured and edged in pink. "Try this," she said, handing it to me.

I took it. On the front was a cartoon picture of a little girl in an old fashioned dress holding a bunch of flowers.

"Go on," she urged.

I took off my jumper, and undid the front of the skirt.

"You'd best keep your bra on," Anita said, looking at me thoughtfully. "We'll need you still to have boobs in the morning."

I pulled the skirt and slip off, and then the flowery pair of knickers. The next bit I knew from my experiences in the toilet would be tricky. I had to get my tights off without the white knickers underneath revealing anything. Then an idea struck me, I would put the nightshirt on first.

I slipped it over my head, and let it fall over me. To my relief, it came down nearly to my knees. Now I was stuck because the waistband of my tights was inaccessible. I thought for a moment. "I'll take my tights off in the bathroom," I announced.

"Okay," said Anita brightly, I'll just get the video ready then.

I went off to the bathroom, and managed to remove the tights. It was just as well I had left the room, because my knickers slipped down quite indecently, and I had to pull them back into place. I wondered for a moment whether I should take them off as well, but decided against it. Picking the tights up from the floor, I returned to the bedroom.

Anita had set the video up, and we both sat on the bed to watch. There was not much conversation during the film. We stopped for a moment to fill and wine glasses and sip our drinks. Anita paused the film to go to the loo at one point, but immediately switched it back on when she returned.

I wondered if I should make some sort of pass at her, but the moment didn't seem quite right. I actually got quite into the film, and at the end, I looked over and saw Anita was crying. I had something of a lump in my throat too, and lifted my arm, thinking about whether I should comfort her. Before I could do so however, the film had finished.

Anita ran over to switch the telly off, and wipe her eyes with a tissue. "That was really good," she said. "I just love Johnny Depp."

She pulled out some of the wipes she had used earlier, and brought some over to me on the bed. "You'd best take your make up off, then we can go to sleep."

She was doing the same, so I followed her lead, and wiped around my face and eyes. We threw the used wipes into the bin, and Anita climbed into bed. I thought for a moment, and decided that the best thing to do was to climb into the visitor bed on the floor. I wondered about a good night kiss, but Anita seemed to be sleepy.

"Goodnight Steve," she whispered sleepily, "and thanks for everything." She switched off the light.

"Goodnight," I replied, and lay down on the bed. What a day it had been.

  

  

  

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