The Contest Beginnings

by Sarah Bayen

  

Part Eleven

Anyone for Tennis?

  

The bed was comfortable enough, but I did not sleep well that night. As well as the emotional turmoil of the day, somehow I could still feel the skirt against my thighs, and the pull of the tights on my legs, even though I had removed them. Where the boots had rubbed, just below my knee, I still had the sensation that I was wearing them. It was like people who I had heard on television describe, about losing a limb, and was most disconcerting as I tried to sleep.

I could of course still feel my bra restricting my ribs, but Anita had insisted I wore it to sleep, along with the wig.

Eventually I did fall asleep however, and dreamt erotic dreams of running along beaches with Anita, and skipping through the waves hand in hand.

I was awoken by her voice. "Hello sleepy head!" she said, leaning over the side of her bed. I opened my eyes, and saw her face smiling down at me. I blinked once or twice, and lifted my self up.

"Honestly, what have you done to your hair? It's in a right mess!" she declared. "We'll have to sort that out before we go down." She slipped out of her bed, and, shoving me over, slipped under my duvet. Kneeling up, while I rested on my elbows, she began to straighten the wig, which had slipped during the night. "That's better. It needs a brush, but at least it's in the right place."

I breathed in Anita's warm smell. There was a faint trace of her distinctive perfume. I had no idea what it was, but I recognised it instantly as the smell of Anita, and loved it. She snuggled in beside me.

"That was a really good film last night wasn't it?" she asked me, smiling. I nodded in reply. "I love a good weepy don't you?"

I shrugged, "Sometimes."

"We'd best have a look at your boobs too before we go down and see Mum and Dad," she announced, and pulled down the duvet to see what damage sleeping might have done to my sock-filled bra.

"They've not done too bad," she declared, after a brief inspection. "We'll just need to fluff them up a bit. Hang on." Without any ceremony, she lifted my nightshirt, revealing the white knickers with the love-heart on, and thrust her hands up, cupping my boobs.

My face must have revealed my shock, because she paused to laugh gently. "Sorry, I suppose I should have asked permission."

I did not reply, but now nearly on top of me, she smiled at me, as she gently eased the socks back into a better shape. She paused when she had finished, not taking her eyes from mine. I waited for her to remove her hands, but she kept them cupped around my bra. Then she leant forward, and our lips met.

For what seemed an age, our mouths were closed, but I could resist no longer, and pushed my tongue into her mouth. She responded in kind, and I was in heaven. Anita was kissing me. After all the turmoil of the previous night, in my barely awake state, I had achieved my dream of so many years in an instant. She slipped one hand under my bra, and under the sock in it to stroke my already erect nipple, making gentle circular movements that electrified my hold body. I wondered whether to return the compliment, but as I was still resting on my elbows, this was impossible. I closed my eyes, and was in ecstasy.

Suddenly she pulled away, and sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from me. "Oh dear, that's a complication!" she said, running her hands through her hair. She stood up and I felt a pang of bereavement from the loss of my all too brief glimpse of nirvana.

"Complicated?" I managed to stutter as a question, pulling myself into a better position. "What do you mean?"

She still would not face me. "Well, there's John for a start;" She stared at me, as if waiting for a reaction, "And the contest," she continued, and then paused to think. "And everything."

She walked over to the dressing table, and began to brush through her hair. After a while I stood, but did not approach her.

"Come over here," she said, more brightly, and smiling again. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had not offended her for all time. "I'll brush yours through as well. It certainly needs it. We can talk about the complicated stuff later."

"You mean the kissing and all that?" I asked.

She nodded, and beckoned me over. I meekly obeyed, still under her spell. She stood as I got there, and began running the brush through the wig, straightening and styling it with her hand. Her eyes were fixed on my hair as she did so, not meeting my adoring gaze.

When she had finished, I leant forward to kiss her again, but she gently pushed me away, holding a finger to my lips. "I said we'd talk about that later," she admonished, and I backed away like a forlorn puppy denied its walk.

"We'd best get down for breakfast," she declared. "It's nearly nine o'clock." Then, looking at my neck she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh that's so sweet! You wore it all night!"

I put my hand to my neck and felt the necklace she had given me the day before. My fingers felt the letters that spelt out 'Sarah', as she beamed at me in obvious delight. It had not occurred to me to take any of the jewellery off, but she obviously took this as a sign of devotion. I was not about to disabuse her. She leant forward, and quickly and gently brushed my cheek with her lips.

"Come on, you'd best borrow this," she said, handing me a pink towelling dressing gown. "It hides a multitude of sins in the morning!"

I slipped the dressing gown on, and felt slightly less apprehensive about appearing as a girl for breakfast with her parents. She managed to find herself a white silky dressing gown, and put this on over her pyjamas. It occurred to me that this was the first time for nearly twenty-four hours that she was more femininely dressed than I was, and I felt as if perhaps we had turned a corner in some bizarre symbolic way.

The impression evaporated when we got to the kitchen.

"Hello girls!" Anita's Mum greeted us brightly. "Help yourself to whatever you want."

"Are you okay with Corn Flakes Sarah?" Anita asked me, opening a cupboard with a range of cereals in it.

"Yes," I responded simply, although cringing internally at her use of that name for me.

We ate our Corn Flakes at the breakfast bar where Nikki had fixed me up with my jewellery the day before. Anita and her Mum discussed the health and happiness of some of their relatives, none of whom I had ever heard of before. I was fully occupied by trying to eat my breakfast in what I thought would be an appropriately feminine manner.

Her father walked through from the lounge with a carefully folded newspaper.

"Oh Hi," he said brightly, but with an absent note, as if he had forgotten I was staying. He put the newspaper down, and put the kettle on.

"Are you playing today Anita?" he asked. I looked at her, wondering what this referred to.

"Well," she replied. "I know Colette's not going down today, so I haven't got anyone to play with."

"What about Sarah? Doesn't she play?"

They both turned to look at me. "Play what?" I asked, quietly as I could.

"Tennis!" Anita declared. I suddenly remembered that Anita was a keen tennis player, a member of the local club, and allegedly quite good.

"Oh no," I stumbled my reply. "No, I don't really play."

"You told me you'd played for your school in Newcastle!" Anita suddenly announced. I was speechless; the Newcastle fiction had suddenly sprung a new dimension.

"Well that should be good enough," Mr Robinson declared. "You can both come down with me. I'm playing Roger, so it shouldn't take too long!"

Anita smiled at him. My mind raced for something to say to get me out of this.

"I'm afraid I've not got a racket with me," I announced, trying to make it sound final.

"Not a problem!" Mr Robinson declared, "Anita's got at least four. She can lend you an outfit to wear as well, can't you Anita?"

Anita looked at me conspiratorially. "No problem," she said, smiling. She winked at me. "I'll sort one out for you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but could think of nothing to say. Anita's Dad passed me a cup of coffee, for which I managed a quick thank you. The conversation returned to relatives, and I was not expected to join in.

Anita finished her coffee before me. She smiled at me, as her parents discussed the marriage of some obscure cousin, and then suddenly leapt off her stool. "I'll just have a quick wash," she announced. "I'll sort you out something Sarah, and put it on the bed." With this, she disappeared. I tried to drink my coffee quickly, so I could track her down, but it was too hot. Eventually, I managed it, made my excuses, and rushed up the stairs. I hesitated outside the closed bathroom door.

"Is that you Sarah?" Anita's voice came from inside.

I hesitated. We were alone, so there was no need for me to be called Sarah; but I could see Anita's point; she was not to know if it was me or one of her parents.

"Yes," I replied, blushing at the admission.

"I've left some things for you on the bed. I'll be out in a minute."

I stood in the hallway for a moment, reluctant to move. I listened to the sound of splashing water, and felt a desperate urge to join Anita to continue our kissing. I shook my head, however, knowing that listening to her wash was akin to stalking. I opened the door to her bedroom, and walked in.

On her freshly made bed was a small pile of clothes. I walked tentatively over, wondering whether they would be as bad as I feared. I noticed the skirt first; white, short and pleated, it lay on the bed, and I imagined it malevolently taunting me that I would have to wear it. My hand moved towards it, and felt the crisp cotton pleats. I lifted it up, and put it to one side. Beneath was a simple white sleeveless T-shirt, with pink piping on the shoulder straps. I shuddered, but realised that it could have been worse.

Taking off my nightshirt, and letting it drop to the floor, I decided to try on the shirt. I lifted it up, and saw what was lurking beneath. I stopped in shock, and dropped the shirt. Lying there on the bed was a pair of tennis panties that outstripped all the feminine articles I had been cajoled to wear the day before. They were basically white, and cotton; but that was not the problem. The problem lay in their decoration. Three rows of lilac frills were stitched around the back, outrageously and provocatively glaring at me from the bed.

I shuddered as I looked at them. Why on earth had Anita decided that these were the sort of thing I would even consider wearing? I considered my options. I had to play tennis; that was fixed. Anita's Dad had boxed me into it, and I had been provided with a racket, and an outfit. I also had to do so as a girl. I had stayed the night in Anita's room. There was no way I wanted to incur the wrath of her parents by a sudden revelation of my true gender.

Much as I might not want to, I also recognised that girls wore short skirts to play tennis. I had seen, and lusted after, many a player during Wimbledon fortnight, and had even at one stage had the famous bare bum poster of the girl tennis player on my wall. Oh yes, I was fully aware of what girls wore to play tennis, ingrained from any number of erotic fantasies.

I also considered the progress I was making with Anita. She had kissed me, and even fondled my nipple, although in some ways my upbringing told me the roles should have been reversed. Did I really want to upset her now by rejecting her choice of tennis wear?

I decided that the skirt and T-shirt were fair enough on this basis. I picked up the shirt from where I had dropped it, and slipped it over my head. I pulled it down, over my bra, and straightened it as best I could.

I then looked at the skirt again. It was hideously and ridiculously short, hardly more than a pelmet for my groin. For the first time I noticed that it wasn't pleated all the way around; at the front, there was one panel that was plain. I hated it, and all my instincts told me to refuse its taunting sneers daring me to put it on. It suddenly occurred to me that if I was wearing this sort of thing, then Anita would be too. If I played tennis against her, I would see her wonderful body displayed in a skirt such as this! Having to wear one myself suddenly seemed a small price to pay. I gingerly picked up the skirt, and, with some hesitation, slipped it on.

It was, as I feared, preposterously short. Looking at myself in the mirror, I noticed that even the clinging elasticised knickers I already had on nearly showed, even if I stood rigid and upright. My shame was only mollified by the thought that Anita would soon appear before me looking the same, and all the more attractive for being who she was.

Finally I looked at the knickers. I picked them up, and held them out in front of my eyes. Should I put those on as well? A part of me entirely rejected the idea; they were absurdly feminine, screaming girlyness from every ruffle of the lilac frill ridges across the bum. Another part of me imagined Anita in those same panties, leaning forward to receive a serve. For some strange reason the thought came into my head that if I wore these, then she would wear something equally provocative. The erotic images this conjured for me began to win the day.

I was wrenched from this reverie by Anita suddenly opening the door. She had a towel wrapped around her head, and another around her chest, barely reaching low enough to cover her modesty.

"Oh hi!" she said brightly, but slightly nervously. "How are you getting on?"

Swallowing to find my voice, I replied "Fine."

"Good!" she replied. "I'm going to get changed in the bathroom if you don't mind."

I shrugged. The idea of her changing into an outfit such as the one I was wearing, right in front of me, appealed beyond imagination; but that was not a proper thought to put into words. "Okay, see you in a minute." I managed to say.

She smiled sweetly, and disappeared once again. My conviction that any humiliation I could inflict on myself in terms of tennis wear would be matched by gratification of seeing Anita in the same intensified. Also, I reasoned, I had had these knickers with the love heart on for nearly twenty-four hours. They would hardly be considered fresh, even by the standards of the average fifteen year-old boy. Gritting my teeth, I savagely pulled the old knickers off, and pulled the new ones on.

I felt an immediate sense of relief, not from anything else, but from the lack of elastic holding power that the discarded knickers had been exercising for so long. The soft cotton of the tennis panties was gentle, and almost welcoming in comparison. Feeling relatively pleased with myself, I sat myself down on the make up stool by the dressing table, and waited for the erotic pulse that would accompany Anita's entry into the room in a similar outfit to mine.

I waited and waited. I looked into the mirror, and saw my face without make up for the first time for at least a day. I looked clean and relaxed. The hair from the wig hung femininely, but naturally around my face. My chest jutted out jauntily, but not ridiculously in front of me. I looked enough of a girl to ensure I did not excite undue comment, but not so ridiculously feminine as to feel tarty. I was the quintessential girl next door. The thought made me smile briefly, while I waited in anticipation for Anita's appearance.

The wait went on forever, and yet suddenly the door opened. I held my breath ready for the erotic delight of her entry in a tiny skirt, tight top, and dizzily feminine knickers.

And there she was. "Right, I'm ready," she said breezily. My jaw dropped in surprise. There stood Anita in the doorway, wearing a baggy long sleeved T-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. She was as beautiful as ever, but a stark contrast both to the figure in my fantasy, and my own predicament.

My face must have given away both my disappointment and my horror. "What's the matter?" she asked me, her voice filled with concern. My mouth opened, but no words came out. "You look lovely!" she declared, coming across to hug me. "That skirt really shows off your legs!"

Still I could find no voice for my shock.

"And that top suits you too!" she declared, smiling broadly at me.

"I thought," I began, and could get no further.

"I'm sorry about the knickers," she said. "I didn't think you'd like them much; but they're the club regulation ones. My Dad would think it was odd if you didn't wear them with that."

I felt dizzy suddenly. What had I done? I had voluntarily dressed myself like this in anticipation of seeing Anita dressed the same, and suddenly here I was, in the shortest of skirts, a tight top, and frilly knickers, in front of the girl I loved dressed ready for a genuine sporting event.

"I thought we'd both be wearing the same!" I managed to say, albeit staccato, and breathless.

She looked at me with a puzzled expression. "Well I've only got one tournament outfit," I heard her say through my horror. "I thought you'd best have that while I wore something all right for practice."

"But you're wearing," I hesitated, searching for the words that would sum up my feelings, "trousers!"

She looked at me without comprehension, and then giggled. "Honestly Steve! If wearing short skirts and frilly knickers really made you play better tennis, men would have started wearing them years ago! It's all for show! I always wear this sort of thing for practice! It makes it so much easier to move around, and really work out."

I was flabbergasted. "Then why am I wearing this?" I demanded.

She looked at me sideways, as if trying to fathom the meaning behind my remark. She shrugged, "Well I just thought you'd want to look the part."

I was outraged. "You've tricked me into this!" I hissed. "You get to wear the practical things, while I have to wear this!"

Anita looked worried. "It wasn't a trick," she said. "You're supposed to be practicing wearing a skirt remember. It was your idea!"

I turned my back on her, and folded my arms across my chest, squashing the boobs. "Well I feel as if I've been tricked." I managed to say eventually.

"Well I didn't mean to, we could swap if you wanted to."

I didn't respond.

"I'm sorry Steve," she went on. "I just thought that as you wanted to get as much practice wearing a skirt as possible, and there was only one skirt, then you'd probably want to have it."

"Want it?" I echoed disbelievingly.

"Yes."

There was silence for a moment, and then Anita came up behind me, and put her hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry Steve, I didn't mean to upset you with it." There seemed to be genuine contrition in her voice, and my anger subsided.

"Did you want to swap?" she asked again. "It's a bit of a fuss, but I'm happy to do it if you want to."

I turned to face her, and shook my head. "No, it's all right. I just overreacted I suppose."

A smile burst onto her face. "That's okay; and it does suit you," she added. "Come on, let's go down. My Dad will be getting impatient."

So we went down the stairs. I managed to retrieve my own trainers from the hallway to wear, and we picked up our rackets from the cupboard. Mr Robinson, far from being impatient, was not actually ready yet. He eventually came down the stairs wearing a simple shirt, and a pair of white shorts.

"Are you ready then girls? Let's get going."

We went out onto the drive, and Anita and I climbed into the back seat of the car. I sat down hesitantly. There appeared no way that I could be ladylike in a skirt this short. I tugged at it the best I could once I was sitting to try and cover my modesty, while Anita looked on smiling. We did up our seatbelts, and we were off.

It was a bright enough day, with a few fluffy white clouds idly moving across the sky. Mr Robinson drove us out of the east side of town, and to the tennis club. There were several cars in the car park, all large and ostentatious, much as I imagined the cars of members of the tennis club would be.

To add to my embarrassment, Mr Robinson decided to act the gentleman, and hold the door of the car open for me. Wearing a skirt as short as mine made this a humiliating moment, as I tried to keep my legs together to ease myself out of the car. Neither Anita nor he seemed to notice my agony as I stood, and as quickly as I could brushed the skirt back into place.

We walked into the clubhouse. It appeared that Anita had a court booked regularly for Saturday morning, as did her father. We announced our arrival, and he went off through the men' locker room.

"This way Sarah," Anita said brightly, motioning me to follow her in the opposite direction. "The courts are through here."

So it was that I walked through the ladies changing room. I wondered for a moment why we hadn't changed here, as others appeared to do. Once we entered the room, however, I was grateful that we hadn't. There were three or four women in there in various stages of undress, and I tried my best not to look. Thank God Anita had had the foresight to allow me to dress at home.

We walked right through the room, and out onto the courts. Ours was number seven. I followed Anita along the wire mesh fencing until the appropriate gate, and we walked out onto the court.

I had absolutely no idea how difficult it was to play dressed like as I was. The skirt was so short that my knickers were on public display unless I stood bolt upright, which was hardly the best position to play tennis in. The wig felt hot and uncomfortable on my head, and to make matters worse, my bra straps kept slipping out from under my T-shirt. It was altogether an unpleasant experience.

We warmed up for a few minutes, and then Anita suggested we play a set. I was reluctant, for all the reasons above, but also because I knew she was a far better player than me. To make my situation worse, a young man of about twenty positioned himself on the seat behind the wire on our court, intent on watching our game. He was virtually directly behind me, and I knew that every time I bent over, or moved too fast, he would be seeing the hideous knickers I had on, covered in lilac lace.

Needless to say Anita thrashed me in the first four games. Not only was she a much more accomplished player than me, but my constant fiddling with my bra and skirt hardly made me play any better. At the end of the fourth game she played a brilliant drop shot over the net, which I decided was deliberately to make me look stupid.

"Well played," the young man shouted from behind me. Anita smiled at him, as we both went to the net to collect the spent balls.

"Shall we change ends?" I suggested, thinking that I might play a little better if I wasn't so anxious about flashing my knickers so much.

"No, it's all right," Anita responded breezily, and walked back to the far end to serve. I was getting cross with the whole situation now. Here I was, wearing a stupid tennis skirt, and frilly knickers, all for Anita's sake, so she could enter me in this ridiculous contest. There was a man behind me, constantly looking up my skirt, and to make matters worse, Anita was making me look foolish by trouncing me at the game. I decided to put modesty to one side, and play with more vigour.

Anita was surprised by my sudden change in standard of play. She had decided to tone her serve down a bit, to make it easier for me, much as men players were supposed to do when serving to women in the mixed doubles. I was furious with her, and returned the ball with gusto, eventually winning the game.

"That's more like it," the man behind me shouted. "You make a game of it darling!" Anita smiled at him, and I turned to glare.

I was getting really hot now, and the wig held all the heat and sweat onto my head. I didn't care, however, and became intent on winning. I served well, but Anita by now had obviously decided not to go easy on me. She won the next two points with well-placed shots. I served again, and won the point. Feeling pleased with myself, I turned back to serve, and, almost without thinking, put my bra strap back in its place. The young man was smiling at me. I ignored him.

Somehow I managed to get the game to deuce, and win another point. Anita then made an uncharacteristic mistake, and sent the ball well out. "Shit!" she exclaimed, obviously getting as wound up as me by the game.

Four two to Anita and her serve. I now got a taste of how good she really was. Each serve she made stretched me to the limit to make any sort of return. Even when I did, she simply despatched the ball to the opposite side of the court, leaving me stranded. I didn't win a single point.

The first point of the next game, she thundered my feeble serve past me at what seemed a hundred miles an hour. She smiled across the court to me, and I noticed a wild look in her eyes. She wanted to beat me. She attempted to repeat the feat on the next serve, but hit the ball long. I chased it back to the back line, without hope of reaching it in time, but to my relief, saw it fall six inches or so beyond.

"It was out," I shouted.

"No it wasn't!" she shouted back. "It was good. Love thirty to me!"

"Anita, it was out," I repeated.

"In!" she declared. "Don't be such a sore loser!"

I hadn't realised Anita had such a competitive streak in her.

"It was out!" the man watching us shouted. "Sorry Anita, but it was."

Anita glared at him for a few moments, and then shrugged her shoulders. "All right; we'll say it was out. It doesn't make any difference, I'll still win."

She was true to her word. She thumped my next serve back at me with venom, and although I got my racket to it, the ball simply looped skywards, and eventually fell to my feet. I faulted on my next serve, and then looped a pretty feeble effort towards her. She fired it back like a bullet in my direction, and using the racket instinctively as protection, I managed to stop it hitting me. The ball arched slowly towards the net, and Anita advanced gleefully to intercept it. She smashed it down into the court at a considerable speed, and it flew up off the tarmac. This time my instincts were too slow, and the ball hit me hard on the nose. I could smell the pain, and put my hand up. It was bleeding.

Anita leapt the net to come over to me. "Oh Sarah I'm so sorry!" she declared anxiously. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," I responded.

Our spectator had also run onto the court. "Is she okay?" he asked. Anita nodded. She had her arm around me.

"You'd best get her back to the changing rooms to clean up," the spectator suggested. Anita nodded again, and led me by the arm out of the court. The nosebleed had more or less stopped by the time we got there, but Anita continued to make a fuss, and continuously apologised.

"I'm so sorry Sarah. I was getting a bit wound up about the game. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I managed to say, as Anita splashed water on my face. "You played well."

"So did you; eventually." Anita replied.

Soon I was clean and tidy again. Anita fussed with my wig, and I felt embarrassed. There were three or four women in the changing room with us, one of which had come over to see how I was.

"Let's go and have a coffee, and wait for Dad to finish," Anita suggested, smiling. I nodded in agreement, and we went through to the clubhouse. I sat at one of the grey plain tables, while Anita went over to the coffee machine.

"Hi," a voice said, suddenly making me jump. It was our spectator, wearing a dark blue tracksuit. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I said.

"Good. That was a nasty knock. Pity too, you were just beginning to play."

I smiled weakly back at him.

"I'm Gerry by the way," he told me, holding out his hand. "I'm one of the coaches here."

I took his proffered hand, and shook it weakly. Anita came back over with two plastic cups of coffee. "Hi Gerry," she said, brightly, putting the cups down on the table.

"You played well this morning," Gerry told her.

"Not really," Anita replied. "I couldn't get it all together."

Gerry smiled at her, and then turned his attention to me. I shuffled in my chair in an attempt to get the flimsy skirt to cover my knickers.

"You got better too," he said. "Sarah is it?"

I was shocked. How did he know that name for me? He obviously saw the concern on my face. "Sorry, I was just reading your necklace." I put my hand up to my neck to feel Anita's present still there. "And I heard Anita say your name when you hurt your nose."

I felt myself blushing, but managed a thin smile.

"You've got potential too," he told me. "Will you be coming down to practice more often?"

I glanced over at Anita. She smiled at me, and then turned to Gerry. "She might; I'll see if I can convince her."

"Good, we could always do with new players," he responded. "Well I've got to go now, I've got a training session to do. See you later."

"Bye," Anita said, and watched him walk across back out onto the courts. Once he was out of sight, she leant over to me conspiratorially, and smiling said, "he fancied you!"

"He did not!" I replied indignantly.

"He did!" she insisted. "That'll make you unpopular here! All the women fancy him, even my Mum!"

I felt myself blushing, and refused to make eye contact.

"Well I knew you were good looking, but I didn't think Gerry would fall for you! He's used to all the girls here flirting with him, but he's never shown much interest. I think he's got a regular live in girlfriend, but it looks as if you've broken through his cool."

"He was just looking for new players," I mumbled, still looking out of the window.

"If you say so!" Anita replied, raising her eyebrows in disbelief, and still smiling.

I took a sip of my coffee, not wanting to talk about whether Gerry fancied me any more. I was relieved of this possibility by the arrival of Anita's father. He looked as hot and bothered as I felt. Carrying a towel, he came over to us.

"Have a good game?" he asked.

"Yes, not bad." Anita replied.

"Are you two not having a shower?" he asked.

"No," Anita replied. "We'll have one at home if that's all right."

Mr. Robinson shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'm going to have one though. I'll see you in a minute."

When he had gone, Anita winked at me. "I didn't think you'd want to shower here. They're communal."

I nodded in agreement. It seemed I could fool most people that I was a girl even as skimpily dressed as I was at that moment, but naked in the shower would be an entirely different matter.

We continued drinking our coffees, and made some small talk about people we knew at school. After a while, a freshly showered Mr. Robinson came back, and we left the clubhouse for the car.

Arriving back at Anita's house, I was ushered upstairs quickly by Anita as soon as we arrived.

"You have your shower first," she said to me. "I'll sort you out some stuff to change into."

I was hot and sticky, particularly under my wig, and did not object to this arrangement. "Nothing too silly," I mumbled.

"Of course not," Anita replied, smiling at me. "By the way, take your wig off to wash your hair. It must be really yucky under that."

"It is," I replied.

"But don't forget to run the water of the wig a bit as well. It needs to look wet when you come out."

I nodded. "What about towels?"

"There's some in there," Anita replied. "Oh, and wrap one around your head, and one around your body if you can; just in case my Mum or Dad are around when you get out."

I looked at her, confused.

"Well you'll be taking your bra off won't you?" she asked me. I realised then the significance of what she was saying. For the first time in a day I would be boob-less.

"Oh right. I see what you mean," I said.

"Go on then. See you in a minute."

I went into the bathroom, and carefully locked the door, and leant against it for a moment, then I took off the wig. My hair underneath felt and looked like straw. My head felt strange for a moment. I had had the wig on for over twenty-four hours, even sleeping in it, and the sudden liberation caused all sorts of odd sensations on my scalp. I scratched my head, and felt the sweat on my scalp and hair.

Quickly I removed the skirt and knickers as well, checking myself over, I was relieved to see that in one respect at least, I was still male. Then, with more difficulty because it was so tight, I took off the top. I pulled the socks from my bra, and struggled to find the clasp at the back of it with my arms. I pulled and tugged to no avail. The bra seemed determined to stay on me, and my arms began to ache. I wondered whether I should call Anita to help, but looked down at myself, naked apart from the bra, and decided against it.

I tried to reach the clasp again, but to no avail. I considered whether I could take a shower wearing it, but realised that would then mean wearing a wet bra, which did not really appeal.

Suddenly it occurred to me to take the shoulder straps off my arms, and turn the whole thing around. Once I had done this, I could see the clasp, and although it wasn't easy, I managed to undo it.

Again, there was a really strange feeling as it came off. I still breathed shallowly, used to being restrained, but there was something of a feeling of liberation. I understood for a moment why women in the sixties had made such a thing about burning their bras.

Then, looking down at myself, I gasped in shock. I had bra marks all over my chest. The straps had left red lines from my chest up to my shoulders, and the cups were outlined around my nipples. I was horrified; perhaps I had been scarred for life by the damn thing! I walked across to the mirror above the sink, and tried to see what I looked like from the back. I could see a thick red line running under my arms, and, although I could not contort myself to see, assumed that the lines continued around and met in the middle of my back. How long would these lines last, that's what I wanted to know. Shuddering, I decided to ask Anita once I had had my shower. I switched the shower on, checked the water temperature, and stepped in.

It was quite a relief to be able to wash my hair, and massage my scalp that had been trapped for so long. I rubbed myself down with soap till I was covered in bubbles, and then let the falling water drive these off. It felt good.

I stepped aside from the water, and then remembered that I was supposed to have made the wig wet as well. The thought of having to put it back on again was hardly appealing. Back to my male self, albeit briefly, I was reluctant to even think about having to dress up as a girl again, especially so quickly. Then I thought about Anita's Mum and Dad downstairs, who thought a sweet girl called Sarah had slept in their daughter's bedroom the previous night. I would have to do it, however much I didn't want to.

I picked up the wig, and waved it under the streaming water, before turning the taps off. Then, drying myself, I managed to tie a towel just above my chest, with a knot where my cleavage would be. It hung down, and covered my manhood just like a dress. I sighed deeply. My brief moment of looking like a boy had passed too quickly for me.

I remembered Anita's advice about wrapping a towel around my head. I had seen girls do this before, producing an effect something like a turban. Try as I might, I was completely unable to replicate the effect. The towel fell down in front of my face, and flopped onto the ground. I decided in the end simply to bundle it on top of my head, and make the best of it. It was only a brief dash to Anita's bedroom after all.

I looked at the tennis dress and knickers on the floor, and decided I ought to pick them up and take them through. Holding these, the wet wig, and trying to clasp both towels in their respective places was a challenge, especially when it came to unlocking the door, but somehow I managed it, and looking more like a random bundle of towels and clothes than anything else, I dashed across the corridor towards Anita's room. Glancing around the hall and the top of the stairs, I was relived to see that there was nobody about, all that effort for nothing!

I pushed Anita's door open, and rushed in, shutting it behind me.

"Oh hi," she said brightly. She still had her baggy T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms on, and was rummaging through some drawers of clothes. "I've sorted you some stuff out. It's on the bed."

Clinging for dear life to the towel around me, the one on my head fell off. She looked at me despairingly for a moment, shook her head, and then smiled. "You didn't put that on very well did you?" she observed.

"No," I agreed.

"Well dry your hair off, and then you'd better put the wig back on."

There was a hair dryer on the dressing table. I walked over to it, and picked it up. It was shaped like Snoopy the dog.

"Where shall I put these?" I asked, holding up the tennis outfit.

"Leave them on the floor. We can take all the washing down later." Anita replied. I let them fall, and sat down on the stool by the mirror. Flicking the switch on the Snoopy dryer, I began to dry my hair. Anita continued to sort stuff out from her drawers, paying little attention to me.

It didn't take long for my hair to dry, and I switched the dryer off again.

"I'll have my shower now," Anita announced. "You can get dressed while I'm in there," she said, indicating the clothes on the bed again. I looked at them. I recognised the denim skirt I had been wearing the day before. There was also a pink sweater, and beside these, the pink knickers they had made me try the day before, a pair of tights, and a new bra, with the cups seemingly standing up of their own accord, with pink lace etched around them. I shuddered again. There was also a plain white mini slip, and a second pair of knickers that I had not seen before.

"Do you think you'll be able to manage?" Anita asked me, "Is there anything you want me to give you a hand with before I go for my shower?"

I looked forlornly at the clothes on the bed. Reluctantly I had to admit to myself that I could probably manage to put them all on quite easily apart from one.

"I don't think I'll be able to manage the bra," I said, flatly. "I had a lot of trouble getting the other one off to shower."

Anita smiled. "They can be a bit difficult. I'll have to show you later on, when you need to take this one off."

She picked it up from the bed. I looked down at myself, remembering the red marks the other one had left. They had faded quite a lot, I was relieved to see, and were now pink, just a few shades darker than the rest of my skin.

"Do these marks go?" I asked her.

"What marks?"

I traced the ones around my shoulders. "These; where the bra has been."

"Oh yes," she said reassuringly. "Don't worry, you won't be stuck with those for life!"

"Thank God for that at least."

She smiled again. "Come on then, let's get this bra on you."

I walked across to her, and undid the knot on my chest, carefully rearranging the towel around my waist.

"You look like a boy doing that!" Anita announced quietly, still smiling. "Hold your arms out."

I did as I was told, and she slipped the straps up my arms until the cups were in place on my chest. She was close to me now, and our eyes met. Hesitantly I lent forward, and pressed my lips to hers, and we kissed.

"Now stop that," Anita said teasingly. "I told you we'd talk about it later. Now turn around please."

Pleased with myself, I did as she asked, and she fastened the bra behind my back.

"Did you keep the padding?" she asked. I looked at her with a confused expression. "The socks!" she exclaimed with some exasperation. "You need to be the same size today as yesterday, otherwise goodness knows what my Mum and Dad will think!"

"Oh, yes." I replied. I bent to pick them up from the floor where I had thrown them with the tennis outfit. As I did so, the towel slipped from my waist. Frantically, I pulled it back up, and stared at her wide-eyed. She was smiling again.

"Well, let's hope you look a bit more like a girl when I've had my shower!"

She walked across the room, and picked up the clothes she had sorted for herself out, and then back past me to the bedroom door. As she got there she turned. "Help yourself to any make-up you want," she said, brightly; "There's lots there." Then she was gone.

I sat back down on the stool. I had managed to kiss Anita for the second time that day, and I was in ecstasy. The pain I had experienced at becoming Sarah for her began to seem worthwhile. I had kissed her, I repeated to myself, hardly believing it, and I sat there with a warm glow coursing through my frame.

Suddenly there was a voice in the hall; it was Anita's Dad.

"Can I come in?" he asked, "There's a phone call for you, Anita. It's Nikki."

I froze in fright. "No," I nearly shouted. "I'm just getting changed."
"Oh, sorry," he mumbled.

"And Anita's in the shower," I added. "Perhaps we could ring her back in a minute."

"Okay, I'll tell her that. Sorry Sarah," he said again, and I heard his footsteps go back down the stairs.

I heaved a huge sigh of relief. If he had actually come in then, well, I couldn't imagine what would have happened. I decided I'd best get myself dressed as quickly as possible.

I stood up, and went to the bed. I picked up the pink knickers, and slipped them on. I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I did so, and a chill ran through my body. There I was in bra and panties again! Still, needs must in a crisis, I told myself, and remembering the feel of Anita's mouth against mine, I picked up the tights, and sat myself down on the stool to put them on.

I had managed to put tights on myself the day before in Sylvia's shop, so, although not without difficulty, I completed the task fairly quickly. Standing, I pulled them up above my waist, and remembering Anita and Nikki's warnings about them riding down, picked up the other pair of knickers and put these on as well. Like the flowery ones from the day before, they were sideless. I had read in the magazine that still lay on the table that they were called thongs. I smiled to myself; I was inadvertently becoming something of an expert in women's underwear.

I went back over to the bed, and picked up the slip. It felt soft and silky between my fingers. I shuddered at the realisation that I would have to wear it. At least it had none of the silly feminine detail of the one I had worn the day before. That thought consoled me a little as I put it on.

I put on the soft pink sweater, easing it down over what Anita liked to call my boobs. I glanced at myself in the mirror. It was ribbed around the waist, making me look even thinner than I really was. Last I put on the denim mini skirt. Of all the things I had worn at Anita's I liked this best, or perhaps disliked it least. It was comforting to do it up in the way jeans did up, with a button and zip at the front.

Apart from the wig, I was now done. I picked it up; it was still quite wet. Holding the net skullcap out, I pulled it down over my head, and looked in the mirror. I had it on lopsided, so I carefully straightened it out. Eventually I was satisfied with it. I looked pretty much as I had the day before, although it was damp, and a little untidy. I glanced at the dressing table, and saw a brush. I'd best do something with it, I supposed.

So that's how Anita saw me when she came back in; sitting in front of a mirror brushing through my hair, and wearing a pink sweater, and a short denim skirt. Silently I cursed myself; I should have taken the trouble to look at least a little masculine for her if I was going to be able to kiss her again.

"Oh hi!" she said. "You're dressed."

"Yes," I replied. "You too."

She smiled at me. She had on a T-shirt with the motif "Girls Rule" on it, leaving her belly button exposed, and a pair of dark blue jeans. "I nearly gave these to you to wear," she said, pointing to her own clothes, "but you really need the practice wearing a skirt. Did I hear my Dad come up while I was in the shower?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. "He said that Nikki was on the phone for you."

"Nikki? What did she want?"

"I don't know," I answered. "I didn't take the call, because;" I hesitated. "Well, I wasn't properly dressed if you know what I mean."

Anita smiled in response. "Well, I'd best phone her to see what she wanted. Funny, I thought she said she was going out today."

I shrugged in response.

"I'll try not to be too long, but she natters a bit. Help yourself to the make-up!" With this, she left again.

I looked at myself in the mirror, with my unaccustomed long brown hair. That was twice Anita had suggested I borrow her make up. What a strange idea; I had no real idea how to put on make up, in spite of suffering an attack of it at Nikki's hands the morning before, and at Anita's in the evening.

Thinking about it, it was a ridiculous idea, a bit cheeky even, to expect me to put make up on myself. Anita wasn't wearing any, as far as I could tell, so, even though I was supposed to be a girl, why on earth should I?

I looked at one of the make up bags, and picked up a pencil. I read the side of it; eyeliner it said. Nikki had put that on me the day before to, I tried to remember, give my eyes a better shape, or something like that. I remembered how I had been worried that she would poke my eyes out with it, and the discomfort of it scrapping on my inner eyelid.

I wondered if there was any left on me. I had removed my make up twice the previous evening, but I supposed there was a possibility that there was still some left. I moved closer to the mirror to examine my eyes more closely. I turned my head from side to side, but decided that it had all come off. Good, I thought.

I looked at the pencil in my hand. The point was fairly blunt and it looked waxy. I wondered how Nikki had managed to make it feel so sharp. Still, she had been using a different one, I reasoned; perhaps one that was sharper. I wondered how this one would feel, and lifted it towards my eye.

Then I stopped myself. What on earth did I think I was doing? Was I really going to put eyeliner on myself, for no good reason? I sat upright, to take my face away from the mirror, feeling strangely guilty for my near betrayal of myself.

Still, a voice in me began to say, what difference would it make? I was sitting there in a tiny little skirt, with perky boobs, and two pairs of girl's knickers on. Putting on a bit of eyeliner would just be part of the effect, to fool Anita's Mum and Dad that I really was Sarah.

I leant forward again, and opened my eyes as wide as I could. I saw the pencil in the mirror move towards them, almost it seemed of its own volition. I stopped again, and sat back up. What would my friends say if they knew I had put eyeliner on myself?

The voice came back. But what would they say if they knew I had put a skirt and a pair of tights on for that matter? The eyeliner would seem like nothing in comparison.

Slowly, I leant forward again, and the pencil in the reflection moved towards my image's eye, and began to draw right on the edge of the bottom lid. It felt nowhere near as rough and sharp as when Nikki had done it. My suspicions that she had not been as careful as she might were confirmed.

I concentrated hard, trying to make sure that I got a nice even line, and once I had finished I sat back to admire my work. I was quite pleased with myself. It looked quite good.

Suddenly a shudder came over me. What had I been thinking of? I had just sat there, and put some girl's make up on myself. Bugger what my friends would think, Anita would think I had flipped, and decided to enjoy dressing as a girl. There would be no more sweet lingering kisses for me then.

I looked around for any of the little wipes Anita had given me to take the make up off the night before, but could not see any. I looked in the mirror again. I looked ridiculously lopsided, with eyeliner on one eye, and the other blank. In my panic a thought came to me; perhaps if I put some on my other eye and balanced things up, Anita wouldn't notice that I had put some of her make up on. Even if she did, perhaps I could get away with the idea that it was left from the night before.

I leant forward again, and watched the pencil approach, and make up my other eye, carefully spreading a thin black line along my lid. I was fixedly concentrating on getting it to balance the other side, and didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. Suddenly the door opened and Anita came back in.

"Sorry about that," she said, and then saw what I was doing. "Oh that's good!" she declared, beaming at me. "I didn't think you'd actually put any make up on, but it's brilliant that you have."

Guiltily, I sat bolt upright and turned away from the mirror. "It was an accident," I found myself saying.

"Accident? How can you accidentally put make up on?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but realised it was hopeless to try and explain how I had come to put eyeliner on myself.

Anita obviously recognised the anguish on my face. She smiled reassuringly. "Don't look so worried Steve, I don't mind." I smiled weakly back at her. "It's good that you're taking this so seriously; what with this and trying out the nail varnish last night. I'm sure we're going to do well in the contest with you putting so much effort in."

I was blushing again. "What did Nikki want?" I asked to change the subject.

"Oh yes," Anita said, as if suddenly remembering. "Apparently Tania's kicking up a bit of a fuss about you borrowing her dress. I said we'd go round there and talk it through with her."

"What sort of fuss?"

"I couldn't quite understand what Nikki was saying, there was a lot of shouting going on in the background; but we'll find out soon enough I suppose. It'd be a shame if she doesn't let you have it. Still, you looked even better in the one from Sylvia's shop I think. We can always use that as a fall back."

The thought of going back to Sylvia's Boutique rang alarms with me, which must have shown on my face.

"Don't worry Steve," Anita said, putting her hand on my shoulder again. "If we do have to go back, I'll look after you, and make sure she doesn't, you know, get too friendly or anything." She smiled reassuringly, and pecked me on the cheek. "Us girls have to stick together you know," she added with a grin.

"I'm not a girl," I mumbled petulantly.

"Maybe not." Anita smiled again. "But come on, we'd better go over there and sort this out."

We went downstairs, and Anita explained to her Mum and Dad where we were going. She gave me the boots I had worn the day before to put on, and the bag, and then we were off, walking through the streets to Nikki's house.

  

  

  

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