We are the Champions

by Darryl Foster

 

It all started when Mum got promotion in her job and we relocated from south London to Buckinghamshire. Mum bought an old rambling cottage situated on the outskirts of Winslow and we soon settled in to our new lifestyle in the countryside. I was 13 although I pretended to anyone who didn’t know that I was fourteen. Being brought up in the city I thought myself very ‘street wise’ and as I had left all my friends behind I soon realised that all the new boys that I met believed all my tales of my exploits and held me in some sort of awe. This was a good arrangement for me because I was short and skinny but my reputation of king of the city ensured that I wasn’t bullied or picked on, I began to enjoy my new surroundings.

We moved during the Spring break, which was convenient because I could spend the last couple terms at Middle school before moving on to the Upper school in September. The only problem was that we were Catholics and Mum wanted me to continue my education at a Catholic school. That meant that the local school was out as far as she was concerned and she arranged for me to enrol at the nearest private Catholic school, which was located several miles away. This meant that I would have to rely on the transport provided for my journeys to and from school.

Mum drove me to the school during the holiday for an introductory visit and I was immediately impressed by its location. The school was actually three schools in one, a Lower, Middle and Upper. It had been originally founded in 1905 and was until recently a girls’ only establishment run primarily by nuns. Two years prior to our visit, in an effort to take advantage of government grants and funding the school had opened its’ doors to boys. All three schools were quite small in the numbers of pupils enrolled, less than 100 in each. Of these the numbers of boys enrolled was still less than 10% and majority of the staff were still nuns. We were given a tour of the school and then introduced to the strict uniform code. Most Catholic schools had a very strict uniform dress code so it came as no surprised that Greenleys was no different. Both boys and girls wore a burgundy blazer with the school crest on the pocket. These were worn with a white shirt or blouse and a school tie. The girls had a burgundy pleated skirt (with the length strictly stated as to be worn no more than 3 inches above the knee), white knee length socks (right up to the fifth form) and black buckle shoes. The boys had black trousers (or shorts in the First school), black socks and shoes. There was a list of other specified items such as sports kit and protective clothing for art and handicrafts. After the visit Mum drove into town to get me kitted out ready for the start of term.

The following Monday morning found me, resplendent in my new uniform, waiting for the school minibus to collect me. When it arrived there were two girls on board, they greeted me warmly. It turned out that they were both my age and they thought that it was highly probable that I would be in their class. One of the girls who had jet-black hair and had a slightly Chinese look about her (it turned out that her father was Chinese and her mother English) introduced herself as Lucy Chan. The other girl who had bobbed brown hair said her name was Lynda Robinson. I noticed that both girls were taking the school skirt length rule to its extreme as both wore their pleated skirts a good three inches above their knees. The bus picked up only two more very young girls before proceeding on to the school.

My first day at Greenleys confirmed that I was indeed in Lucy and Lynda’s class. The day went well although I did find it strange to be in a class of 20 where there was only one other boy. I also found it difficult to get used to the idea of being taught by nuns although these nuns did not wear the all encompassing habit and mantle. They all wore plain long black gowns and kept their head covered with a beret-like hat. Nuns hadn’t taught me since first school and these nuns were very different from them. These nuns were very efficient in their teaching methods and were sticklers for discipline.

It was at the end of my second day at Greenleys that I found one of the problems in relying on the school minibus for transport. Lucy and Lynda told me during the day that they would be going to netball practice straight after lessons. They informed me that on days like this the bus wouldn’t be leaving until practice had finished so I would have to wait until then for my ride home.

After lessons and having no homework to finish I decided to kill time and wander over to watch the girls practice. I didn’t know anything about netball and assumed that it was like basketball for girls. How wrong I was, sure enough there were baskets at each end of the pitch, but that was where the similarity ended. Not many of the girls were wearing the regulation sports kit because this was an informal practice session. Most of them wore shorts and tee shirts although Lucy and another girl sported the regulation burgundy games skirt. This skirt was in the style of a very short kilt, flat at the front with pleats all around at the back. I thought that Lucy looked delightful in hers.

There were about nine girls there with a nun overseeing proceedings; it was strange seeing a nun wearing a tracksuit. The girls who were playing wore bib like tops displaying strange letter such as ‘GS’ and ‘WD’. I found out later that each player was designated a role to play in the team and that there were strict rules as to what they could do. It also took me some time to realise that they couldn’t run with the ball and that the sport was strictly no contact. While I was trying to fathom all this out I could sense a feeling of unrest in the girls. Lynda came over and explained what the problem was.

She told me that the school used to have a very good netball team but due to girls leaving they were now struggling to put a decent side together. She said that it was important to get a good side organised because the school would be defending the county championships in five weeks. She explained that six of the girls were from the championship team and the others were being tried out to fill the seventh place plus, hopefully, one in reserve. It soon became obvious even to me that none of the hopefuls were anything like good enough so the six-team members decided on a practice session by themselves.

After a few minutes the other girls had departed and the six began to practice their moves in earnest. One of the team, a tiny girl called Donna who had long flowing hair and wore a bib with the letters WA, began to protest that she was unable to practice properly without a Goal Attack being present. The others agreed and asked the nun, Sister Mary, what they should do and they went into a huddle to discuss matters. After a few seconds Sister Mary began to walk towards me and began to speak.

"Darren, the girls are in sore need of someone to play Goal Attack and they were wondering if you would be so kind as to stand in".

"But I don’t know anything about netball", I replied astonished at the request.

"Oh don’t worry about that, we’ll explain it all to you, so will you do it?"

I nodded and accompanied Sister Mary to join the waiting group. They explained the role of the Goal Attack plus a few other do’s and don’ts and after removing my blazer and tie I joined the group on the pitch sporting a bib with ‘GA’ emblazoned on the front. I found out that the Goal Attack was the only other person, apart from the Goal Shooter or ‘GS’, who could actually shoot for the basket or net. After a few elementary mistakes I soon found myself enjoying the game and it was over all too soon. After the game Donna thanked me for my help and asked if I would be available to help out again.

On the bus home both Lucy and Lynda enthused about my netball prowess. "You’re a natural Goal Attack", said Lucy. "After a couple more training session you’d be ready to take your place in any team". Lynda nodded in agreement and I felt myself blushing at their praise.

So it was that twice a week after classes for the next month I found myself on the netball court helping out to fill the role of Goal Attack. I was better prepared on these occasions than on my first venture because I changed into my games kit of shorts and gym shoes. During that time another girl, Jean, began to turn out regularly for practice sessions but it was soon made apparent to all that the best contribution she could make to the team was as a reserve.

A week before the County Championship elimination rounds the girls with Sister Mary held a crisis meeting during a training session. Donna began proceedings explaining the need for the school to at least qualify for the finals. The girls had played a couple of warm up matches against poor opposition in the past week with Jean taking on the role as ‘GA’. Although they had won both matches the girls were under no illusion that they faced a daunting task if they were to progress from the qualifying stages. They had explained that the area-qualifying matches were held over two days at one of the nearby schools. The four area qualifying teams would then go on to the County finals, which were held over four days in the Count Town of High Wycombe.

"We’re still short of a good ‘GA’", moaned Donna. "Without one we won’t even qualify".

"Well it looks like we’ll have to make do with Jean", said Sister Mary.

"I’m not good enough for that", said Jean looking worried at the thought. "Why don’t you play Darren? He’s more than good enough".

"Don’t be silly", said Cathy the team captain. "He’s a boy".

"Well I’ve looked at the national rulebook and there is no rule that says that a boy can’t play in any netball match, championship or not", said Lucy.

"Yes but have you read the rules governing the playing in the County Championships", said Lynda.

"But they can’t make rules that overturn the national rulebook, can they?"

"No but they do make rules about the appearance of teams competing in it".

"Well what’s wrong with the way we look", rebuked Lucy who was beginning to get a little angry.

Sister Mary, in an effort to quieten things down stepped in and began to speak. "I think I know what Lynda is getting at. All teams competing in the Championships have to wear their officially approved team strip. Therefore if Darren were to play for Greenleys he would have to wear the official school strip. In short if Darren, or any boy for that matter, were to play in the Championships he would have to be prepared to wear a netball skirt".

As the realisation of Sister Mary’s words registered the girls all turned to look at me and I felt myself beginning to colour up.

"Well I don’t see why he can’t wear a skirt", said Lynda. "After all he won’t be showing any more of his legs off than he does in those shorts he’s wearing now".

"That’s not the point and you know it", rebuked Jean, "Boys just don’t wear skirts, he’d be made a laughing stock as soon as he put his foot on the court".

"No, you don’t get it", said Lynda looking me up and down. "I’ve been looking closely at Darren and, please don’t take offence at this Darren, he’s quite dainty for a boy and he has the sort of face that could be taken for either sex. If he turned out for the team in a skirt everyone would assume that he was a girl with short hair and there are plenty of girls around with hair as short as his. No-one would be any the wiser and even the team sheets don’t print the first names of the team members, just their initials".

"Well I’m not sure about this", said Sister Mary, "the poor child would be so embarrassed".

"What’s a little embarrassment when there’s the reputation of the school at stake", said Lynda. "He’d soon get over that and at least with him playing we stand a chance of at least qualifying for the finals".

"I’m not going to say anything either way", said Sister Mary. "What you suggest is an answer to our problem but the decision as to whether or not he plays must be entirely Darren’s. You’re asking an awful lot of him and it must be for him, and him alone to decide what to do".

"Well, if he could just do it for the qualifiers we could sort out the finals if and when they happen", said Lucy.

The rest of the team, seeing an answer to their problem, began to call on all their collective powers of persuasion and to direct them in my direction. They talked about me being able to get away with being mistaken for a girl and that wearing a skirt wasn’t so bad. In the end I agreed to do it but only if my Mum would agree also and that it would be for the qualifiers only. Sister Mary just smiled and said that she would write me a letter to take to my Mum and that she would have it ready for me to take to her the following day. On the bus on the way home both Lucy and Lynda said how brave I was and that how grateful they were. Then without warning Lynda, who was sitting next to me, turned and gave me a kiss full on the lips. It wasn’t one of those brief pecks but a full-blown kiss that seemed to go on forever. My initial reaction was to pull away but it felt so nice that something inside me wanted it to carry on. Also I felt a wonderful reaction in the region of my groin, which seemed to keep on growing. When, at last, she pulled away she gave me a wonderful smile and said that I was the best kisser that she’s ever met and I wondered just how many boys she’s kissed before.

The next day the events of the previous afternoon weren’t mentioned because the agreement was that if it should happen or not the whole thing would remain a secret. That was, of course, until it would be impossible not to tell more people who would need to know. Lynda’s attitude towards me had changed, she wanted to sit near me at all times and there seemed that there was nothing that she wouldn’t do for me.

Sister Mary gave me an envelope addressed to my Mum just before the end of lessons for the day. Lynda sat next to me on the bus but she didn’t kiss me again as I’d hoped. Instead she grabbed hold of my hand and with a dreamy smile she guided it under her skirt and motioned for me to massage the area between her legs. This whole episode was hidden from our fellow passengers by the layout of the seats in the bus. I stroked her gently and could feel moisture through her regulation school briefs. Suddenly she let out a gasp and her head rolled to one side and she started to breath heavily with a look of sheer pleasure on her face. When this subsided she looked at me and whispered, "one day I’ll return the pleasure and more so". Then it was my turn to get off the bus so I walked home with my thoughts reeling.

I waited until after we had eaten before I gave Mum sister Mary’s letter. I should point out now that my Dad had died when I was tiny and Mum had successfully juggled the roles of success at work and being a loving mother. All the time she was reading the letter she kept looking up at me before reading more. When she had digested its contents she laid it down on the table and began to speak.

"Well", she said smiling after laying down the letter, "what do you want to do? The decision is yours and I’ll help you no matter what you decide".

"I’ve told them that I’ll do it for the qualifiers so I suppose I’ll have to go ahead".

"In that case, if you’re sure, I’ll send Sister Mary a reply giving my consent. Then I’ll have to go and buy you the kit you need". I wasn’t sure that I was doing the right thing and I wasn’t looking forward to wearing a netball skirt but I had made a commitment so I had to see it through.

The following morning I boarded the school bus with Mum’s letter of consent tucked in my pocket. Lynda immediately asked what I was going to do and when I confirmed that I was going to go through with it she threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek, as did Lucy. I remember thinking that I’d rather Lynda repeated her kiss of the other evening and had kissed me full on the lips.

I gave Sister Mary Mum’s letter during the mid morning break and when she read it she took me to one side. "Now that your mother has given her consent I’ll just explain to you hoe we’re going to handle the situation in an effort to support you. We obviously can’t keep it a secret from everyone in the school but we will keep those in the know to an absolute minimum. So this afternoon Sister Eudes (middle school principal) will come and talk to your class and explain what you are going to do. She will then make sure that no one will talk about it to anyone else. That way we hope to ensure that the only people who know are your immediate classmates and, of course, your fellow team members.

The principal did give the class a talk that afternoon and the initial giggles from some class members were silenced by them being reminded that I was doing it for the reputation of the school. She said that she hoped that the class would support me and that anyone causing me problems would be severely dealt with.

When I arrived home that evening I told Mum all that had happened during the day.

"Is there netball practice tomorrow as usual?" she asked and I nodded. "Well I’ve been shopping and I think I’ve got all you need". She indicated a small pile of packages on a chair. "Come on I’ll show you what I’ve bought".

She piled all the bags onto the table and proceeded to show me the contents of each one. There was a new pair of white games shoes (boys at the school normally wore black shoes) which she insisted that I try on for size. There was a couple of pairs of pale blue woollen knee length socks which all the rest of the team wore. Then she pulled out the thing that I had been dreading, the skirt, it seemed so tiny and, well, girly as she offered it up against me and I felt myself blushing. We were down to the last two packages when she pulled out a pair of sports briefs to match the skirt; I felt my face getting even redder at the sight of these. The contents of the past bag had me puzzled because she produced a pack containing three pairs of white cotton briefs. They were obviously girl’s knickers and all three had red piping trim around the leg holes and waist. I looked at them perplexed.

"What are they for?" I asked, "Surely I don’t have to wear girls knickers as well as a skirt".

"No pet I don’t think you understand, they are for you to wear underneath the sports briefs. You see girl’s sports briefs are for show and girls wear knickers under them for support and hygienic reasons. I got you the plainest ones that I could and don’t worry no one will know you’re wearing them because they won’t be able to see them you couldn’t very well wear your normal boxer shorts could you".

I shrugged my shoulders at this revelation and declined her invitation to try the skirt on. Mum then stopped smiling and began to talk to me seriously.

"Well pet I know you are a bit unsure about all this and I think that you’re very brave to undertake it all. However I really do think that you should wear the skirt for your training sessions. You really do need to get used to it and the way that it feels because you are naturally going to feel embarrassed the first time that you wear it. You’ll soon get used to it though so you’ll be able to forget about it and get on with playing the game. So promise me that you’ll wear it for the practice session tomorrow".

I nodded my agreement and she gave me a hug.

The following morning on the school bus I outwardly looked the same as normal. However, appearances can be deceptive because instead of my normal boxer shorts underwear I was wearing a pair of those tight fitting knickers. It was Mum’s idea because she said that as I would have to change later I might as well put them on now. They felt strange because they were very tight and I was all too aware of the elastic round the tops of my legs. This made me realise for the first time just why girls wore things like this because it must make them feel more secure when wearing skirts. I was also too aware that I had my ‘new’ netball kit stowed away in my schoolbag ready for use later. I decided not to tell anyone what I was planning for the practice session.

As soon as school ended I made my way, as usual, to the netball courts and after greeting the girls I went into the boys changing room situated next to the girls near the side of the courts. "This is not going to be easy", I said to myself as I undressed completely apart for my girlish knickers. I reached down inside them and pushed my little male member straight down between my legs in attempt to remove any embarrassing bulges. I pulled on my usual sports tee shirt and after tucking it in to the waistband of the knickers I examined the rest of the unfamiliar garments lying on the bench. I pulled on the burgundy sports briefs and was immediately aware that they too clung very tightly giving me more confidence in what was to come. Then as I pulled on the knee socks and sports shoes I was ready for the moment I really hadn’t been looking forward to, the skirt. I picked it up to work out just how to put it on and found out that there was a sort of horizontal zipper attached to the waistband. This was obviously to enable the wearer to adjust the waist for the most comfortable fit and the flat front flap was then held in place by one of four small buttons. After a moments hesitation I wrapped the pleats around my bottom and after adjusting to zipper I buttoned the front flap in place. Looking down I realised just how short that thing was, it only just covered my briefs. True enough, my shorts would have left just as much of my legs exposed but at least they would keep my underwear covered. Steeling myself I walked over to have a look at my reflection in the large mirror mounted on the wall beside the doorway. What I saw amazed me because after the initial embarrassment in seeing myself wearing s short skirt I realised what Lynda had said was only too true. I really could be mistaken for a girl with a short hairstyle.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady my nerves I walked outside to join the girls. Donna was the first of them to see me.

"Hey, look at Darren".

When the others turned to look at me they all came running over and started to make such a fuss saying how good I looked in my new strip.

"See, I told you that he could be taken for a girl if he wore a skirt", said Lynda.

A smiling Sister Mary suggested that we all start to do some practicing. So donning my ‘GA’ bib I walked onto the court. I played desperately badly for the first few minutes being very conscious of my little skirt flipping up whenever I jumped for the ball. However I soon forgot about it and began to play normally. I became aware of just how much more freedom of movement the skirt afforded compared with the shorts I normally wore.

After a few minutes I took a break while three of the girls practiced catching and passing with Jean. I sat on a bench, partly hidden from the field of play by a bush. As I sat there nervously fiddling with the hem of my skirt I became aware of Lynda’s presence she was standing in front of me.

"You look really good in that", she said, "please don’t take it the wrong way when I say that you look like a girl. What made you wear it today?"

"It’s OK, I’d rather I did look like a girl, that way I’ll just blend in. Mum suggested that I wear it to get used to the feel of it before the bid day because as I’m a boy I’ve never worn a skirt before".

"I never thought of that", she said sitting down beside me. "To us girls it’s quite natural but it must feel a bit strange to you".

She moved up close to me and with that mysterious smile of hers she kissed me briefly on the cheek. Although Lynda was in my class she was nearly a year older than me due to the age window used to stream children at most schools. She was very sexually mature for her age and, to coin a phrase of the time was up for it. Me, on the other hand and much to my chagrin although puberty and my progress to manhood had begun the process was painfully slow. I still had the voice of a juvenile and my little piece of manhood was still woefully undeveloped. I was attracted to girls but my slim and dainty body still showed very little evidence of my proceeding to mature adulthood. Suddenly she kissed my cheek again, this time for a little longer, and I was grateful that we were out of sight from the others at that time. I then felt her hand gently stroking the top of my leg and very gradually she moved it under my skirt and began to fondle me through my girlish underwear. The result of this was electric because my underdeveloped piece of manhood began to struggle in vain against the tight restrictions of my knickers.

She stopped her kiss suddenly and with a winsome smile on her face whispered in my ear, "I think we’ll save that for some other time". She then withdrew her hand from the area of my now aching member and dragged me off to join the others for the rest of the practice session.

When the session ended Lucy walked over towards me, as I removed my bib and was just about to go off to the changing room. "In fine weather like this we usually don’t bother the get changed, we normally just slip on our school sweaters and just go home as we are as it seems such a bother. Why don’t you do the same as us?"

"Well I…" I couldn’t think of an argument against the idea at that moment, "I suppose I could…"

So the three of us still in our netball kit and carrying bags containing our normal uniforms clambered onto the waiting minibus. Thankfully the two younger girls had made their own transport arrangements so we were alone for the trip. Lucy, as usual sat at the front of the bus next to the driver while Lynda joined me on the back seat. During the journey she kept ‘accidentally’ touching my leg, which began to get me aroused again. I think that she knew what she was doing and the effect she was having on me but she said nothing.

At the end of the journey I suddenly realised that I would have to walk the short distance to my house resplendent in my little netball skirt. Our road was normally quiet and wasn’t overlooked by houses so I hoped that there would be no one around to see me. Clutching my bag I leant forward to open the door and just as I did so I felt Lynda flip up the back of my skirt. Both girls began to laugh hysterically at my obvious embarrassment and were still laughing as, blushing fiercely, I waved them goodbye as they continued their journey.

I was in luck because there was nobody about during my short walk to the house. However, as I approached home I saw Mum’s car parked in the driveway. She must have got home early; I had hoped to get home and change out of my skirt before she arrived. I had no alternative but to go in dressed as I was but I still had a feint hope that she would be busy somewhere and I could get to the sanctuary of my bedroom without her seeing me. I was out of luck because she must have been looking out for me, the front door opened while I was still only half way up the garden path.

"Well, look at you", she said smiling, "you do look the part and no mistake. Come on inside your tea is ready on the table". I didn’t even get the chance to get changed even then as I sat at the table for my meal.

After we had finished I helped clear away and Mum said, "Well let’s have a look at you then". She stood back while I turned around to give her a good look; she seemed to enthuse at the way I looked while I squirmed with embarrassment.

"Shall I go and get changed?" I asked.

"Well you don’t have to", she replied, "You really should take every opportunity to get used to wearing a skirt before the qualifying matches you know". She stood there looking at me thoughtfully while I looked down at my tiny skirt not knowing what to do. "I suppose it might be a good idea to change though as a netball skirt might get a bit warm and uncomfortable. Wait here, I’ve just had an idea".

With that she disappeared in the direction of her bedroom leaving me wondering what was on her mind. She soon returned carrying something white, "I think that these will be far more comfortable. Now take off those shoes, socks, your skirt and those sports briefs". I was about to question this but she was already unfastening my skirt so in a few seconds I stood there dressed only it my pale blue tee skirt and knickers. "It’s a good job that we take the same size in shoes and although I’m a bit taller that you these should fit you".

It was then I realised that the white items that she was carrying were part of her tennis kit and before I could say or do anything she was having me step into her tennis skirt. Unlike my netball skirt, this one didn’t have pleats it was circular and it had a pale blue band around near the hem. She zipped me into it muttering to herself about it being a perfect fit and it colour matched my tee shirt. I then suffered the indignity of having her help to pull on her tennis panties. Unlike my sports briefs these were very fine and white and festooned with rows of frilly lace that seemed to completely envelope my bottom. A couple of minutes later she had added a pair of white ankle socks and tennis shoes and she stood back with an approving look at her handiwork.

"There that’s perfect and you’ll be much more comfortable", she said.

All the time I was so taken aback by all this I hadn’t said a word but I did manage to mention that I was concerned about the flighty characteristics of the full circular skirt.

After all this, at Mum’s suggestion I meekly followed her as she walked off into the garden. As I reached the door however I stopped, I just couldn’t face going outside dressed like a girl ready to play tennis. Mum, realising that I hadn’t followed her turned towards me.

"What’s the matter pet? Aren’t you coming outside? It’s such a glorious evening"

"But Mum, I feel silly dressed like this, what if anyone should see me".

"I understand pet", she said walking back towards me. "Come with me I’ve something to show you". With that she took me by the hand and led me into the hallway and stood me in front of the mirror. "Now, tell me what you see".

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and was amazed at just how feminine I looked in my little tennis outfit. The skirt for the moment safely hid the frills and lace and I was lost for words.

"Well, tell me what you see" she asked again.

"I ‘Er look like a girl ready to play tennis", I replied softly unable to understand my mixed up feelings.

"Well there you are then, if anyone should see you that’s exactly what they will think you are. Now come along outside it’s a shame to waste the sunshine moping about indoors".

With that she held my hand again and we walked outside together. I was immediately aware that the circular tennis skirt, was light and flighty and the slightest hint of a breeze exposed my multi-frilled bottom. As I held the thing down in an effort to preserve my dignity, Mum laughed at my antics and said I shouldn’t worry too much because the panties were made to look nice because they were meant to be seen.

We walked over to the garden seats and sat down next to each other. I began to fiddle around with the hem of my little skirt trying to cover as much of my legs as possible. Mum looked at me carefully and began to talk in a serious tone.

"Pet I want to ask you something and I want you to promise me that you’ll give me an honest answer".

"Of course I will", I replied puzzled by the seriousness in her voice, and "what do you want to know?"

"Actually it’s not one thing, it’s more, but first I need to know just how you’re feeling at this moment".

"Feeling? Well sort of strange, I don’t know how to put it".

"No, maybe I put it badly, what I mean is that here you are a little boy wearing girl’s clothes. What I want to know is do you think that they’re uncomfortable? Do you think that your normal clothes are more comfortable?"

"No, they’re not uncomfortable they feel quite nice actually they just feel, well, different to my normal things".

"Do you feel like a sissy wearing them?" she asked.

"Well I did I suppose at first, but when I saw myself I thought that I looked alright so it didn’t bother me anymore in that way. I don’t think that I’d want to wear clothes like these all the time though".

"Perish the thought", she replied with a laugh and took hold of my hand looking at me closely. "I admit that I had misgivings about agreeing for you to play netball for the school and having to wear a skirt. I was almost on the point of refusing but when I thought about it I began to ask myself just what were my reasons for refusing. After all a skirt is just an item of clothing albeit different from the things that boys normally wear. I also realised that it wouldn’t be a problem for you because with your looks and build you would easily be mistaken for a girl if you wore a skirt".

I jiffled about on my frilled bottom not knowing where all this was leading, she continued talking.

"I was also worried about the effect it would have on you and that’s why I insisted that if ever you have second thoughts about it you could pull out of the team with no questions asked. Another thing that bothered me was more to do with my own thoughts. You hear about mothers who desperately want a little girl but all they have is a little boy. I’ve read stories about them putting their little boys into dresses and giving them girls hairstyles just so they can pretend that they have a daughter. That sort of thing must be devastating for the boys in question; can you imagine me doing that sort of thing to you? I had first hand experience of that sort of thing a few years ago and it made me so angry".

"What happened?" I asked intrigued.

"Well if you really want to know it happened when you were only about three years old. I used to assist the local Scout Group helping run one of the Cub Packs. The Pack was working with the other units at that time to put on a local Gang Show. After they had sorted out all the acts and sketches there came the problem of casting, you know getting the right boys picked for the various roles. The group was strictly all males so, as seemed to be tradition in the Scouts, the boys themselves performed any female roles. This of course led to a lot of leg pulling and micky taking for the boys chosen to play girls. The Cubs normally bore the brunt of providing ‘girls’ because as they were younger they looked more convincing and of course they could be more easily persuaded. Our pack was asked to provide four boys to take girls parts in a short play. Of course none of our boys wanted to have to dress up like girls so as we didn’t get any volunteers it was left to the Akela and us helpers to select the likely candidates, or should I say victims. Having carefully selected four likely boys we then had to call on all our collective powers of persuasion in order to get the boys and their parents to agree to do it. Once that was sorted out we then had to turn our attention to the costumes that they would have to wear. It was normal for the boys and their parents to make or provide their own costumes and on this occasion we couldn’t see any real problems in that area. The costumes for our boys were nothing out of the ordinary, just cotton dresses with the appropriate socks and shoes etc. the Group would provide wigs and things like that if they were needed. We were reasonably confident that the boys would all have sisters, cousins or friends to enable them to borrow the appropriate items. We gave each boy a detailed list of the requirements to take home and thought that there wouldn’t be any real problems apart from getting the boys to actually wear the dresses. The Scout HQ was not very big and although there was a stage the changing facilities were very limited. It was because of this that all performers were asked that wherever possible they should arrive at the HQ ready in their costumes".

I wasn’t sure where this was leading but I listened with interest while she continued.

Well rehearsals got under way and our four boys really got into their parts well. They didn’t have a lot to say in the play but it was necessary for them to be on stage for most of the time. A week before the dress rehearsal we contacted each of the boys’ families to check if there were ant problems with the costumes. None wear reported and the Group would not have to provide any wigs. Two of the boys had fairly long hair and their mothers reckoned their hair easily be combed into a ponytail or bunches. The third boy’s mother said that her daughter had a wig that she used for dancing displays so he would be able to use that. When we contacted to fourth boy’s mother, a boy called Peter, she assured us that there was no problem with his costume and on the question of the wig she replied rather mysteriously that it wouldn’t be required because she had made ‘special arrangements’. On the day of the dress rehearsal backstage at the HQ was a mass of boys wearing all manner of costumes waiting for their turn to perform. We had erected a large tent by the back door to give extra space and this too was full. We stood looking out for our quartet and the two who had not required wigs were the first to arrive, both of them had their hair tied in little girl bunches complete with bows and they did look cute, if not a little nervous, in their little cotton dresses. The third boy, Gary, arrived a few seconds later and was wearing a rather splendid dark shoulder length wig and the three of them stood together looking apprehensive. We were getting a little concerned because Peter had still not arrived then suddenly I saw his mother pushing her way through the crowd. I couldn’t see Peter but when his mother reached me she explained that she had left him to wait in the car because she didn’t want him to spoil the look of his costume pushing his way through the mass trying to find us. It seemed an odd thing to say but before I could respond she was off to get her son. It was when I saw Peter that I really got upset, he was wearing what was an obviously very expensive white dress liberally decorated with tiny white satin bows. It was obvious that under the short full skirt he was wearing a net petticoat. The costume was completed by a pair of lace trimmed ankle socks and white button shoes. However it was his hair that I really took exception to and at first I thought that he was wearing a wig. On closer inspection it was obvious that it was his own hair only now it had changed from his normal dark brown to light blond. It had been expertly restyled so that it now was a mass of loose curls that framed his rather petit face. The effect was finished off by a white bow of satin ribbon. I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t get chance because his mother kissed him goodbye on the cheek and left. I didn’t even have time to speak to him because at that moment the four ‘girls’ were called on stage so I went to stand in the wings to watch their performance. I really felt for Peter because this was not what the spirit of Gang Shows is all about. The other three looked like what they were, little boys wearing dresses and it was all a bit of fun. Peter however didn’t look like that at all he looked, well, like a real little girl. When they had finished their rehearsal I had chance to talk to him alone which wasn’t difficult because the other three were obviously embarrassed by his girlish transformation and left him standing all by himself.

All I could think to of to start the conversation was, "well done Peter you were very good at rehearsal, my that is a nice dress did your Mum borrow it from someone?"

The poor mite looked like he was about to burst into tears as his bottom lip started to tremble. "No she took me down to London last Saturday to buy it, she then took me to a salon to have my hair done like this".

I was rather taken aback by this, "you mean that you’ve had to go around all week with your hair like that? Wasn’t it a bit awkward when you went outside, didn’t anyone say anything? It must have attracted some comments from your friends".

"Well it was a bit of a problem but we’re not at school this week and I don’t have that many friends. It didn’t really matter if anyone saw me because mummy bought me two everyday dresses so I could practice wearing one. So if anyone did see me they thought that I was a… girl".

The bottom lip started to tremble again and I was sure that he was going to cry. "You mean that you’ve had to wear dresses all week, do you mind?"

"It’s not so bad I suppose, Mummy says it is our little game and she seems to like it when I’m dressed like this. I don’t really like dresses because they keep getting in the way and it’s difficult riding my bicycle. Mummy says that I will have to wear this dress when we go to the seaside to see my Gran on Sunday, she says that Gran will really like seeing me in it".

"Well you can imagine just how angry I felt. Just how could she inflict that sort of thing on her little boy? He looked so unhappy but there was nothing that I could do about it. I didn’t even get the chance to tell her what I thought about her".

"But Mum, you said that it made you angry seeing that boy Peter dressed like a girl but I’m wearing frilly knickers and a petticoat now, so what’s the difference?"

"The difference is that you don’t seem to be embarrassed or humiliated. If you had shown the slightest concern I would have made you go and change immediately. Also you have the good fortune to be able to be mistaken for a girl and as you don’t seem to mind wearing a skirt too much you might as well enjoy the experience. It won’t be much longer before your body starts to develop then you won’t be able to get away with it so it’s now or never. Now enough of all this let’s enjoy the evening sunshine".

With all this running through my mind I decided to wander down the garden and once there I went through a gap in the hedge into Mr Henry’s orchard. Mr Henry was a local farmer and we met him soon after we moved in. When Mum mentioned the gap in the hedge leading to his orchard he assured her that we were more than welcome to go in at any time. We could even help ourselves to some apples when they were ripe. I went over to a wooden swing that was attached to a stout branch by two ropes. I sat on the swing, taking care not to get my girlish frills dirty and gently swung to and fro lost in a myriad of confusing thoughts and emotions. Mum was right, the clothes that I was wearing felt nice and if I was honest with myself I was quite enjoying wearing them. Suddenly a voice from behind jolted me back to reality.

"Good evening my dear, it’s such lovely weather isn’t it"?

I turned around suddenly to see who was speaking, it was an elderly lady who was accompanied by a small boy a couple of years or so younger than me, probably her grandson, they were walking with a small brown dog. In turning so quickly lost my balance and I turned slowly upside down and landed softly on my head on the grass below. My legs however were still resting on the swing resulting in my little skirt riding up to my chest exposing my luxuriously frilled knickers to the world in general.

"Gracious, are you all right, I didn’t mean to startle you", in my upside down view of the world I could see the lady rushing towards me. "Come along Gavin, give the young lady some help".

Gavin, getting more than an eyeful of my exposed underwear, untangled my legs from the swing and soon modesty was returned to normal.

"Are you sure you’re all right?" asked the lady again.

"Quite sure thanks", I said still blushing at the antics of my skirts, "the grass is very soft".

"Oh that is a relief, have you being playing tennis? That’s such a pretty tennis outfit you have on, you look quite delightful".

I thanked her for her compliments and after assuring her that there was no damage done the lady and her grandson resumed their walk. This episode made me even more confident that I could pull off my little netball deception. Even being exposed like that at such close quarters they didn’t even suspect that I was not a real little girl in a tennis outfit. Strangely that thought made me feel warm inside and I found myself hugging myself in a very girlish fashion.

A few minutes later I began skipping back towards the house not even caring if I was showing off my frills. I kept thinking to myself, if I dress like a boy I look like a boy and if I dress like a girl I look like a girl. Somehow these thoughts made me feel wonderful.

Mum was waiting for me when I skipped into the house and said that as I had been such a brave boy I could stay up an hour later than normal and watch TV. I think I took her by surprise when I ran up to her and hugged her and said, "thanks Mum", and kissed her on the cheek.

"Thanks for what pet?" she asked.

"Oh, just thanks", I replied and sat down to watch TV.

Mum came and sat in the chair opposite and I could see her looking at me sitting among all my girlish frills and lace. "You can go and change out of those things if you want to", she said.

"Oh, I can’t be bothered, I’ll stay as I am".

She gave me a strange smile but said nothing more on the subject. The only thing I did remove was the tennis shoes and after a while I found myself with my legs tucked under me in a very girlish pose. If Mum noticed she didn’t say anything.

The next few days found me back to my normal boy persona apart from wearing my netball skirt and knickers on practice days. Mum never mentioned my sojourn into her tennis outfit again and I had more to think of than that, the qualifiers. These took place over one day at a nearby sports centre and the aim was to win at least two out of three matches to qualify. On the day in question I was picked up in the school minibus driven by Sister Mary and I was already wearing my netball kit as we were told that changing facilities at the venue would be limited due to the numbers I attendance. We exceeded all expectations and won all three of our qualifying matches and we were through to the county championships with me scoring the winner in the final game. The team were elated and jumped about giggling, hugging and kissing each other with me joining in behaving in a very girlish way.

I arrived home still dressed in my netball kit and Mum was overjoyed at the news the we had qualified. I kept my skirt on for the rest of the evening because I realised that it was probably the last time that I would wear it. I had done everything that had been asked of me and helped the team to the finals. Now the girls had four weeks to get the team in shape for the big occasion and they would have to concentrate on getting a suitable replacement for me.

It seemed peculiar at first on netback practice days because I still had to wait for them to finish before I could get home. I decided not to go and watch them but to get on with some of my homework while I waited. They had drafted in a new girl into the team, a girl called Lisa who apparently showed promise. Jean apparently was prepared to carry on as the main substitute but had asked not to be considered as first choice in the team itself.

It was after the second practice session when Lynda came and sat next to me on the bus home. Lucy had been picked up be her parents because the were going off somewhere so the two of us were alone on the back seat. She asked me why I didn’t come to watch them practice and I explained that I had done what I had committed to and that I wanted them to concentrate on getting ready for the finals without my influence. Then she stood up on the pretext of getting something from her bag, which she had placed on the seat in front. Looking back on what happened next I’m certain that her actions were pre-conceived and deliberate. She was still dressed in her netball kit and in order to reach her bag she had to bend over right next to me. However instead of the usual sports briefs it was only too obvious that she was wearing fancy knickers. They were white and decorated with tiny rosebuds with a lace trim around the edges and they were not at all the regulation underwear the school insisted on. She turned and smiled at me knowing full well that I had seen what she was wearing.

"I took off my sports briefs when we had finished practice because I was too hot. I don’t always wear regulation knickers because they are so boring, do you like the ones that I’m wearing?"

All I could answer t this was a rather pathetic, "yes".

She then resumed her seat and shuffled up close to me then she whispered into my ear. "I think that we should continue with our unfinished business, don’t you?"

With that, and before I could say anything, she moved her head around and placing her hand at the back if my neck began to kiss me full on the lips again. That first kiss was quite brief and I think she used it to test my reaction. I was beginning to get aroused and seeing that I hadn’t objected she changed her position and began to kiss me again, this time with a lot more passion. After a few seconds she gently took my hand and placed it on her leg knowing what she wanted me to do. I slowly reached under her skirt and began to fondle her through her fancy underwear. Then I felt her slowly unzipping my fly and she gently eased her hand inside my boxer shorts and began to fondle my rather immature male member. This time, free from the previous restrictions, it grew instantaneously and I found her attentions making me tingle all over. The kiss and the fondling continued for a minute or two before she began to twitch and murmur quietly "Oh yes, Yes". Her climax steadily subsided and she withdrew her kissing and looked dreamily into my eyes. "That was wonderful, but you’re not finished yet are you". With that she began to fondle me with increased vigour and suddenly I climaxed and began to ejaculate inside my boxers. The difference this time was that the result was far more intense than anything I had experienced before. My whole body began to convulse as I experienced the most wonderful sensations all over. It subsided all too soon and then we began to adjust our clothing and sat back in silence for a couple of minutes. I knew that I needed to change my damp boxers but that would have to wait until I got home.

Lynda then suddenly stood up and threw her leg over me and sat straddling my legs facing me. In that position with her tiny netball skirt all akimbo she gave me an uninterrupted view of her, now damp, fancy underwear. She smiled at me, "I think you enjoyed that, didn’t you, I know I did". Then she put both hands on my cheeks and kissed me again.

On the walk back to my house I began to wonder if all the happenings over the past few weeks were getting a little too much for my immature soul. What with wearing skirts and Lynda’s clandestine attentions I was confused at my reactions and feelings about it all.

During the next couple of weeks things returned, more or less, back to normal. Lynda didn’t press her attentions on me again although she did insist on sitting close to me on the bus and would often gently hold my hand. She also spent most break times chatting to me, which didn’t bother me because I enjoyed her company very much. My attempts at putting all the experiences of them previous weeks behind me and resuming a normal life were suddenly thwarted. This all happened in a manner that I hadn’t expected and I think that it changed my outlook on life forever.

It started one day when the girls informed me that they would be having an extended practice that evening and that they would be making their own home travel arrangements. So I had the unusual experience on travelling home on the bus alone. The younger girls had got used to practice nights and made their own arrangements for those days. I did my homework and we had our meal and I was just sitting down to watch TV when the doorbell rang.

I wasn’t expecting anyone so I let Mum who was in the kitchen answer it. My ears pricked up when I thought I heard familiar voices but I couldn’t be sure over the noise of the TV set. Suddenly the door opened and in came Mum followed by Sister Mary, Cathy our netball team Centre and captain together with Lynda. They had obviously come straight from practice because Sister Mary was still in her tracksuit and the girls were in the netball strip. Mum asked them all to sit down and said that they all wanted to talk to me.

Sister Mary looked at me, smiled and began to speak in her soft Irish accent, "as you know the school team are through to the County Championship Netball Finals thanks in no small part to your efforts. I know that we originally agreed that you would participate only as far as the qualifiers. To do that was very important for the school because as defending champions it would be very disappointing not to get at least that far. The thing is that the girls now think that the team are in with a very good chance of retaining the Trophy provided that they fill the one weak position. That position is the one that you did so well in during the qualifiers".

"But I thought that the new girl Lisa was doing well", I replied.

"She is", said Cathy, "although she’s not as good a Goal Attack as you. The problem is that Lisa’s father is being posted abroad so she will be leaving school at the end of the week".

Sister Mary continued, "all the girls in the team have asked me to come here to ask you if you would consider playing for the team in the Finals. I know the original agreement was for you to play only as far as the qualifiers but the team played so well with you as GA they think that they have a chance to go all the way".

I was rather taken aback by this and just looked at Mum and said, "Well I’m not sure…"

Lynda chipped in, "Oh do think about it, it will be such fun. We go down to High Wycombe next Thursday and spend three nights being cared for by local families. They treat us to a special dinner plus entertainment on Thursday evening. The families take us out on Friday evening and we have a dance or something on Saturday. Then after the Finals on Sunday they have the presentations and we travel home in time for bed. It will be great, please think about it".

I didn’t know what to say, I thought that my days of wearing my netball skirt, now hanging forlornly in my wardrobe, was a thing of the past. Mum then began to speak.

"I won’t try to influence Darren one way or the other, it must be his decision and his alone whether he goes along with your request or not. All I will say is that whatever his decision is I will support him either way".

"I know it is difficult to spring something like this on him without warning", said Sister Mary. "However time is getting short and Jean, our substitute, has said that she is nowhere near good enough and will only play if there is no alternative".

It was Mum who broke the silence that followed by saying, "I think that Darren and me ought to discuss this further and he will give you his decision tomorrow".

Sister Mary asked if it was possible for the three of to leave Mum and her alone while they had a private discussion. So at Mum’s suggestion I took the two girls to my room so that they could be alone. Once we were there Cathy picked up my Walkman and with the earphones in she began to listen to my music tapes. With Cathy otherwise engaged Lynda began to use her persuasive powers on me.

"Please say that you’ll do it, I’ll look after you so you won’t have anything to worry about and it will be a lot of fun. Just think, four days away from home having a great time and all entertainment provided". Then as she then put both of her hands on my cheeks to ensure my complete attention she whispered. "Plus, who knows what else?" She then planted a lingering kiss on my lips.

When the three had left Mum told me that I shouldn’t make any decision then but I should sleep on it and that I should make my decision overnight and tell her what I had decided in the morning.

That night I lay in bed wondering what I should do and I fell asleep still undecided. I can’t remember what I dreamed about but I woke in the morning with my mind made up, I would do it. When I told Mum my decision she just said that she would do all she could to help me. She then said, rather mysteriously, that I would need more help than I did during my last venture. As soon as I boarded the bus in the morning both Lucy and Lynda wanted to know my decision and when I told them the both rushed to give me a hug and told me how happy I had made them. Practice days found me once again wearing my netball skirt and I soon got back into playing my heart out much to the team’s, especially Lynda’s, satisfaction.

Something was going on at home but I didn’t know what. There was a lot of coming and going and more than once I got home to find some strange woman just leaving. Mum however wasn’t saying anything so I didn’t bother about it much.

The day before our departure arrived after our final practice session I arrived home as usual wearing my netball kit. Mum greeted me and after we had eaten she said that she had a few things to say to me before I went to bed. I sat on the sofa tucking my legs under me as I had got into the habit of doing whenever I was wearing a skirt. She came in and sat on the chair facing me and began to speak.

"Now pet", she began, "going away for the netball finals is a little bit more complicated than taking part in the qualifiers. I deliberately didn’t say anything about this to you before now because if, after listening to what I’m about to say, you decide not to go through with it you won’t be subjected to any pressure from the other team members because you won’t have to see them. Also I wasn’t sure if I could organise everything you’ll need for your stay in time, however I’ve had lots of help especially from Lynda’s mother so everything is organised. The first hurdle is that you’ll be expected be wearing full school uniform the minute you arrive in High Wycombe for the initial presentation meeting".

"That’s all right", I said interrupting her, "I don’t mind going in my school uniform after all it is a school day. If I wasn’t going to High Wycombe I’d be wearing my uniform for school so what’s the difference?" Then the full realisation of my situation came to me, "Oh, I see, I’ll be expected to wear the girls uniform, but I…" I trailed off not knowing what to say.

"Yes, as you say, you’re going as part of a team of girls representing your school so you’ll be expected to look like a schoolgirl. Unfortunately that means that you’ll have to go in the girls uniform and, of course, that means that you will be expected to wear a skirt. Not only that but you’ll be away for four days and three nights and there will be lots of occasions when will not be wearing your uniform or your netball kit. On those occasions you will be expected to wear clothes that are appropriate for a little girl coming up to her fourteenth birthday".

Mum’s words seemed to go spinning round in my head. Yes it was obvious, why hadn’t I thought of the repercussions when I agreed to play in the netball finals? All I could think to say was, "but I don’t have a girl’s uniform or anything else".

"Don’t worry about that, I’ve managed to borrow a lot of the things you’ll need and those things I couldn’t borrow I’ve bought. Lynda’s Mum has been a great help and Lynda has promised to look after you. Now you know what you’re letting yourself in for I want you to tell me truthfully whether you still want to go or not. You’re not to worry about letting the team down if you decide not to go because they will understand. After all, what they have asked you to do is something that most little boys would not even consider undertaking and you’ve done more than enough for them already. If you have any doubts at all about it then you shouldn’t go, no one will think any the worse of you if you refuse to do it".

Mum looked at me, waiting for an answer and after a few seconds thinking about it I knew that I could only give her one answer. "OK, I’ve decided, I’ll do it".

Mum gave me a big hug, "I think that you’re a very brave little boy. Now if you change your mind or have second thoughts before the morning you must tell me, don’t even think about going if you have any doubts at all. You will tell me, won’t you?"

"Of course I will Mum", I said and went off to get ready for bed. I had a big day ahead of me and the school minibus would be arriving to collect me at ten thirty.

The following morning I had the chance a bit of a lie in because I didn’t have to catch the school bus at it’s normal time of eight fifteen. During breakfast Mum explained that all the members of the team had been paired off because the families supplying the hospitality were each taking two girls. She told me that I had been paired with Lynda, which was no real surprise to me. Then after asking me if I really wanted to go through with it I went off to my room to get ready.

I saw that Mum had already laid out my clothes so after washing I proceeded to get ready for the day ahead. I soon found out that above the waist I would be wearing what I wore every day to school. My blazer, shirt and tie were my own as it was assumed that nobody would notice that they buttoned up the ‘wrong way’. Below my waist however was a different story, it began with the now familiar tight fitting cotton knickers, which by wearing them underneath my sports briefs as part of my netball kit I had got used to. There was a pair of knee length white socks, which I pulled from a new pack and obviously new pair of shiny black buckle shoes, Mum must have gone out and bought these especially for me. Then there was the skirt, it was the regulation burgundy colour and was pleated all round unlike my netball skirt which was only pleated at the back. I examined it and found that a button fastened it and a zip and I wondered if the zip should go at the back or the side. I decided that the label should go at the back and as I was undoing the zip I noticed a name tape sewed into the waistband proclaiming the name ‘Lynda Robinson’. So this was one of Lynda’s skirts I muttered to myself as I stepped into it and fastened it in place. Because it was obviously longer than my netball skirt it felt odd as it brushed against my legs when I walked but this was a sensation, which I felt was quite nice. I went downstairs to present myself to Mum for inspection.

"Let’s have a look at you", she said as I walked into the kitchen where she was busy tidying up. "Do the shoes fit comfortably? I never like buying shoes for you without you coming with me to get a proper fit". She knelt down and started to feel the fit of my girlish buckle shoes and she adjusted the straps a little. "Now how does everything else feel?" she felt the waistband of my skirt and muttered that it was a perfect fit. After giving me a close inspection she smiled at me and stood back. "Now you’re absolutely sure about going through with it?"

"Yes, I’ve thought about it and it’s not such a big deal, I think it might be fun".

"OK then, I’m sure that you’ll enjoy yourself", she walked over and gave me a hug. She was always giving me hugs when I wore skirts, I didn’t know why. "Now we’ve packed you a case with everything you’ll need for your stay. In fact there’s more than you’ll need but I had help from Mrs Robinson who knows far more that I do about girls needs when they go away. Lynda will be on hand to help you so there shouldn’t be any problems about sorting out the right things to wear.

I looked at the suitcase already fastened and standing by the door. I also noticed that it had a label attached bearing the name ’Darryl Foster’. "Hey you’ve spelt my name wrong".

"That was deliberate, you couldn’t very well go away masquerading as a girl with a name like Darren because that is a boys name. Whereas the name Darryl can be used for either sex and as the two names sound similar it shouldn’t cause any problems if anyone forgets and calls you Darren".

"You mean that they all know about my new name?" I asked.

"Yes, they’ve all been informed so don’t be surprised if they begin to call you Darryl when you get on the bus. Now that you’re sure that you’re going through with it there’s a couple of things that you need to start doing".

"What are they?"

"Well firstly you must get into the habit of brushing your skirt underneath you whenever you sit down, like this". She demonstrated and had me do it a few of times until she was satisfied. "Now don’t forget and another thing is that you must never sit like you are doing at present with your legs sprawled wide apart. If you do you’ll do exactly what you’re doing now and give them a great view of your underwear. Remember that you should always sit with your knees together".

I looked down at my legs and blushed with embarrassment and immediately clamped my knees together.

"Now just a couple of finishing touches and you’ll be all set", she handed me a small plastic tube. "I want you to get into the habit of using this". She showed me how to pull the tube apart revealing a tiny brush.

"What’s that?" I asked examining the object more closely.

"It’s mascara", she said, "it’s one of the essentials that no female would be without".

I had heard of it and knew that it was some sort on makeup. "But we aren’t allowed to use make up".

"That may be so but I’ll bet that every girl in your class goes to school wearing mascara every day. It’s very difficult to detect and has the effect of accentuating your eyes and making them look bigger. Now sit in front of the mirror and I’ll teach you how to apply it". I did as she asked and spent the next few minutes manipulating the tiny brush and its contents over my eyelashes. I soon got the hang of it after a few abortive attempts and I was amazed at how such a small amount of the stuff could change my appearance so much. "Now mascara needs to be re-applied at regular intervals during the day, girls normally do it every time they visit the bathroom so don’t forget and always keep it with you". I clutched at the little tube thinking that I would put it into my blazed pocket when I put it on for the journey. "Now for the final touch", Mum produced a comb and began to comb my hair across my forehead. "Your hair’s not long enough to style but if you comb it across like this it will look more like a girls. Plus if you remember to clip it like this it will look even more so". As if from nowhere, she produced a tiny silver hair slide and clipped it into my hair. "Now walk over there so I can see what you look like".

I did as she asked and stood in the middle of the kitchen while Mum examined me from all angles nodding approvingly as she did so. Then she started to chuckle to herself.

"What’s wrong?" I asked getting a little alarmed, "Do I look funny or something?"

"No, not at all my pet, you couldn’t be mote wrong in thinking that", she replied trying in vain to suppress her giggles. "No, a strange thought came to me seeing you like that".

"Oh, what was it?"

"Well I was thinking that seeing you like that for the first time just how pretty you look". I felt myself colouring up at this remark. "I thought that when you get back we should go out and buy you a really pretty dress with all the trimmings then we could spend a day out as mother and her little girl".

"Oh, please Mum, not that, I couldn’t do it…" I felt my face burning with embarrassment.

"I was only joking", she chuckled and put her arm around me, "as if I would really subject you to something like that".

The funny thing was that although I felt relieved at that something deep inside me seemed to be a little disappointed. Maybe it would be nice to try it, just once…

At that moment we heard a horn outside and looking out of the window confirmed that the minibus had arrived. It wasn’t the normal school bus because that would still be needed for school duties. This one was bright red and looked almost new. Sister Mary who was accompanied in the front by Sister Eudes was driving it. Mum helped me slip into my blazer and I popped the tube of mascara into a pocket. I was immediately aware of how much of my skirt was covered by the blazer when it was buttoned up. The hem of the skirt came to a point about three inches above my knees leaving only about four inched of skirt in view. I picked up by suitcase containing its mysterious content and giving Mum a kiss proceeded outside.

By the time I reached the bus Sister Eudes had alighted and reached to open the side door fro me to climb inside. "Good morning Darryl", she said smiling, it seemed funny for her to address me using my ‘new’ name.

As the side door slid open there was a spontaneous round of applause from the girls inside followed by a few cheers. Seeing that I was taken aback by this Sister Eudes explained that the girls had expected me not to go through with it. So when they saw me all ready to go with them they were really happy. As I clambered inside depositing my case on top of the pile already stacked at the front there were several remarks like ‘hello Darryl’ and ‘good old Darryl I knew he wouldn’t let us down’. As usual Lynda had reserved me a seat next to her at the back and she motioned me to come and sit down. She smiled as she saw me unbutton my blazed then, remembering Mum’s coaching I brushed my skirt underneath as I took my seat.

As I waved Mum goodbye Lynda whispered in my ear, "I see you’ve been practicing, you look really nice in that skirt".

"Yes but it’s your skirt, your name’s still in the waistband, how come?"

"Oh it got me into a bit of bother about a month ago, Sister Eudes called me into her office and reminded me about the school’s policy on skirt length. Of course I acted dumb but she got out her tape measure and told me to get a longer one. I had no choice but to comply so I ended up with a perfectly good school skirt that I couldn’t wear. Then when we knew that you needed one it seemed to be the ideal thing, I’m a bit taller than you but otherwise we’re similar in size so you ended up with it. Obviously it’s no good to me anymore so you can keep it and do with it whatever you want to".

"Well I’m not sure that I’ll have a use for it after this weekend", I said.

"Well, you never know you might want to have a change from wearing trousers for school, you could wear the skirt instead. You wouldn’t have a problem because you’d still be complying with the uniform code". She started giggling to herself at this while I began to colour up.

As the bus continued on its journey I became aware of the girls in front moving about. Then Cathy the team Captain and Centre squeezed onto the edge of the seat immediately in front of me and turned to face me. Cathy was a big tall built girl with slightly masculine features. Her build was ideal for playing in her position of Centre and although netball is a strictly none contact sport her sheer physical presence was rather intimidating to the opposition. As the other girls pressed towards me she began to speak.

"Darren, sorry Darryl, the team think that you are so brave to agree to play for us in the finals. We know that it must be very hard for you because you are a boy but we want you to know that we really do appreciate what you are doing for us. We’ll help you in any way we can to prevent ant problems that may occur over the next few days. We all know that with your prowess playing Goal Attack we have every chance of progressing through to the later stages of the competition. Thanks again for all you’re doing and let’s give them hell on the court".

With that the girls all began applauding and cheering me making my already red face even redder. Then Donna the team’s Wing Attack squeezed in next to Cathy, Donna’s diminutive build seemed to be dwarfed by Cathy.

"Darryl", she said, "we know how hard it is on you to have to play wearing a skirt. We also appreciate the way that you’ve tried to make yourself look like a girl so that there won’t be any questions asked. With that in mind all the girls have clubbed together to get you something that might help you a little bit more. It will also serve as a reminder to you of this weekend when everything is over".

With that she handed me a tiny box and when I opened it I saw that it contained a set of stud, pearl clip on earrings. I didn’t know what to say and just muttered some thanks and what I was doing was nothing. Lynda chimed in and offered to help me put them on and while she was doing so someone from the front of the bus shouted.

"Let’s hear it for Darryl", and they all gave me a rousing three cheers, which in the confines of the bus was deafening.

After that they all went back to their seats and the journey continued rather more quietly. As I was looking at the world passing by through the window I became aware of Lynda’s hand resting on my leg. Ever so slowly it moved up my leg, under my skirt and began to stroke my most private area. This action obviously had an electrifying effect on me but thankfully it didn’t last. Suddenly she withdrew her hand, patted my skirt back into place and with a mischievous smile whispered into my newly bejewelled ear, "maybe later on".

I shuffled about on my seat, feeling a little embarrassed when Lynda began to speak again. "Hey I’ve just had a thought, I’ll bet you’re glad that the netball finals aren’t played during next term instead of this one".

"Oh, why?"

"Because if they were you wouldn’t be sitting here wearing a skirt you’d be wearing one of those awful school dresses".

At the start of the summer term the girls forsook their pleated skirts and blazers and replaced them with red and white gingham dresses and cardigans. I knew that none of the girls liked the dresses but having seen pictures of girls wearing them I couldn’t see what the problem was after all they were girls and girls wore dresses didn’t they? The dresses were made from cotton and had a full skirt that flared from the waist, at the neck was a little collar trimmed with lace and the arms had little sleeves cut off mid way between the shoulder and elbow. The girls loathed those dresses with a passion and had been campaigning to get them re-styled, so far without success. I could see that for the older girls the dresses were a bit childish but I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. During the winter terms all the girls were given a project in their needlework classes to make themselves two dresses each ready for the onset of the summer term. Ant attempt to stray from the approved pattern such as using less material for the skirt to cut down the amount of flare or dropping the waistline were all too quickly discovered my the needle work teachers and the guilty party was made to put things right in her own time. Even shortening the skirt didn’t really help because all it did was make the dress look more childish on the wearer.

"I think I’d like to see you in one of those", Lynda giggled.

The journey took over an hour and when we finally stopped in a crowded car park Sister Eudes began to give us our instructions. We were told that each pair would be given a slip of paper with the name of the family who would be looking after us printed on it. After the formalities in the large building we were parked near were completed we were to collect our cases from the bus and then proceed with both sisters to find our allotted family a representative of which would be holding a name card. Only then were we to break up from the group. Someone asked where the sisters would be staying and were told that they would be spending their time as guests at a local convent.

We followed the nuns into the hall, which was full of little groups of schoolgirls each resplendent in their individual school uniforms. All manner of hue and colour seemed to be represented, blues, greys, reds and greens, each group being shepherded by two or three adult ‘minders’. As the lights dimmed an unseen announcer introduced on of the three personages sitting on the raised platform who turned out to be Lord somebody or other, his name escapes me. He went on to bore us for twenty minutes with a speech about fair play and it not being the winning that mattered but the taking part. The next speaker, a lady was introduced as the championship umpire who would be the point of contact should any problems occur during matches. She explained the format of play; there were thirty-two teams, which had been divided into eight groups of four. The next day each team in a group would play a match against each of the other teams in the group. The winner of each group would go forward to the following day where they again would be divided into two groups of four teams. The winners and runners up from each group would go forward to the final day when the winner of each group would play each other for the championship and the runners up would play for third place. The third person in the platform explained what was to happen to us when we were not involved in netball. She repeated Sister Eudes talk about how to find our allotted families and asked everyone to be on their best behaviour. She then explained that that evening we would be brought back here to be served a special dinner which was to be followed by some entertainment and then a disco. The next two evenings we were to be looked after by our individual carers and on Sunday, after the final match presentations we were to depart for home.

Lynda had the slip with our family’s name on and after we had retrieved our cases we proceeded round to the rear of the building where they were all standing to await their individual charges. "We need to look for Mr and Mrs Whitley whispered Lynda. We realised that all the people there were standing, more or less, in alphabetical order and as the first name we saw read ‘York’ we knew that we weren’t far away. Suddenly Lynda pulled at my arm and pointed to an elderly grey haired man who was holding up a card with the name ‘Whitley’ printed on it.

"Sister Mary, that’s us", said Lynda, and once confirmation and formalities had been exchanged Sister Mary transferred her two excited charges into the care of the Whitley’s. Telling us that she would collect us in the minibus at seven thirty that evening for the dinner.

The very nice gent called Mr Whitley guided us past the throng to an old but very luxurious car in which was seated a jolly looking lady. Mr Whitley introduced her to us as his wife and once our cases had been deposited in the cavernous boot we set off at a sedate pace to there home. This turned out to be a rather splendid house situated outside High Wycombe near Hughendon Manor. Once inside the house Mrs Whitley sat us in the lounge and began to speak.

"Now I know it’s only three-o-clock but if I know young people I know that you’re bound to be hungry so I’ve prepared something that should keep the hunger pangs at bay until your dinner this evening".

She went off and returned with a dinner trolley literally groaning under the weight of sandwiches, cakes and all sorts of goodies. While Lynda and I were tucking in Mr Whitley began to talk to us. He suggested that after we had eaten we should have a rest in our room. Then at about five-o-clock he and Mrs Whitley would accompany us on a walk around the area to show us the sights. Then we would return in plenty of time for us to get ready for the evening’s entertainment. This sounded like a good idea so we agreed to comply with the elderly gentleman’s plans.

After we had finished eating Lynda suggested that I help Mrs Whitley clear away while she went to our room and unpacked for the both of us. Then, a little while later, with everything cleared away, Mrs Whitley escorted me to our room. Just as we got there the door flew open, it was Lynda on her way to the bathroom. Mrs Whitley showed me into the room and then left me to my own devices saying that, as it was already four-o-clock that I should lie down and rest before our walk at five.

When she had gone I looked around the room, it was very large and airy and arranged along one wall were two beds. These were not little single beds but the size of the room meant that there was room enough for two full size beds with room to spare. Seeing that Lynda had obviously taken charge of the bed nearest to the window I sat on my bed and after kicking off my girlish footwear and removing my tie I lay back with my head on a pile of pillows. My reverie was interrupted by Lynda’s return, she too had removed her shoes and tie and she immediately went to sit on her bed.

After a couple of minutes she came over and lay down next to me on my bed. "Please don’t take my teasing the wrong way I don’t mean to keep embarrassing you. With all that you’re doing for us I’d hate it if I thought that I upset you in any way".

"Oh, you haven’t upset me at all. I just think it’s a bit of fun".

"Well, I’m sorry if I seem to get carried away, it’s just that you look so cute when you wear a skirt. Does it bother you when you wear one".

"No, it did at first but not any more, I suppose I’ve got used to it".

After a few seconds she sat up and threw her leg over me and sat there straddling me resting her hands on my shoulders. Situated like that I was trapped as she was sitting on my tummy and she had that mysterious smile on her face again.

"Right then little girl, I think we have some on going business to attend to". She then leaned forward and began to kiss me full on the lips. I couldn’t have stopped her even if I had wanted to because she had me pinned to the bed. The kiss went on for quite some time before she withdrew and whispered something about me being a great kisser in my ear. She then changed her position so that she was laying next to me and before I knew it she was kissing me again. As was becoming usual on these occasions I felt her hand slowly creeping up my leg and under my skirt. This time she didn’t stop at fondling me through my knickers however, she looped her fingers over the elastic waistband and began to pull then down. Almost automatically I eased the weight off my bottom to help and I felt them slip down to my thighs. Then she stopped kissing me for a few seconds and deftly slipped my knickers all the way down and tossed them onto the floor. "That’s better, they won’t be in the way anymore" she whispered. She then resumed her increasingly passionate kissing again but not before placing my hand on her leg and resuming her gentle fondling of my most intimate area.

I began to slip my hand under her skirt but when I reached the point where I expected to feel her knickers I was in for a surprise, they weren’t there. After a pause I began to fondle her and suddenly she stopped kissing and began to gasp and moan. Here body began to convulse in ever increasing intensity and she began to speak, he voice getting louder all the time, "oh god, oh yes, oh my, oh…" Then her convulsions subsided and she turned to look at me briefly, "you’re not finished yet, are you?" She then resumed her fondling with increased vigour. Unfettered and being in direct contact with her gently stroking hand for the first time my immature member swelled and grew so hard that it ached. Then suddenly I climaxed with an intensity that I had never experienced before. That wonderful sensation seemed to go on and on but all too soon it subsided to nothing and the pair of us lay next to each other spent and temporarily exhausted.

Lynda lay her head on my chest, "Oh my, that was fabulous, it’d never been that good before".

"Oh, have you done it often then?"

"No, not often and then only with someone who is special to me, like you are". She then lifted her head and looked into my eyes, "Darryl, will you be my boyfriend?"

That comment caused a thrill to go through me, "Of course I will the only problem I can see is that I’ll be your boyfriend who wears your skirts and answers to a girl’s name".

"Oh don’t be silly, I told you that you look cute in skirts, you should wear one more often". With that she kissed me on the cheek.

"Can I ask you something?" I said and she smiled and nodded. "You weren’t wearing any knickers, did you take them off before we started?"

"No I didn’t, I haven’t been wearing any all day".

"Pardon, you mean you’ve spent the whole day without any knickers on at all, why?"

"Oh most girls do it sometimes, some more than others. It’s so cool and gives you a wonderful sense of freedom. When I thought about spending all that time in a stuffy bus and having to wear full uniform I decided that I would feel more comfortable without so I didn’t put any on. Of course you have to be even more careful going without anything to cover you up, you daren’t let anyone get the chance to see up your skirt. However it can feel so nice that the risk is worth it, you should try it sometime".

She then jumped up from the bed saying that we had better get a move on because it was getting on towards five and the Whitleys would be waiting for us to go on their walk. I excused myself because I wanted to go to the bathroom to clean myself up. Once inside I found that my spectacular ejaculation had somehow managed to keep itself localised so after a quick wash and dry I was as good as new. I realised that my knickers were probably still where Lynda had tossed them so I couldn’t do anything about them until I gat back to our room. However, when I did get back Lynda had been very busy tidying up and remaking my bed and my errant underwear was nowhere to be seen. I felt embarrassed about asking her where they were and as I didn’t know where she had put things when she unpacked I couldn’t really go and look for a fresh pair. I then decided to do what Lynda had done and go out sans panties.

We decided not to bother with our blazers and ties so we just slipped on our school sweaters and after we had pulled on or regulation buckle shoes we were all ready to go and find the Whitleys. I was just about to open the door when Lynda called me back.

"Wait a minute little girl I’ve just had an idea", she then began to rummage through her sports bag. "Here, sit down on the bed and see what this looks like". I did as she asked and she produced a white hair band. Lynda always wore a hair band whenever she played netball to keep her pageboy-bobbed hair under control. My hair was too short to need keeping under control but she pushed the band onto my head and slightly rearranged my hair. She then stood back to examine her handiwork. "That’s perfect, if anyone had any doubts at all that you weren’t a real girl that should help convince them. Here, take a look", she gave me her hand mirror. What I saw was startling, the white band seemed to emphasise my feminine complexion making the result even more convincing. Before I could say anything though she grabbed my hand and we rushed off to find Mr and Mrs Whitley.

We found them waiting for us in the lounge and Mrs Whitley smiled when she saw us. "My you do look smart, that burgundy colour is really nice, it makes a change from the usual navy or green that most schools seem to have for their colours. Now come along and we’ll give you a quick tour of the area".

We followed the elderly couple outside and Lynda took my hand as girls seem to do all the time when walking together. Once outside I was immediately reminded of the fact that I was minus any underwear by the cool breeze drifting around my normally well-protected private area. I almost panicked and thought of making some excuse that I’d forgotten something which would give me a reason to go back into the house to get some knickers. But I found that Lynda was right, it was a pleasing sensation having my private area unfettered and exposed to the cool air. I’d go on as I was but I would have to be careful that my skirt didn’t take on a mind of its own. Besides I guessed that Lynda was similarly attired, or should I say unattired, so if she could do it so could I.

The elderly couple set off at a sprightly pace and followed a path that climbed the hills that were a feature of the area. Mr Whitley gave us a running commentary while we walked, pointing out points and places of interest and explaining the history of Hughendon Manor, which we looked down on from our lofty path. We walked for about twenty minutes when the path we were on narrowed and began to wind steeply upwards and disappeared through some trees. The Whitleys stopped and sat down on a rough bench. Mr Whitley explained that because of their advancing years they wouldn’t be able to go any further along the path. He said that the path led to the very top of the hill and once there the view of the surrounding countryside was amazing. Mrs Whitley said that they would sit on the bench until our return while Lynda and I walked to the top of the hill by ourselves. She assured us that the effort would be well worth it.

Lynda and I went on ahead and we soon lost sight of the Whitleys as we rounded a bend in the path. She was still holding my hand but she soon had to release it, as the path got narrower. It was then that I made a discovery. As I was getting my skirt back under control after it had been the subject of a mischievous breeze I discovered that it had a pocket. It was hidden deep among the pleats on the right hand side and was secured by a little zipper. I had been wearing it all day without realising it and I had thought on more than one occasion just how did girls manage without pockets. This revelation made me chuckle to myself and Lynda who had been suffering similar attentions of the breeze looked at me with a quizzical expression on her face.

A couple of minutes later the path continued on two different levels, the main level was on the ground while the alternative was parallel but was on the top of an ancient stone wall. Lynda chose the lower level while I took to the upper. After a few hundred yards my path came to an abrupt end and without thinking of the consequences I jumped the three feet to get back to Lynda’s level. The result of this action caused my skirt to fly up and as I struggled to control it I gave an involuntary giggle. Lynda looked at me again.

"I think that you’re beginning to enjoy wearing your skirt", she said. I didn’t reply but the expression on my face told her volumes. My skirt did feel nice and I was enjoying myself and I didn’t mind who knew it, I was enjoying myself. It was the first time that really I’d been out en femme and somehow it was really giving me a thrill but I didn’t know why I was feeling that way, and I really didn’t care…

When we reached the top the view was every bit as breathtaking as the Whitleys had said that it would be. We could literally see for miles. We both knew that we couldn’t spend long at the top so we both reluctantly re- traced our steps back to the waiting Whitleys.

We arrived back at the house at just after six and Lynda said that as we were being picked up at seven thirty we had better start to get ready. When she asked Mrs Whitley if we could both have a bath the lady smiled and said that we could.

"I’ll go first", said Lynda looking at me, "then you can follow".

"My dear there’s no need for that", said Mrs Whitley", we have a second bathroom connected to our bedroom. One of you can use that while the other one uses the main one on the landing".

I wasn’t used to such luxuries and I don’t think Lynda was either. I’d never been in a house with two bathrooms before. We went off to our room and we both began to undress. I pulled off my sweater, shirt, shoes and socks and then I realised that I had a problem. Wearing only my skirt I turned round to see Lynda was in the same stage of undress as I was. They only difference was that she was wearing a bra, she had quite well developed breasts. Giving me a wink she opened one of the nearby drawers, pulled out a pair of knickers and slid them on under her skirt. She then undid her skirt and stepped out of it.

"It’s OK, take your skirt off, I don’t mind seeing you in your knickers. Oh, that could be a problem because you aren’t wearing any".

I was shocked at that remark, "how did you know?"

"Because the ones that you were wearing are still on the dresser where I put them when we tidied up. I noticed them just now when I started to undress. Have you been a naughty girl and gone outside without your knickers?" she taunted me.

Damn, I thought to myself, they were there all the time I just hadn’t noticed them. I blushed bright red and shamefully replied, "yes, I couldn’t find them and I was embarrassed to ask you where you had put them".

"Well slip them on now then take your skirt off, it’s time we got moving".

After I had done so she tossed a white towelling bathrobe to me and saying that I could use the main bathroom she headed off towards the Whitley’s bedroom to use their own facilities. After running the bath I scrubbed myself well, washed my hair and then lay back to luxuriate in the warm steaming water. As I reflected on the day’s events I knew that deep down I had developed strong feelings towards Lynda. In my innocent mind I wondered if this was what adults called falling in love.

After getting out and towelling myself dry I donned the bathrobe and, clutching my errant knickers in my hand, opened the door to go back to our room. As I stepped out I saw Lynda coming out of the Whitley’s bedroom door. Like me she was, like me, wrapped in a bathrobe and had a towel wrapped around her hair in the same way that I had often seen on my Mum.

"That was good timing", she said when she saw me and we went back to the room together. "Now give me a couple of minutes to sort my hair out then we’ll see to you".

I sat on my bed watching her insert plastic rollers in her hair; she then produced a hair drier and proceeded to blow hot air over her head. Lynda wore her hair in the style of a pageboy bob and it always shone with a wonderful lustre. After the drier she began to carefully remove the rollers and after a lot of brushing and primping she smiled at her reflection with approval and sprayed the finished product with a liberal amount of hairspray. Her hair, although still in its original style, now shone with a new brilliance and seemed to have increased in volume with the ends curling under more than usual.

"Now my girl", she said turning to me, it always made me feel strange whenever she referred to me as a girl. "Let’s see if we can do anything with that hair of yours".

She sat me down at the dressing table and began to pull my still damp hair about. "I don’t know, it’s really too short to style but I’ll give it my best shot". Then, delving into the same little bag that she’d used when doing her own hair, she pulled out a handful of very thin rollers. She began to comb my hair and then pulled it until it hurt and began to insert them one at a time. When she was finished my scalp was almost screaming for mercy because it felt like every hair was being pulled out at the roots. I was then time for the drier and after what seemed like an age she switched it off and began to remove the rollers. It was such a relief to end that torture but when the last roller had been removed she lifted up the hairdryer again. She unscrewed the nozzle and replaced it with a weird looking contraption that looked like a comb with an attitude problem. She said that this was something called a volumiser and after switching on the drier she began to push the prongs of the appliance against my scalp, moving it inch by inch until my whole head felt like it was on fire. It felt wonderful when, at last she switched off that thing of torture, and she began to comb and fiddle with my hair. Then with a smile of satisfaction she finished me of with another liberal application of hairspray.

"Well, if I do say so myself, that looks pretty good to me. Considering what I had to start with it looks fine, here take a look".

She spun my chair round so that I could see my reflection in the mirror. I gasped when I saw myself, my hair seemed to have multiplied in volume and now appeared to be a mass of short curls framing my face.

"How on earth did you manage that?" I asked.

"Oh, just a couple of things my Mum taught me", she replied. "Now go and sit on the bed while I sort my face out".

I did as I was told and watched her as if mesmerised while she applied her makeup. When she had finished she turned towards me as if she was asking for an opinion. She looked fabulous, the hair and makeup made her look at least three years older and she looked so beautiful I could feel myself getting aroused. However, before I could comment she asked me to resume my seat at the dressing table. My face was then subjected to the application of endless creams and preparations. I was used to mascara by this time but the things Lynda was applying seemed endless. Finally, after painting some red stuff onto my lips she stood back again to examine the results of her labours. Then after what seemed like ages, all she could say was "Wow".

"Can I look?" I asked.

"No, not yet", she replied, "and I want you to promise me that you won’t even take a peek until you are dressed. Now promise me".

"OK I promise not to look", I replied.

"Good", she said and went over to the chest of drawers, "just so long as you don’t".

She dropped her bathrobe and standing there naked she pulled open one of the drawers. Seeing her like that began to get me aroused but I found that I couldn’t move as she fumbled in the drawer for something. Finally she found what she was looking for and proceeded to pull on a pair of white panties decorated with gold and a matching bra. She then went to the wardrobe and muttering to herself that it was going to be too warm for tights she removed something white and gold from its recesses. Then, stepping expertly into the fabric she pulled it into place and, after a few adjustments, she applied some earrings and a necklace plus slipping on a pair of white-heeled shoes she turned to me as if to ask for an opinion and in a word she looked fabulous. The white dress was trimmed with little gold stars, the tight fitting top was held up by two gold shoulder straps just wide enough to hide the straps of her bra. The dress gentle flared out from the waist the hem only just covering her panties. It emphasised her slim waist, developing bust and made her legs seem really long and shapely. I felt myself falling in love with this vision all over again. My reverie was cut short however when that vision of loveliness spoke. "Well, do you like what you see?" I nodded and she smiled; "now let’s get you sorted out".

She beckoned me over to her and I stood there almost helpless as she untied the bathrobe and dropped it to the floor. I stood there naked while she searched in a drawer then she finally handed me something black and gold. She muttered something about me not needing a bra and indicated that I put on the garment that she handed me. It turned out to be a pair of black panties liberally decorated with gold, which I pulled into place relieved to cover my nakedness.

Then after extracting something black and gold from the wardrobe she motioned for me to step into it. It turned out to be a black and gold dress and after Lynda had pulled it into place she zipped it up at the back and putting a gold chain with a drop pearl to match my earrings she produced a pair of black pumps which I slid onto my feet. Lynda again stood back to examine me while I tried to come to terms with my appearance. I had never appreciated how little girls wore for occasions like this. My shoulders and arms were completely bare apart from the tiny gold straps holding the bodice of the dress in place. The bodice finished at the waist and was replaced with a few layers of black and gold film masquerading as a skirt barely covering the black and gold panties. In a word I felt almost naked and didn’t know how I was supposed to go out like this. I thoughts were interrupted by Lynda.

"Now you can come and see what you look like", she took my hand and guided me to the mirror. I was totally amazed by the reflection I saw. Looking back at me was this pretty girl in a black and gold dress and curly hair who didn’t look a bit like me, she looked wonderful.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Lynda.

I didn’t know what to say but eventually replied, "That can’t be me, can it? I look so pretty".

"Well my girl it is you, and I’m glad that you approve. I was thinking that because of the type of event that we’re going to there won’t be many boys in attendance", she said with a mischievous look on her face. "However I’ll be taking my own boyfriend along and I won’t have to worry about him being bothered by another girl because he looks like one. In fact he looks absolutely wonderful". With that she kissed me on the cheek, "you’re the best boyfriend a girl could ever have. Now we’d better go downstairs because Sister Mary will soon be here with the minibus to collect us".

She took my hand to lead the way, "won’t we need a coat or something?" I asked.

"No I don’t think that we’ll bother, it’s a very warm evening especially for this time of year so I don’t think we’ll need anything to cover us up".

She led the way downstairs and when Mrs Whitley saw us she went into raptures, saying how nice we looked. At that moment we heard the minibus pull up outside so we made to outside into the gathering darkness to join up with the others. As soon as stepped through the door I began to panic a little, I felt totally vulnerable because of my clothing, or should I say lack of clothing. All I had on was a pair of shoes, panties which were hardly covered by the layers of filmy gauze that pretended to be a skirt. In my panic I stopped walking.

"What’s the matter?" asked Lynda.

"I’m not sure that I can go out looking like this", I replied.

"Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. You’ll soon get over your nervousness and I’ll bet that you really begin to enjoy yourself".

She slid open the door of the bus which automatically turned the interior light on. I could see all the team in their best outfits not looking at all like the girls who I normally saw on the netball court.

Donna spoke, "Hi Lynda, love the dress, where’s Darryl?"

"Thanks I like yours too, as for Darryl, who do you think this is?"

She stepped out of the way so that Donna and the others could see me. She looked at me wide eyed and all she said was, "wow, doesn’t he look gorgeous".

As we clambered in the rest of the team craned their necks to get a better look at me, which made me begin to blush again. We arrived at our venue after a few minutes and once inside, after coats and things had been deposited, I could see what all the rest of the team looked like. They bore very little resemblance to the girls I normally saw on the netball court. They had all obviously gone to a considerable amount of effort in their appearance. Even Cathy with her big sturdy frame looked very feminine in a shiny black dress. Little Donna however focussed my attention because she looked delightful in a powder blue satin dress with a short very full skirt. She was the only one of our group who was wearing socks and those were white anklets with a blue trim to match her dress. The problem was that I was the main focus to the rest of the team they all surrounded me making comments about my appearance.

(continued)

 

 

 

*********************************************
© 2002 by Darryl Foster. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.