New Experience






A New Experience

Part 3

By Peta Wilson

Subscribers can catch up with Part 1|Part 2|Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5


Part 3

Russell goes off to school the next day and it's a normal day and although he doesn't consciously try to think about what he and Fran have been discussing the subject keeps creeping back into his mind and the question he keeps asking himself is will he or won't he? And another thing. Possibly for the first time he notices, at the co-educational institute of learning he attends, how many of the girls are wearing, if not boy's clothes, boy-type clothes. Most of them are in denim, jeans and jeans jackets, or something very similar, worn with sneakers or loafers. And he realizes, although because they are wearing makeup and with girl's hairstyles they are clearly not trying to look like boys, that if he wore a skirt to school, how much of a furor it would cause.

Not that he wants to wear a skirt to school. He doesn't. It just dawns on him, for the first time, that this is some kind of social injustice. And definitely, in this historical period of sexual and gender equality, some kind of discrimination.

He is not, usually, a rebellious person but it is this, as much as anything, as he reflects on it over a couple of days, that causes him to decide to go to Fran's party dressed as a girl. At least, he thinks it is this. The night he makes this decision he tells Fran.

"Oh good," she enthuses. "It will be fun."

"There's just one thing," he adds. "Could I wear something a little less..., um, sexy?"

"Sure. After dinner we'll go and find something."

What she produces is a three-quarter length button-through cotton top, with short inset sleeves and a peter pan collar with a separate matching short, straight skirt.

"What do you think?" she asks

"I don't now," he says. He thinks of the irony of the Peter Pan collar.

"It's cute," she suggests and rummages around in the bottom of the wardrobe and brings out a pair of navy, calf slings-backs with a high, slender heel and pointed toe.

"With these," she says.

"Do I have to wear high heels?"
"Hmmmm, no. But girls always would to a party."
"Okay I guess. I'll feel awkward."
"No you won't. You've got three nights. Wear them each night for a while. You'll get used to them."

She brings out a pair of blue tinted, sheer pantyhose, pale blue lycra knickers. a pale blue bra and chemise slip.

"Try them."

"Now?

"Sure. I don't want you changing your mind at the last moment."

Suddenly, and it is a surprise, he wants to wear these things. But he does not want to appear as though he does. He looks downcast. But he strips to his underpants.

"I'll turn my back," Fran says, doing so. "Put on the knickers."

He does so.

"Do you know how to put on the pantyhose?"

"I think so," he says and does so, quite expertly. He's watched Fran do it often enough.

She helps him into the bra and shows him how to fix the hooks and eyes behind his back and breaks out the padding and fits it to the cups. He puts on the chemise himself and the skirt and then the top and then steps into the heels.

"Oh it is cute," Fran says, with a grin. "We won't bother with the hair and makeup. But stay like that and we'll go and watch some TV. Get used to the shoes."

He checks himself out in the mirror and is surprised to find that even without his hair specially done or any makeup on the clothes themselves have transformed him. He totters downstairs behind her to the living room and she begins to coach him. Teaching him how to walk, to sit.

"Sit forward in the chair and keep you legs together. That's it. Move more slowly. Be graceful."

"I'll never get this," he says.

"Yes you will. When you cross your legs sort of slither one over the other. That's it. Perfect. You've got plenty of time. Walk some more."

And so on. They never do get to watch television. Fran is insistent on his becoming convincing.

"Why are we doing this?" he asks at one stage.

"It will be fun to fool everyone for a while," she says. "You look so good it would be a pity not to take advantage of it. Besides you want to work as a actor don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well this is acting, honey. Remember Patrick Swayze in ‘To Wong Foo'?"

He shrugs resignedly but he doesn't really mind.

When he is leaving for school in the morning Fran stops him at the door.

"I have a late call Russ. I won't be home until after nine. You know where the clothes are. When you get home put them on and practice some more."

During the day every time he thinks about what he is going to do when he gets home there is a rush of adrenaline.

When he gets home he thinks:

"God, am I going to do this to myself?"

But he does and when he is dressed in the underwear he goes to the wardrobe to find the blue outfit and pauses at the vast array of crowded clothing. His hand goes to a white dress covered with a blue-bell print. He takes it out. It is a simple, sleeveless, short skirted shift. He takes it off the hanger and steps into it and, with difficulty, closes the rear zipper. He puts on the navy sling-backs.

He goes to the mirror and actually poses, hand on hip.

"I'm going to be an actor," he says, out loud.

He goes to his sister's dressing table and sits, staring at his face for some time. Then he takes up her makeup and, experimenting, does his face. Because he has no idea how to do anything with his hair he simply ties it back in a pony tail.

He goes to the mirror and his skin is hot and his heart thumping. He sees what he sees. He walks up and down the hall, down the stairs, up the stairs again and back to the mirror. He sees what he sees.

At nine thirty he is in bed feeling confusion, revulsion and disgust. In the morning, he decides, he will tell Fran he is not going to the party.


In the morning Fran is sleeping in. There is a note on the table.

"I'll be home about four. Last rehearsal tonight."

He decides he will tell he when he gets home.

But by the time he is riding home on the four o'clock bus he is thinking differently. It's just a fancy dress party, he says in his mind.

"How did you go last night?" Fran asks.

"Okay."

"You used my makeup."

He blushes. "Yes."

"That's okay. Good practice. Well I guess you can dress yourself then. Why don't you go and change while I get dinner?"

"Okay. Fran the blue outfit is too cute isn't it? I...I tried something else last night. The white dress with the flowers."
"Oh! Okay, wear that then. Let me see it. But don't wear it with the blue pantyhose and navy shoes. They're too dark. There's a pair of skin-toned pantyhose in my drawer. Wear them with my white courts."

He changes his clothes and then, aware he has her approval, does his face again and ties his hair up. The mirror does it to him again. He is all girl. He finds the courts easier to walk in than the sling-backs.

"Oh wow," Fran says. "That's great. Sort of demure and sexy at the same time. Love it."

"Not too sexy?" he says.

"No. Don't be silly. Let's eat."

"Gosh you've done a good job with your makeup." she says over dinner.

He is pleased with the compliment.

After dinner they do watch television but he "practices' by waiting on her. A drink, her cigarettes, another drink. He stands, walks, sits, slowly, gracefully he hopes. He asks for a cigarette.

"I didn't now you smoked yet," Fran says.

"Just sometimes."

He sticks the cigarette in his mouth as she prepares to light it for him.

"Don't put it between your lips until I am about to light it," she instructs. "It looks tacky for a girl."

Oh God, he thinks for the umpteenth time. I'm being a girl.

When he is ready for bed she comes into his room.

"We've got plenty of time tomorrow night. We don't have to be there until nine or so. I'll be home about five thirty.

I'll do your hair properly then. We'll do your nails too. Honey, do you have a problem with shaving your underarms and legs? The dress is sleeveless. It will look wrong if you don't. And your legs will be so much smoother and prettier."

He shivers involuntarily.

"No, Okay," he says.

"And I'll have to pluck your eyebrows a little."

"Okay."

She reaches out and takes his hand and squeezes it and smiles.

"My kid sister," she says. "You're going to look beautiful R...Oh!"

"What?"
"I can't call you Russell. Until we're ready anyway. It will give the game away."

He stares at her. "What then?"

"How about Mum's name? It will be easy to remember for both of us."

Anne. He says Anne over in his mind.

"Okay," he says.

In bed he thinks;

Oh God! What am I doing? I am going to be a girl and my name is Anne.

When they are ready to leave he is shaking like a leaf.

Fran is fussing around putting things into a white clutch bag for him - makeup, a handkerchief. a small hairbrush, hair spray. He has been to the mirror a hundred times and he goes again. He has seen the clothes before but not this version of him. His dark blonde hair, trimmed and set, falls in soft waves to his neck. His eyes sparkle and smolder under dramatic night-time makeup. His cheeks are blushing pink and he is not, now, blushing. His lips are full in dark pink lipstick. Chunky gold earrings hang from his ears and the design is repeated in a wide necklace around his neck, the heavy metal resting on his collar bones and breast plate. His Òbreasts" rise and fall with his breathing. His arms are bare, his underarms denuded. His finger nails repeat the color of his lips. His waist is nipped by the self-belt of the dress, his hips flowing smoothly beneath. The skirt ends about eight inches above his knees, his legs silky smooth in sheer nylon and the court shoes.

Fran passes him the clutch bag. She is wearing mid-blue leggings and flat ankle boots, and a waisted jacket with accentuated shoulders and a flared peplum skirt. On her head, a blue double peaked cap. Her face is only lightly made up, her hair tied beneath the cap. She doesn't exactly look boyish but she is far less girl than he is.

"Ready?" she smiled.

"Fran," he says in a quivery voice, "I am so nervous I think I'm going to cry."

She laughs. "Darling you look gorgeous. And you know it. This will be fun. Come on."

..To Be Continued




Peta Wilson lives in Australia and has a Personal Ad here...she invites your comments.


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