Betty Pearl's Sissy Stories 20.1
Menu => Active Sissy Stories => Topic started by: Sandra B on September 14, 2020, 05:49:57 PM
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Exploit the First: Charlotte
We all know the scenario. You’re a young boy with a tendency to mischief and a familiarity with a range of bad language. Your mother will stoop to the lowest subterfuge to foil your schemes, if she can divine what they are, deny your right to free expression, and generally make life difficult for you. Her best friend is equally malevolent, and the two of them may frequently be seen plotting together, like two gleeful witches. It’s a wonder they don’t have a cauldron stashed in the garage or somewhere. Worst of all, this friend has a daughter, an annoying little girl a couple of years younger than yourself, who seems to have taken a solemn oath that she will dedicate her life to the sole purpose of plaguing and provoking you to death. So you might have guessed – had you read any stories in which such a conjunction of factors occurs – that trips to this friend’s house would one day end in disaster.
And the annoying thing was, he was only going because, when his mother had suggested it, he had been distracted by the game he was playing, and had failed to come up with a suitable excuse within the period she had allotted for a reply – that is to say, immediately. He had made a bold bid to recover the situation, by suggesting he had a prior appointment with his friend Michael; a poor choice, since, as his mother cheerfully reminded him, Michael and his parents had gone away that very Saturday for the week. So here he was, trotting along the street in the sunshine, when he could otherwise have been ensconced in his room with his computer and a giant bag of crisps, the curtains tightly drawn. His only distractions consisted in assessing the possibility of injuring little Daphne in some minor way, whilst escaping blame, and cogitating on the important question whether, it being Saturday, her mother had laid in a variety of sweetmeats in preparation for the weekend.
Sammy Watkins was small for his age, which was twelve, with an interesting combination of brown eyes and scruffy blonde hair, and therefore not much taller than Daphne, who was only nine, though her birthday was the following week. That thought checked for a moment his malicious scheming, since her birthday parties were famous for the variety and quantity of food and drink available, and invitations were eagerly sought by her friends and acquaintances alike. Anyway, Sammy knew he would be okay, being the only boy amongst those her mother counted as her daughter's friends, and therefore, by the requirements of diversity, being indispensable, despite their occasionally abrasive relationship.
Upon arrival, the two mothers greeted each other with effusive exclamations. The visit, under the pretext of allowing the children to play together, was in truth as much for the convenience and pleasure of the mothers. Sammy was focussed on the presence or absence of food, and, whilst keeping his distance from Daphne, was able to detect some interesting-looking crumbs in the vicinity of her mouth. That looked promising, so he provided the necessary catalyst for the appearance of the source of those crumbs.
“Mum,” he whined, “I’m hungry. I didn’t have much breakfast…” Which would have been the truth, had he been a young carthorse.
Daphne’s mother was eager to satisfy his wants and remove any excuse for later interruptions.
“Darling, I’ve just baked some cakes. They’re in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
“Mum!” protested Daphne. “Don’t tell him that! He'll scoff up the whole lot!”
“Now Sammy,” his mother intervened, “you may have two of Patricia’s cakes. Two, and no more, mind. Do you understand?”
“Yes, mum,” he threw back, as he headed for the kitchen. He understood, but understanding was not the same as complying. However, Daphne was in hot pursuit.
“He eats such a lot,” smiled Vivien Watkins apologetically. “You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?”
“Don’t worry, Viv. He’ll suddenly spurt up one day, and you'll be bankrupted trying to buy him clothes,” replied Patricia Bishop, encouragingly.
“I suppose so…”
In the kitchen, Sammy had eaten his allowance, but predictably, given the deliciousness of Mrs Bishop’s cakes, was unable to restrain himself from gobbling up two more.
“I’m telling your mum,” said Daphne, triumphantly.
“No, Daphne, please…”
Sammy could deal with a telling-off. Water off a duck’s back. What he didn’t like, was being told off in front of Daphne. His mother had done it before, and she always managed to say something particularly humiliating, which Daphne would latch onto. Last time it was, “If you pull Daphne’s skirt once again, I’ll put you in a pair of girl’s panties for the rest of the week!” This had delighted Daphne, and she referred to it for weeks after as a sort of threat should he misbehave.
“Please, Daphne. We can go and play if you want…”
The bribe worked.
“Okay. Come upstairs and let’s play with my dolls.”
With a sigh, Sammy followed his friend up to her room. Her dolls were scattered around everywhere, in every conceivable posture. He remarked that in general they looked tired, and may not want to be played with, but Daphne pointedly ignored him.
Now you may have been wondering who the titular heroïne of this story was, and if and when she was going to appear on the stage. Charlotte was Daphne’s most favourite doll. She was propped up against Daphne’s pillow, with an expression of unalterable innocent happiness of her face. She had a variety of costumes, but today she was a ballet dancer, in a yellow leotard and yellow leg-warmers, with a yellow bandana around her shock of curly yellow hair. Sammy stared at her. Charlotte stared back. She seemed to be mocking him on behalf of her owner, or daring him to do something naughty.
“Let’s play tea-parties,” said Daphne. So they played tea-parties. It was one tea-party, as it turned out, but all the dolls were invited, and it seemed interminable. Eventually even Daphne had played the game for long enough, and suggested the dolls should at last all go to bed and sleep for a few minutes, which apparently was the most time a doll needed to sleep in a day. Sammy would have been happy for them to sleep forever, but he was corralled into arranging them all in comfortable positions in the bed and on the chairs. All except Charlotte. Because Daphne so loved Charlotte, that she had kept her original box, and she always had to sleep in that next to Daphne’s bed. It was a pink box with padded pink satin lining. The lid, also pink, with her name at the foot and a clear plastic window, lay next to it.
After all the dolls were asleep, Daphne suggested they after their nap they should next organise a dress-up session for them. Poor Sammy felt he could take no more, so he came up with a counter suggestion, namely that some of the dolls should play hide-and-seek. At least this would involve some running round the house, and get him out of the claustrophobic atmosphere of Daphne’s bedroom. To his surprise, she agreed, and even seemed quite enthusiastic. It worked like this. One of them would hide a doll in one of the rooms, and tell the other which doll and which room it was. The other then had five minutes to find the doll. Success led to the seeker becoming the hider. Failure, to the seeker remaining the seeker. They played quite happily for a while. Sammy was more often the winner, by virtue of his greater cunning and his willingness to toss a doll onto the top of a wardrobe, or hang her out of the window on a length of string. Vivien and Patricia were pleasantly surprised to see the children playing together so nicely for once, and leaving them to their coffee, cakes, and gossip.
But then Sammy decided to enlarge the boundaries a little. While Daphne covered her eyes, he sneaked Charlotte out of her box and ran downstairs, through the lounge, through the kitchen, and out into the garden. Vivien must have had a faint premonition of trouble, because she shouted after him, “Sammy? Where are you off to with Charlotte?” But he was gone and away.
His plan had been to lodge her in the branch of one of the trees, but he thought she might be bored up there, so instead he ran round the side of the house to the front garden to look for a hiding-place. The front was just lawn, however, with no secret nooks. He was about to turn back, when he had a great idea. Hide her in plain sight. And she could also entertain, and be entertained by, the passers-by. So without any real malice, the sat here on the front wall, looking out into the street. When he got back, Daphne was already in the lounge, her eyes full of tears.
“Where’s Charlotte?” she wailed. “What have you done with her?”
“What’s up? She in the garden, isn’t she?”
Daphne rushed in the garden and began running from one bush to another, one tree to the next. Sammy allowed her to waste five minutes, then shouted in triumph,
“Five minutes! You’ve lost again, Daph! She’s not there!”
“Where is she?” sobbed Daphne. “Where’s my Charlotte?”
Now Vivien and Patricia issued forth from the kitchen. His mother was not happy.
“Sammy! Tell Daphne where she is at once!”
He perceived the joke was over.
“Front garden,” he said. “I never said she was in the back garden, did I?”
Daphne hurled herself around the side of the house, the women following, Sammy in the rear.
“Stupid doll,” he murmured.
“Where is she?” Daphne was screaming.
“Open your eyes and look on the wall, stupid.”
“Where?”
Sammy pointed to the place he had left her, but there was nothing there. He went out of the gate, fully expecting she had fallen into the street, but there was nothing there either. He began to feel uneasy.
“She was right there…” he said, in a defensive tone.
“You left her on the wall?” asked his mother, in disbelief. “On the wall? Are you stupid? Whatever were you thinking?”
Daphne, inconsolable, ran back into the house, screaming.
“It’s just a stupid doll…” began Sammy. Not the wisest remark, under the circ-umstances.
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Needless to say, the visit was swiftly terminated, and Sammy was taken home in disgrace – though not before Vivien and Patricia had printed half-a-dozen posters headed “LOST DOLL - ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF CHARLOTTE”, even including a photo of the runaway and offers of a “reward”. These they put up on trees in the street as well as at the scene of her disappearance.
Sammy was grounded for the week. He felt persecuted, a martyr to Daphne’s irrational fixation with her dolls. But had it been any other doll, she would not have felt the loss as hard. As it was, she was a very sad little girl, and much more miserable than the boy who was the cause of her sadness.
Vivien Watkins was at a loss as to how to begin to repair the damage done, not only to Daphne’s happiness, but to her relationship with her friend. It was not the first time Sammy had reduced Daphne to tears, and Patricia’s patience was wearing thin, albeit she couldn’t blame Sammy’s mother directly, knowing what a hard time she had had with him. So Vivien sought the advice of her sister, Cecily. Cecily was the only adult Sammy really liked. She was an artist, and she would let him help her in some of her wilder productions, throwing paint about or carving chunks of wax, or posing in the middle of some crazy installation. Her house and her big shed were full of materials of all sorts, from stone and timber to canvas and paper. There was never any trouble when he was there. He’d pretty much do anything for her. So a few days after Charlotte’s disappearance, Vivien and Cecily sat down together over lunch, and Vivien poured out her woes.
“I need to do something once and for all to bring it home to him – he simply cannot carry on behaving in this way. Poor Daphne. Three days now, and not a word. I’m sure some little girl walked off with her. I mean, she probably thought she was being thrown out.”
“Maybe,” said Cecily. “Or maybe she was taken by a group of yobs, who abused her and then threw her in a rubbish bin.”
“Oh, shut up Cecy. It’s not funny. Daphne’s distraught. And I don’t blame her. Don’t you remember what it’s like to have a favourite doll? As far as she’s concerned, Charlotte is real. She’s a person.”
“I know. I’m just joking. And I know how difficult that boy has been. I agree, he really needs a wake-up call. He can’t go on with his inappropriate behaviour much longer. Imagine what kind of teenager he’ll turn out.”
“So what can I do? I don’t even know how to punish him any more.”
“Show me that poster again.” She looked at it thoughtfully. “Mm. She’s a pretty little doll, I admit.”
“That’s when she was brand new. See the box she came in? Daphne’s still got that. Charlotte sleeps in it every night.”
“Really? That’s interesting. There may be a way… I mean, to make an example of Sammy, and to cheer up Daphne at the same time. Let me think about it. I’ll give you a bell later.”
Cecily telephoned later the same day. Vivien had just called Patricia, but there was still no sign of Charlotte. She had been looking on line, but there were no similar dolls anywhere. So she answered the phone with a frown of frustration of her face.
“Hi, Cecily. How’s it going? You have an idea? Tell me. I’m at my wits’ end. Even if I could find another Charlotte – which I can’t – I don’t think Daphne would accept it. No. Okay, I’m listening.”
As she listened, the frown slowly faded from her face, and was replaced by an expression of deep interest.
“You would do all that? No, it’s genius. But such a lot of work. Of course I’ll help. What? Are you serious? What, that one on the corner of…. Yes, I know it. You do? Would she agree..? Oh, you are the best! Let’s try it. Yeah, I know. You devious… I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of you. How tall? About one metre forty, or a bit less. No. Okay, tomorrow. About ten? See you then. Yes, I can get the material, and the paint. And I’ll go to the ballet shop in the High Street on my way. Actually, better make it eleven. Thanks. Yes, thanks. See you then!”
She put the phone down. She shook her head slowly. “Only Cecily could think of something like that….” she said, out loud.
“What, mum? What about Aunt Cecily?”
“Oh, no, nothing. She was asking whether you’d be able to go over later this week and help her with one of her projects, that’s all.”
“Really? Yeah! But…but I’m grounded this week, aren’t I…?”
“Well, I’m going to let you go to Aunt Cecily’s. But you make sure you’re on your best behaviour, understand. Do what she tells you without question, all right? And she says you can stay over Friday night, if you’d like.”
“Yeah, great! Thanks, mum.” He looked at her sheepishly. “I s’pose I won’t be going to Daphne’s party, Saturday, now….”
“I’m afraid not. I don’t think she’s in a mood to see you at the moment.”
“What about if she gets her doll back?”
“Maybe. But she hasn’t, yet.”
“Shit…”
“Sammy! Do you want to go to Cecily’s?”
“Yes, mum. Sorry, mum.”
“Right. No more chatter. I’ve got work to do.”
Sammy kept his head down for the rest of the week. He was bored stiff, so going to his aunt’s on the Friday seemed like a holiday. His mum dropped him off. She seemed to have been on the phone to her sister a lot that week, and had gone over there a couple of times. Sammy wasn’t sure what was going on, but there was definitely something. Now they were whispering and giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. Idiots, he thought. Grown-ups should grow up. I’ll get my own back on mum for keeping me in. And on Daphne for giving me all this grief. Wait and see if I don’t.
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Aunt Cecily had a big studio in her house. That is to say, it was a bedroom she’d converted into a studio. She lived alone so she had plenty of space. She emptied the room, had a big single window put in, and painted the walls white, and the the floorboards in alternate blue and yellow stripes. After his mother left, Sammy followed her upstairs to see what she was up to this time.
She had made a big long box out of some sort of very rigid special cardboard – impregnated with some sort of glue, she said, which made it as strong as timber, but still very light. It was propped up against one wall. It was even taller than he was! She was working on a lid for it. She had started painting the box pink, but the lid was still unpainted. She said she still had some cutting to do on that. There were bits of foam rubber lying about, and a roll of pink satiny material, some very wide red ribbon, and a nice sheet of clear plastic. There were also some very cool stencils, which she allowed Sammy to play with. She even let him stencil his name on the wall! He was having fun. She asked him if he would help paint the box.
“Yeah! Can I, aunt? What’s it for, anyway?”
“Oh, you’ll see. It’s a sort of installation. I’m going to call it something like, “Birthday Surprise”. I haven’t decided properly yet.”
While he painted the box, Cecily cut a big window out of the lid.
“You’re a good painter, Sammy,” she smiled. You can do the lid next, if you like.”
Sammy did like. Painting was fun, especially painting big things. While he worked, Cecily cut out a long rectangular piece of plastic.
“What’s that for, aunt?”
“Don’t you see? I’m going to stick this inside the lid like a window. Then we’ll have a giant display box. All I have to do then is decide what to put in it.”
“Don’t you know what’s going in it?”
“Oh, I have a few ideas. But I’m going to line it first. When the paint’s dry, you can help.”
“Sure.”
They worked together on the project for the rest of the day. Aunt Cecily lined the box with foam rubber, a thick layer on the bottom and some sloping sections on the sides and ends. She glued the pink satin underneath the edges of the side sections and to the floor of the box, so the whole thing was neatly and prettily covered. Finally she drilled holes in the bottom of the box.
“What are they for, auntie?”
“Oh, they’re just anchor points for whatever I decide to put in there. You’ll see.”
It was a really fun day. In the evening they went out for a meal, and by the time they got back Sammy was ready for bed. Cecily kissed him goodnight.
“Sleep well, Sammy. Tomorrow we’ll finish our project, shall we?”
“Yes, aunt,” he replied, sleepily.
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While Sammy had been at his aunt’s, his mother had had a call from Patricia.
“I’ve got her back! A woman came round this afternoon with Charlotte. Her little girl had found her in the street and brought her home. It was only this morning she saw one of the posters.”
“Oh, thank goodness, Pat! I’m so relieved.”
“So I think Sammy should come to the party now. Daphne will be happy again, and perhaps she’ll be able to forgive him at last.”
“Ah. Yes. Can I ask…does Daphne know she’s back, yet?”
“Well, no, not yet. She’s at her friend’s house. I was just about to ring her, but I thought I’d call you first. Why?”
“Well, we had a little surprise planned for her…. Listen, I’ll explain….”
By the end of the conversation Patricia was ecstatic.
“Oh my god…if it works…it’ll be the best! What time would you expect to have him set up? About eleven? Perfect. Her party doesn’t start till two. She’d be so delighted. Can you imagine? At last she’d be getting her own back.”
“Yes. And Sammy would be getting his just deserts. So, Pat, I’ll drop in late this evening and pick up Charlotte, okay?”
“See you then, darling!”
Sammy woke late Saturday morning. He struggled out of bed and looked around for his clothes. He couldn’t see them anywhere. There were some ballet things on the chair, but they were nothing to do with him. He wondered vaguely what they were doing there. Sleepily he climbed into the shower. The water woke him up. After he had finished, he wrapped a towel around himself and returned to his room. He looked everywhere, but his jeans and stuff seemed to have vanished. Probably his aunt had decided to wash them. He went to the top of the stairs.
“Aunt Cecily? Aunt? Are you down there?”
But she appeared all of a sudden from the studio.
“Good morning, Sammy. Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you. But I can’t find my clothes.”
“They’re being washed. In any case, you won’t need them right away. You’ll have to change for our project. Just slip your pyjamas back on and go and have breakfast.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
Won’t need my clothes? What does she mean? Some weird installation. Hope she’s not planning anything nude! He laughed to himself. It was already ten, and he was hungry. So he went down and helped himself to toast and jam and cereal. When he was finished, his aunt called him upstairs.
“So what’s next, aunt?”
“Could you go put that outfit on that I left on your chair, please?”
“What? That’s like a girl’s ballet costume, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Don’t worry. It won’t be for long. It’s just for the project. Go on. Go on! You’re going to love it.”
Sammy trusted his aunt, so he went back to the bedroom, stripped off his pyjamas, and examined the costume. There was a little pair of white panties, a shiny yellow leotard, pink ballet shoes with laces, yellow wool leg-warmers, and a length of broad yellow ribbon. He hesitated. This was not what he had been expecting.
“Are you ready, Sammy?” his aunt called from outside.
“Nearly,” he called back, quickly pulling on the panties and leotard. “What’s this ribbon for?”
Aunt Cecily pushed open the door.
“You’ll see. Now sit down in the chair and I’ll do up your pumps.”
“Aunt, I don’t understand why I have to wear this stuff…”
“Be patient, Sammy. Now point your toes so I can get these leg-warmers on. Stand up a minute. They need to come up nice and high. Now where are those curling tongs? Ah, here we are. All right, sit down again.”
She plugged them in a and started on his hair.
“Keep still, Sammy!”
In five minutes his scruffy mop of hair had been transformed into a mass of ringlets. Once she was happy, she tied the ribbon around his head. Then she pushed it down over his eyes!
“Now leave it like that until I tell you you can look.”
She took him by the hand and led him along into the studio.
“Now relax, and let me lift you.”
She picked him up in her arms and lay him down on something soft. He went to pull up the ribbon but she grabbed his wrist.
“Uh, uh! Not yet. Hands down by your sides, please.”
He did as he was told. He felt bands being drawn over his wrists, and tightened. Then his ankles.
“Aunt, what…?”
At last she pushed the ribbon up onto his forehead, like a bandana. He looked around. He was in the pink box, which was supported on two trestles. His wrists and ankles were firmly secured to the base. Aunt Cecily was smiling down on him.
“You look lovely. Just like Charlotte. Keep still just a moment longer…”
She produced a compact of blusher and gave him little red doll circles on his cheeks.
“There. You’re finished.” Which was precisely what Sammy himself was thinking. His eyes widened in alarm.
“What’s the idea…?”
At that moment in walked his mother. She gasped with delight.
“Darling! You look just like her! And look. Here she is!” She held up Daphne’s favourite doll. “A nice lady brought her back. Now all we have to do is pin her to your leotard…so…”
She had produced a large gold safety pin and attached Charlotte to Sammy’s chest.
“And then you’re almost ready.”
“Yes,” said Cecily. “Just the lid, and we can go.”
Sammy was stammering with bemusement.
“What are you…? Y-you can’t! I won’t…”
The two women pushed on the lid, and Cecily closed the four little latches she had fitted to hold it in place. His protests became muffled and incoherent. At first his breath steamed up the plastic window slightly, but Cecily had bored an airhole either side of his head, so it soon cleared. She picked up a stencil she had made, and a can of yellow spray paint. She sprayed something on the bottom of the lid, below the window. Then they tied a big red ribbon around one corner of the box, as if it were a big box of sweets, and finished it with a stick-on bow.
“You’re going to return Daphne’s doll,” said his mother. She’ll be so happy, I’m sure she’ll let you go to her party. Would you like that?”
Sammy shook his head vigorously. "No!"
“I thought you would. But first, Aunt Cecily wants to put on a little exhibition.”
They picked up the box, one at each end, and carried it down the stairs. The front door was open, and they took it out to Mrs Watkins’ car, and slid it onto the back seat. Cecily closed the front door, got in the car, and off they went. It was not a long journey. Near Daphne’s house, on a corner, was a big charity shop, Help the Animals. They parked outside. They were just unloading Sammy, when a kind-looking middle-aged came out to greet them.
“Cecily! Oh, I see you’ve got him, then. Well done. I’ve cleared the main window, and the big easel you gave us is in place.”
“Thank you so much for this, Violet! This is my sister, Vivien. Vivien, Violet.”
“Lovely to meet you. Your son looks so pretty in there. Oh! What does it say here?” She squinted at the foot of the lid. “Sammy Ballerina – oh, that’s so sweet!”
As they carried him in, and propped him up in the window, at an angle of about twenty degrees to the vertical, Violet chattered on excitedly.
“You know, this is going to be such good publicity for us! I took the liberty of putting up a poster yesterday, when you told me it was all under control. “Come and see Sammy, the life-sized doll, only here. Saturday, eleven till two.” And I rang the local paper, and we’re putting out a box for donations, and having a sale. Look, people are already stopping!”
Sammy was struggling ineffectually against his bonds, which only made the spectacle all the more amusing. A crowd was already gathering. Vivien and Cecily went outside to see what he looked like.
“Oh, he’s so cute,” said Cecily. “I’d have loved a doll like that when I was a little girl!”
“Yes, he’s sweet. I can’t wait for Patricia and Daphne to get here.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when she saw Patricia’s car turning into the side road. A minute or two later mother and daughter appeared in front of the shop. Patricia looked at Vivien expectantly. Vivien nodded slowly, a quiet smile on her face. Patricia beamed with delight.
“Let’s go look in the window, darling, shall we. Daphne was looking puzzled. Patricia led her to the window. She looked – stared – gasped – and jumped for joy.
“Charlotte! She’s back!”
“Yes. And look who’s brought her!”
“Sammy! Why is he…he looks just like Charlotte. And the box…that’s just like Charlotte’s box!”
“Yes. Don’t you think he looks sweet? Now, which would you like? Charlotte – or Sammy?”
“I only want Charlotte. Sammy can stay in the window.”
“Can he come to your party now?”
“Maybe. But mummy, can I please, please have Charlotte back now?”
“I’ll get her,” said Cecily. “Wait there.”
She went back inside, loosened the ribbon, unlatched the lid, and unpinned Charlotte. Daphne had come running in, and she took Charlotte and held her tight, planting little kisses on her hair.
“Thank you Sammy,” she shouted. “I hope you have a nice time here today!”
“Aunt! Aunt!” Sammy began. But Cecily was already closing and relatching the lid. She refixed the red bow, and went outside again.
“So Daphne,” said Vivien, “what shall we do about Sammy? He’d really love to come to your party, if you could find it in your heart to forgive him.”
“I forgive him,” said Daphne, bluntly. “He can come. But not till after lunch. And he must stay in his box until four.”
“She certainly knows her mind,” remarked Cecily to Patricia. “That’s perfect. The shop want to keep him as long as possible, anyway.” She turned to Violet. “We’ll come and collect him around two-thirty, if that’s okay? I hope he serves his purpose.” She opened her bag and passed Violet some notes. “This is our donation for being so accommodating. Thanks again, Violet.”
“Any time. I think it was a lovely idea. Bring him back sometime if he doesn’t behave himself.”
“We may bring him back anyway,” laughed Vivien. “Different outfit next time. But we’d better go." She smiled at Sammy, wide-eyed with fear and disbelief. "Bye, bye, darling,” she mouthed, giving him a little wave. See you a bit later.”
So Sammy spent an entertaining few hours in the shop window, the highlight of which was the coincidental arrival of a bunch of his schoolfriends. They hung around there, making faces and taking photos, till Cecily and Vivien came to take him to the party. There he had a further hour and more propped against the living-room wall for the edification of all Daphne’s little friends. And when he was finally released, he had to spend the rest of the party in his ballerina costume anyway. However, he made up for his humiliation by consuming more party food in two hours than had ever been seen. And quite contrary to his mother’s hopes and expectations, he also spent the time dreaming up the most lurid and violent retribution for all concerned!
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Sandra B, That was great. Sammy has no idea how much trouble he is in.
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Hmmm he's lucky he didn't have an accident being in the box for so long. :)
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I almost feel that we should have spent more time with Sammy at the party outside of the/his box. I'm sure the girls would've delighted in his outfit even as he ate a prodigious amount of food.
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You're right. It shouldn't have been left to the reader's imagination. But Daphne's not finished with him yet.
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I was so hoping there was more to come!
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Exploit the Second: The Costume Party
1.
After the adventure of the doll box, Patricia and Cecily began to develop a close friendship. They found much to like about each other. They were both cheerful and easy-going, and both had a wicked sense of humour. Vivien always had an underlying current of anxiety, mainly connected with her son. But Patricia, having the one delightful little girl, and Cecily, being childless, were far more relaxed about life. They started meeting for coffee, then for drinks, and they found that, when they were together, they were both bubbling over with chatter, and the time passed very quickly and very pleasantly. If the conversation ever lapsed, one of them would look at the other and say,
“I still think of Sammy’s face, when we left him in that shop window!”
And they would both dissolve in giggles.
“And he looked so sweet in his little leotard!”
“What a shame we couldn’t…”
“I know. But I suppose he had his punishment. Didn’t he?”
Sammy remembered the incident with quite different sentiments. He was no longer quite so trusting of his aunt, and viewed any invitation to help in one of her art projects with a degree of suspicion. But the person he regarded as most culpable was Daphne. She had made such a fuss about losing a silly old doll, the grown-ups had no choice but to punish him. And she was the one who decreed he must remain in the shop window half the afternoon. The fall-out from that day was still being felt. The whole school had quickly been made aware of his humiliation, and the photos of his and videos of his embarrassment were now common property. He was heartily sick of being asked if he was going to join the ballet club, if he was wearing girls’ panties, and if he would like to play dolls or dress-up. He was constantly on the alert for an opportunity to revenge himself, but so far none had presented itself.
It was a couple of weeks later. It was still party season, as Daphne’s little friends turned ten one by one. Sammy was at Cecily’s, when who should turn up but Patricia and Daphne. Daphne was all excited. The coming Saturday it was her friend Amelia’s birthday party – a costume party. Daphne was desperate to show “Auntie Cecily” her costume. She was jumping up and down like she was on a spring. It was the sort of thing that made Sammy nauseous, little girls getting all worked up over their stupid clothes - especially after his recent experience. He expressed his view by sticking two fingers in his mouth, eliciting a warning frown from his aunt.
“Would you like to come, Sammy? It’s going to be such fun!” gasped Daphne, who was now engaged in a sort of staccato dance, as the only way of letting out her feelings.
“No I wouldn’t! A costume party? What a stupid idea.”
“Well, you looked nice in your costume at my party,” said Daphne, slyly, becoming temporarily stationary.
“Shut up!”
“You did! All my friends were envious of your pretty yellow leotard. But you could wear something different this time if you liked.” She looked thoughtful. “Maybe a fairy? Oh, no, I think Courtney’s going to be a fairy… Maybe…”
Sammy needed to cut her short. She’d been capitalising on his embarrassment every time she’d seen him since that awful day. He knew abuse would be returned with interest, so he decided his only recourse was to divert her mind back to herself.
“So what’s so special about your costume?”
She took the bait.
“Oh, Sammy! Wait till you see it! I’m not going to tell you. Mummy, can I please, please, put it on now to show auntie Cecily?”
“Oh, all right, dear. Cec? Can we go upstairs so she can change? Let Daphne show you her costume, then the kids can play and we can have a chat.” The “chat”, which would last most of the day, being the prime reason for the visit in the first place.
Sammy threw himself into a chair with a sigh. He winced at the remembrance of Daphne’s party, which he had been striving to put out of his mind. A good hour of immobility, being pointed at, stared at, laughed at, and generally being the centre of attention. And then, when he was finally released from his box, the torrent of stupid questions, the admiring glances, the pawing and the whispering and the giggling! Too much! And knowing his box was still intact in his aunt’s studio, and his ballet outfit stowed neatly in the top drawer of the bedroom, taunted him with memories of his humiliation, and caused continual faint twinges of anxiety.
Ah. They were coming down. Daphne was babbling non-stop, now almost hysterical with excitement. She burst into the room. Oh, god. How completely inappropriate. An angel! White leotard, white mesh skirt, white tights, white shoes, and a big pair of feathery wings on her back. She made a little hop into the middle of the room, her face alight with happiness, looking from Cecily to Sammy and back again, waiting for their reactions.
“So you’re a nasty, ugly witch,” said Sammy, sarcastically. “I like it.”
“Don’t be horrid!” she blurted. “I hate you!”
“Darling, you look absolutely beautiful,” eulogised Cecily, frowning pointedly at Sammy. “What a wonderful costume. Those wings…”
“Isn’t it, aunt? The wings are real feathers, see? And the skirt and the tights…see the little silver sparkles?”
Sammy groaned.
“Sammy? If you have nothing pleasant to contribute, you can go outside. Yes, now.”
He dragged himself out of his chair, and passed through the kitchen, pausing only to grab a chocolate bar, into the garden. He sat in a garden chair, sulking. Why was he here anyway? He could have gone to his friend Danny’s house. Except after those pictures had got round, Danny wasn’t so eager to see him any more. It wasn’t fair. They had no idea what that episode had done to his reputation as a tough, streetwise kid. He was trying to repair it as best he could, but the attempt had got him into more fights than he was comfortable with. He wouldn’t even have minded going to the stupid party, if it wasn’t a costume party, and he could dress cool. It would have been an opportunity to restore his image with those stupid girls, have some fun, and get some nice eats. But there was no way. Unless….. He had a sudden thought. He headed back inside.
“Aunt? You know, I wouldn’t mind going to the party, if I could be something really cool…”
“Oh. Really? With all Daphne’s friends?”
“No! Don’t let him, aunt. I don’t want him there. Anyway, Amelia’s not even invited him. She might if I asked her…but he’d have to wear his cute little yellow ballet costume, of course!” She smirked as she saw him squirm yet again.
“Shut up, Daphne. No aunt, I mean something like Hawkeye, or Ironman! That would be okay.”
“Well, I don’t know. It’s really up to Daphne…”
“No! You can’t go, Sammy. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re going to be showing off to all my friends, trying to prove you’re not a sissy after all!”
“Well, I’m not a sissy!”
“Huh. As far as they're concerned, you are. So it’s no.”
Sammy was fuming. He turned tail and stormed back out into the garden.
“The little bitch! I’m gonna get my own back on her. I am! Somehow…”
When he finally returned, Daphne had changed into her everyday clothes, and her costume had been left upstairs in the bedroom. But every now and then, she would dash off to check on it, and remind herself how amazing it was. During lunch, Sammy said not a word, but Daphne made up for it, chattering away twenty to the dozen. Afterwards, Cecily took her upstairs to the studio, and gave her a big roll of cartridge paper and some tubes of paint so she could make pictures. Cecily said she was allowed to finger-paint if she was careful. She left her some pieces of rag to wipe her fingers on. She left her happily painting, and came back down to where Patricia was sitting waiting in the lounge.
“She’s making some lovely pictures, Pat. Sammy? Why don’t you go and join her?”
“No thanks. I’m going back in the garden.”
“Suit yourself. Now, Pat, what have you been up to?”
-
2.
Sammy slouched into the garden and lay on the grass. He stared up at the sky, fantasising about ways he could exact revenge. Eventually a vague idea began to form itself. He could go and give her a fright at least. He got to his feet. The front door key was hanging in the kitchen. He could hear Patricia and his aunt engaged in conversation in the lounge. Quietly he picked it up, made his way to the front door, and let himself in. He took off his shoes. He crept along the corridor and up the stairs. The door of the studio was half open. Daphne was sitting on the floor with her back to him. She was surrounded by tubes of paint, and was drawing pictures of animals with her finger on big pieces of paper. He was about to spring out on her, when he noticed that one of the silver tubes was within his reach. Burnt Sienna. He considered hitting it with his fist, so the paint would squirt all over her. But there would be big trouble then. Instead he knelt down and silently retrieved it. What could he use it for? Then he had a stroke of genius. He retreated from the studio door and crept into the bedroom. Daphne’s angel costume was lying on the bed. He didn’t hesitate. Smearing some of the paint on one finger, he wiped it on the front of the leotard, leaving an ugly brown mark! Perfect. He wiped his finger on the leg of his jeans. Now came the difficult bit. He had to get the tube back in the studio without Daphne realising. But it turned out to be easy. She was on the other side of the room, tearing off a new sheet of paper. Quickly he replaced the tube, crept back downstairs, along the corridor, and, picking up his shoes, exited, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. Then he slipped on his shoes and ran round to the back again. Just in time! Cecily appeared at the kitchen door.
“Sammy? Are you all right out here? Do you want anything?”
“No, thank you, aunt. I’m fine. Just chilling.”
“Okay. Well then…”
But at that moment there was a piercing scream from upstairs. Cecily turned and ran back inside. Sammy took the opportunity to replace the door key. He was home clear! He sauntered into the lounge. It was empty. Both women were upstairs. He could hear Daphne wailing, and Cecily sympathetically interrogating . He strolled to the foot of the stairs.
“What’s going on?” he called.
“Nothing,” replied Patricia, “Daphne’s got some paint on her costume, that’s all.”
“I haven’t, mummy!” she screamed, “I didn’t touch it!”
“You probably didn’t realise….”
“I didn’t do it, really I didn’t,” she sobbed. “I don’t know how it happened. Look at my lovely costume!” And she subsided into wailing.
Sammy smiled triumphantly to himself. “The perfect crime,” he murmured.
Daphne was inconsolable. Cecily reassured her they would be able to get the stain out, but in the event it proved more difficult than she had hoped, and even after several applications of white spirit it was still there, fainter, but also larger. There was no possibility of replacing the costume, unless they went for something quite different, and eventually it was agreed Patricia would buy a big white bow and sew it over the damaged patch. Not ideal, but it would have to do.
Sammy was now a lot more cheerful. He sauntered about the garden with a self-satisfied grin on his face, pulling leaves off the bushes and looking for caterpillars. His aunt came outside to join him.
“I wish you’d go and play with Daphne. She so upset. Cheer her up a bit.”
“Nah, I don’t think so. She can come out here if she wants.”
“Well if you’re just going to hang around out here, you can do some gardening for me. Is that okay by you?” Aunt Cecily was irritated by his complacent good humour in the face of Daphne’s misfortune. “That bush by the fence needs pruning. Just take off all those long trailers. Do you think you can do that?”
“Sure, aunt. No problem.”
“Right. I’ll get you the shears and a ladder.”
She set up the step ladder next to the bush, and handed him the shears.
“You’ll only need to go up a couple of steps. Be careful, won’t you. Take your time, and don’t stretch.”
“I know. I’ve done it before.”
He climbed up two steps, and began work. Cecily was about to turn away, when something riveted her attention. She froze.
“You can go. I’m fine. I’ll be careful, don’t worry.”
But Cecily didn’t move. She was staring at the leg of his jeans, which was now right in front of her face. Burnt Sienna! For some moments she was unable to speak. At last she found her voice.
“Come down, Sammy. Come inside a minute. There’s something I want to ask you.”
“What?”
“Nothing serious. I’ve just remembered something.”
“Okay.”
He climbed down, and put the shears on the grass. He followed her inside. Patricia was sitting at the table. Daphne was upstairs having a nap. She sat down next to her friend.
“Well, aunt? What is it?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She looked at Patricia. Patricia looked back, puzzled.
“What is it, Cec?”
“Sammy. Tell me. What’s that on your jeans?”
“What?”
“On the right leg of your jeans. Just above the knee.”
He looked down. Fear gripped his heart. “I..I, it…it’s earth, aunt, from the garden, I…” he stammered.
Patricia’s mouth fell open.
“It’s paint! It was you! You messed up her costume. And you let her take the blame! How could you?”
“I…I…no, it must have come off her…I…”
“You didn’t even go upstairs. You horrible, horrible boy!”
“No…I…”
But guilt was written all over his face.
“How on earth….” Said Cecily. “You must have gone through the front…when we were talking in here. You devious little…”
Sammy hung his head. Now he felt like crying. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? Just like in stories…the criminal always makes one vital error…
“That’s it,” said his aunt, “you’re finished now. Get out of here. Yes, go back in the garden. I have to talk to Patricia.”
He skulked out, his tail between his legs. Now they would tell his mum, and she would go completely berserk. He collapsed on the grass, cursing his stupidity.
He was there for a good half hour before his aunt summoned him in again. Daphne was there with them now. He couldn’t look her in the face.
“I have spoken to your mother, Sammy,” said Cecily. “She’s beside herself with anger. I have persuaded her to place the matter of punishment in our hands for the time being. We have decided what is going to happen. I would like to put you over my knee and give you a good spanking, but it’s not my place to do that, unfortunately. No, we have decided that, as a first punishment, you are going to go to the costume party after all. I’ve cleared it with Amelia’s mother. Now Daphne has something to say to you. So listen carefully.
“You are a hateful, horrible boy, Sammy. You messed up the nicest costume I’ve ever had. Aunt Cecily has said I should help choose the costume you are going to wear.” She smiled evilly. “And I have some ideas already. But you won’t find out until Saturday morning. So you have all week to wonder what it might be. But for the rest of today, I want to play horsies, and you are going to be my horsey. So you can go back into the garden and wait for me to find my whip. Go on! Shoo!”
It was a long afternoon. The ladies sat inside, talking and laughing, occasionally glancing out of the French door to see how the gymkhana was going. About half past four the “horsey” collapsed, and no amount of goading could persuade it to regain its feet. So it was left in the garden while the others had supper, and sent to bed early.
-
3.
Sammy spent a miserable few days. He was grounded, of course. Not that he wanted to go out much. His mother was furious, and hardly said a kind word to him all the week. He sat at home, working on his school project, and worrying about Saturday. What was that annoying little girl going to dream up for him? Well, whatever it was, it could hardly be any worse than last time. In fact, she would probably just make him wear the same outfit. That would be okay. Her friends had pretty much exhausted their curiosity as far as that was concerned. So he began to feel a little more comfortable. And at least he would get some more party food.
His mother sent him over to Cecily’s on Friday evening. Of course, Patricia and Daphne were there. Daphne seemed to have recovered fully from her mortification. She was actually quite bright and bouncy. The anxiety returned, gnawing at his stomach, so that he ate only a light supper. After supper, Daphne whispered something in her mother’s ear, and they both looked in Sammy’s direction.
“Daphne thinks you should try on your costume now,” she said. “Make sure it fits. What do you think, Cecily? Do you think he should?”
“I don’t see why not. Is that what Daphne wants?”
Daphne nodded vigorously.
“All right then. Darling, would you like to fetch it?”
She was away like a shot, running up the stairs. Sammy felt hollow inside. In a moment she was back, holding a big pink carrier bag.
“Sammy?” said his aunt. “Go into my bedroom and undress. I’ll be in in a minute.”
Sammy rose slowly from his chair and headed for the downstairs bedroom. He was about to enter when his aunt appeared at the lounge door with a little cellophane packet in her hand.
“Here. Undress completely, and put these on. Catch!” She tossed him the packet. He caught it, went inside, and closed the door behind him.
Sammy looked at the packet. He tore it open. A pair of diaphanous pale pink panties, very small and lightweight, but made of some strong, nylon-like material. He sighed. This was not promising. Slowly he undressed. He hesitated a moment before stepping into the panties. Gingerly, he pulled them up. The material stretched so far, and no further. Just about enough for him to squeeze himself in, and no more. They were narrow at the back, and slipped in between the cheeks of his bottom. What next, he wondered. He didn’t have to wait long. His aunt knocked quietly at the door, and let herself in. She put the carrier down on the bed, and surveyed him with satisfaction.
“Perfect! Don’t look so nervous, they’re just an undergarment. Here, let’s get these on.”
She produced from the bag a pair of flesh-coloured tights, which seem to shine slightly in the light. She helped him into them.
“They’re virtually invisible. They’ll just make your legs shimmer a little. Very glamorous.”
She adjusted them until she was satisfied. They fitted like a second skin.
“Now. The main event. I do hope you like it.”
She smiled, watching his face, as she drew from the bag something mauve and shiny.
Sammy gasped. “A swimsuit? Why? I don’t understand…”
“Yes! Isn’t it pretty? Come on, slip it on. I want to make sure it fits.”
She held it out for him to step into. It was made of very stretchy, satiny spandex. She pulled it up, snapping the shoulder straps in place, and stood back to admire him. It fitted perfectly, hugging his figure without being tight. The neck was scooped, but not too low, and trimmed, as were the legs, with narrow white piping.
“Turn around. Excellent!”
The back was high, and fitted as well as the rest. The thigh was cut just high enough to suggest a compromise between functionality and glamour. Cecily was well satisfied.
“You can thank Daphne for choosing this. She said it would suit you, and she was right.”
“But, aunt…”
“Sit down on the bed, please. Next the shoes. Your going to have to wear heels, I’m afraid. It’s all part of the look.”
“What “look”?”
“You’ll see.”
She knelt in front of him. She pulled his shoes out from under the bed. Mauve leather with high heels and ankle-straps.
“The straps will keep them firmly in place. You will probably have to practise walking in them. I don’t suppose your used to heels, are you?” she smiled.
“I don’t get it. What am I supposed to be?”
“Does this clarify things?”
She went back to the bag. First, she produced a little diamond tiara, which she pushed into his hair.
“We’ll do your makeup in the morning.”
Then a pair of mauve satin opera gloves.
“Getting it?”
“No.”
“You will now.”
A yellow sash. Printed on it, the words “Pageant Princess”!
-
If Sammy is anything like me, he would have never even imagined that he'd be dressed as a pageant princess for the costume party. That's quite a clever, out of the box costume idea for the boy.
-
Sandra B, This is a great story and Sammy deserves the punishment that he is receiving. Keep up the good work and don't worry about the naysayers. You are a great writer.
-
4.
“Aunt! Please!”
“You like it?”
“No, I don’t! Let me wear by nice ballet outfit. Please. I can’t go like this. You don’t know what those friends of Daphne’s are like!”
“Well, you won’t be going quite like this,” she said, slipping on the sash and adjusting it to her satisfaction. You’ll have a pretty ribbon choker and some sweet earrings we found, and a little makeup. Oh, and Patricia will do your hair. You’ll look twice as nice when we’re finished with you. Now come and show the others.”
She led him, protesting, to the lounge.
When they saw him, Daphne jumped for joy, and Patricia covered her mouth.
“Oh, Sammy… Is it really you? You look scrumptious! The girls are going to love you.”
“Amelia is going to be so surprised,” cried Daphne. “She thought you looked cute last time, but now…”
“You c-can’t do this,” stuttered Sammy. “I beg you, don’t. I didn’t mean to mess up Daphne’s costume. It was just a prank. I didn’t realise it would turn out so…so awful.”
But he was ignored.
“He’s pretty enough to go into a real pageant,” said Patricia. “Pity we don’t have them here.”
“Oh, I think there are some,” replied Cecily, “though of course it’s not like in the States. Let’s look online.”
Sammy looked seriously alarmed.
“Don’t worry, we’re just joking,” laughed Patricia. “You should see your face!”
“That’s not funny,” he grimaced.
“Sorry,” said Cecily. “But let’s have a piccy, anyway.” She took a couple of snaps, and fiddled with her phone.
“I’ve sent it to your mum. I was going to send a photo to Amelia’s mum, but I think it would be more fun to surprise her.”
“Do what you like,” said Sammy, feigning indifference. “I don’t care.” He stood there unsteadily on his heels.
“Okay, why don’t you go and get changed,” said Cecily. “Don’t spoil your costume, though. Pack it away nicely in the bag.”
“Yes,” said Daphne, “then it’ll be all nice and smart for tomorrow. You’re going to have the best costume there, I bet. Even better than mine!”
Later that evening, when the children had both gone to bed, Cecily and Patricia sat in the lounge sipping wine.
“Alone at last,” laughed Patricia. “So…shall we have a look, now?”
“Let’s. Okay, here we go… This one's in the States…so’s this one… Ah, here we are. It’s a society. Let’s see…you have to pay a subscription…and a fee for each pageant. Now, when and where is the next one… Westford – that’s not that far. Twenty-first of next month. They have a boys’ section, too.”
“How much is it?”
“A year’s subscription is twenty-five pounds. The entry fee is seventy-five, if he were actually to take part.”
“Shall we pay the subscription…just in case?”
“If we could persuade him…”
“You know who might be able to help, Cec?”
“Who?”
“Remember my niece, Kayley? She’s always up for the crack?”
“Oh, yes, the pretty blonde one.”
“That’s right.”
“How old is she now?”
“She’s seventeen. Just got herself a little car.”
“Really? Do you think she’d…you know, be able to influence him?”
“She could probably wind him round her little finger. Whether she could lead him that far… I don’t know.”
“I’m going to give Vivien a ring. See what she thinks.”
She picked up her phone and dialled her sister.
“Hi Viv. Yes, fine. He’s in bed. Did you like it? I know. He’s not happy, but you know, I’m sure there’s a bit of him that loves all the attention, though he pretends not to. Yes, quite. I’m glad you’ve noticed that too. Anyway, why I’m ringing is….we’ve found a rather interesting website. It’s a society that organises pageants. Yes, actual pageants. I’m sending you a link. I mean, it’s just an idea. Let me know what you think. I was considering taking out a year’s subscription, if you agreed. I mean, I don’t really think it would come to anything, but…well you’ve seen the photo. Exactly. He is, isn’t he? Anyway, let me know. Okay. Bye for now.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
“Hello? Viv. Yes. Yes, absolutely. It does, doesn’t it? I know. It’s crazy. There’s like a five hundred pound first prize! It would be fun! Okay. No, no harm done if it comes to nothing. Yes, leave all that to me. I’ll take care of it. They may not even accept him. I have no idea whether he’d be able to enter the girls’ competition. We’ll see. Yeah. Bye!”
She turned to Patricia. “Okay. She’s totally on board. I’ll subscribe now…email…there, done. Now…applications. “Please submit a full-length photograph” – got that – “name, age, height, names and addresses of parents or guardians, contact phone number”. Okay, I’m putting in Vivien and myself, and I’ll use my phone number. There…all done.”
“We’re bad, Cec, you know that?”
“We are. But what the hell.”
-
5.
I was expecting to have to write that Sammy was unable to sleep that night, in view of the ordeal the next day. But he had been so wound up during the week, that finding out what his costume was to be at least had the effect of releasing all that tension, and allowing him a deep and peaceful slumber. So he awoke fresh and ready for whatever Fate and his aunt had to throw at him.
These parties normally began after lunch, but this one was scheduled to be an all-day affair. The children were allowed to arrive any time after eleven. This was good, Sammy calculated, as it meant there was going to be a party lunch as well as party goodies and a party supper. The thought helped reconcile him to whatever awaited him, and after breakfast, he allowed himself to be taken to the bathroom and attended to by both the women, with Daphne, content to wait her turn in such a good cause, looking on. They took off his T-shirt and began the transformation. While Cecily washed and curled his hair into ringlets, Patricia painted his nails pink – mauve and pink always seem to go well together, somehow.
“Why are you bothering to do my nails?” Sammy asked. “They’re not going to show under my gloves anyway.”
“Your gloves are for your entrance, darling. There’s no way you’ll be able to keep them on all day. So your nails need painting. It’s these little details that separate the pageant princess from the pageant also-rans.”
“Oh. I see.”
“And in your reticule –“
“My what?”
“Your reticule – it’s a tiny shoulder bag where you can keep your private girly things – in your reticule, along with you scent and some tissues, you will find a couple of scrunchy bangles which you can put on to complete your outfit. Okay?”
“I guess so. I’m getting a bit nervous now, though…”
“Don’t worry, Sammy,” piped up Daphne, “I’ll look after you. Just hold my hand when we get there and you’ll be all right.”
“Okay, Daphne,” he replied, seriously.
Patricia and Cecily exchanged surprised glances. He must be nervous, thought Cecily. She sprayed the piled-up ringlets with quantities of lacquer, until she was sure they’d hold their shape for the entire day. For his makeup, foundation was followed by blusher, a little more than was natural, in good pageant tradition. Excessive mascara, of course, a light smearing of mauve eye shadow, to match his swimsuit, pink lip gloss, and he was done. Then he was led to the bedroom and dressed just as he had been the evening before, and told to go and wait in the lounge. Then it was Daphne’s turn to get ready.
By about ten-thirty they were ready to go. The final touches were added. Daphne was sprinkled with glitter. Sammy pulled on his long gloves, and had his mauve ribbon choker clipped on. A single amethyst hung from the catch at the front. His earrings – clip-ons – were also amethyst, in silver mounts. His little tiara was pushed into the stiff pile of ringlets, where it stuck fast. Finally Cecily slipped his sash over his head, and handed him his reticule. It was of mauve leather, matching his shoes. He naturally had good balance, and had adapted quite quickly to his heels. They took a final look at themselves in the mirror. Staring at his reflection, Sammy felt quite dazed. How could he be embarrassed, when he looked so perfect? He almost had to remind himself he was a boy, but when he did, that was when he felt his cheeks burning. He realised what he had to do that day. He had to be a girl, then no-one would laugh at him. And he found something profoundly exciting in the thought.
“Daphne… Do you know if there’ll be any boys at the party?”
“A few, I think. Amelia has several boy friends. I mean friends who are boys, not boyfriends!” she added, with a slight blush. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason, really.” But he was wondering what they were going to think of him. He felt a little confused, but now he was fully made up, also much more confident. Cecily and Patricia took several more snaps of them before they left.
“We should have sent one of these to that society,” said Patricia, quietly.
“We should. I’ll send one as a supplementary, to make sure they get the message.”
“Yes, do.”
“All right, children! Let’s go. Got the present?”
Daphne had chosen a doll as a joint present from herself and Sammy. It was a doll in a box, a soft fabric doll in a floral skirt with a smiley face. According to the name woven into her top, she was called “Sam”! The irony wasn’t lost on Sammy.
“It’ll remind Amelia of my party,” Daphne remarked, with a quiet smile of satisfaction.
“You two in the back of the car, please, and don’t mess your makeup before we get there, Sammy,” said Cecily.
“Have a good time, but no misbehaviour, please,” added Patricia, glancing at Sammy in the rear view mirror. “Look after each other, won’t you?”
“Yes, mummy. Don’t worry!” said Daphne, taking Sammy’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
-
6.
When they pulled up outside Amelia’s house, and Cecily turned off the engine, Sammy began to check nervously up and down the road. Once he was inside, he told himself, he’d be safe. One kid amongst many, with a perfect excuse for being dressed up as a girl. It almost felt thrilling, having carte blanche to be whatever he wanted.
“All right, kids. You can go in when you like. Sammy? Give yourself a squirt or two of scent before you go. We’ll be there in a moment.”
“I’ll do it!” cried Daphne, helping herself to the atomiser in Sammy’s reticule, and spraying him liberally with ‘French Miss’. Sammy had to wrench it out of her grasp and, coughing, return it to his little bag.
“Yippee! Let’s go!” cried Daphne, starting to push him out of the door.
Sammy and Daphne got out onto the pavement, pushed open the gate, and made their way up the front path. Daphne ran, but Sammy was forced to step carefully in his heels.
Cecily and Patricia looked at each other.
“He seems a lot more relaxed that I thought he’d be,” laughed Patricia.
“Yes. Not much of a punishment! I wonder how Daphne’s little friends will react.”
“Let’s go see.”
The children were inside now. About half the other guests – that is, about half a dozen – had already arrived, accompanied by their mothers. When the women were admitted, they found that Sammy had got no farther than the hallway before being mobbed by a bunch of little girls, squealing and chattering over his costume like a bunch of excited sparrows.
Sammy was taken aback. But at present at least, their interest was purely aesthetic.
“Sammy! Do you remember me? I’m Bethanie. I met you at Daphne’s party. I loved your ballet costume, but this is…just amazing!”
“Your makeup’s so professional,” chimed in Grace. “Do you do it yourself?”
“Er, well, you know, my aunt helped, but mainly….”
“Would you help me with mine? I’ll ask my mum if you can come round. What days are you free?”
“Well, I, er… I mean, I’ve got quite a lot on at the moment. You know, secondary school's different. There’s a lot more homework…”
“But you’re free some weekends?” interjected Megan. “Please come to my party. It’s two weeks today. We’re gonna have masses of food…”
“Really? Oh, sure, I’d love to…”
“Sammy,” asked the smallest girl in the gathering, whose name was Leah, “Sammy? Do you actually do pageants? I mean, is that a real sash? If you did, I’m sure you’d win… Your costume is so…beautiful.”
Sammy was nonplussed by this question. But the flattery was having its effect, and moreover he didn’t want to appear fake, or disappoint his admirers. Leah looked up into his face with such an expression of adoration, he found himself saying,
“Well, er, you know, I, er, haven’t really bothered up to now. But, yeah, I’m entering for one soon.”
Leah’s face lit up.
“You know, I don’t expect to win or anything,” he added, hoping to impress her with his modesty. “I’ll just be doing it for a bit of fun, like.”
“Can we come and watch you? Please?”
“Oh…I don't know...perhaps...”
“Mummy! Mummy! Sammy’s gonna be in a real pageant. Can we go and watch him? Please?”
“Oh, darling, I’m sure we can arrange that. Sammy, that’s amazing. Is it your first one? I’m sure you’ll do well. Your outfit is so perfect!”
“Oh, thanks, er…”
“Sandra. Sandra Aitchison. When is it?
“Err…”
“It’s on the twenty-first of next month,” said Cecily, coming over. “Hi, I’m Cecily, Sammy’s aunt. Nice to meet you, Sandra.”
“And you, Cecily. Leah seems very excited by the thought of seeing Sammy in a real pageant. Where’s it being held?”
“Westford. Mind you, we’re still waiting for the entry to be confirmed. Fingers crossed.”
“Oh, he won’t have any problem, I’m sure. He already looks like a professional. Let me give you my phone number, and perhaps you’d confirm it. I’d love to go to one of those things again.”
“You’ve been before?”
“We went to Scarlett’s last year. She’s not here yet. Her mum knows all about these things. If it’s his first time, I’m sure she’d be happy to give you some advice, if you wanted.”
“That would be very helpful. We…”
“Oh, here they are now! Teri! Come and meet Cecily. I was just telling her about Scarlett’s pageant. She’s trying to get Sammy there entered at…where was it, Cecily?”
“Westford. Hi Teri, nice to meet you. This is my nephew, Sammy. What do you think, could he get in?”
“Nice to meet you too, Cecily. He’s lovely! So would he be going in the girls’ section? Or as a boy?”
“We were hoping as a girl. He prefers the girls’ costumes, and he looks good in them. What do you think?”
“At Westford?. That’s the west counties society. You won’t have any problem there. They believe in total diversity. And I can tell you now, from what I can see, I’d be gobsmacked if they didn’t jump at him.”
“Oh, that’s so reassuring. Thank you.”
“No trouble. I’d be happy to meet up some time and discuss it. I have quite a bit of experience with pageants. Scarlett loves them, don’t you, dear?”
“Yes, mum. Sammy’s really cute, isn’t he? I told you about Daphne’s party, but today he looks twice as good!”
“He certainly looks the real deal. And I’ve always had a soft spot for boys brave enough to take on the girls at their own game. Sammy? Were you thinking of keeping this costume for the swimwear section?
“Er…”
“I think you should. It would be difficult to improve upon. Maybe a little cape…I don’t know. But you’re going to need a dress, and probably one other outfit. I can help with that, Cecily, if you’d like. I know some good sources which wouldn’t be too expensive.”
“Thanks, Teri. I’ll take you up on that. See, Sammy? Looks like you’re going to get your wish after all.”
Sammy stood staring at his aunt, momentarily unable to speak. What had just happened? His heart sank. One off the cuff remark, and now he was committed to a real, actual, genuine pageant. And everyone knew.
More guests were arriving now. More attention. And Leah running around screaming, “Sammy’s gonna be in a pageant – a real pageant! An’ we can all go! Yay!"
-
Sandra B, I love that Sammy keeps getting himself deeper and deeper into his new role as a girl. I can't wait to read about the pageant. You do yourself proud with the way you write. Thank you for entertaining us with your stories.
-
7.
Amelia’s mother, Mrs Hughes, stood in the hallway welcoming each new guest as she arrived. Most, Sammy recognised from Daphne’s party. He tried to remember all their names. Eleanor, Hannah, Courtney, Abbey, Paige, Evie. He was standing near the window, talking to Paige and Hannah. Hannah had brought her younger brother, Harry, who, somewhat to Sammy’s chagrin, was wearing a Hawkeye costume. He wandered into the room, picked up a crisp from one of the bowls on the table, and had opened his mouth to give it access when he spotted Sammy. The mouth stayed open, and the eyes opened wider. He stood transfixed. One of the mothers nudged her friend.
“Look at Harry. I think he’s in love!” And they collapsed in stifled laughter.
Sammy glared at him, without effect.
“Hannah, who’s that girl?” he said in a loud voice. The chatter died away. Everyone was looking at Harry or at Sammy.
“Oh, that’s not a girl, Harry. This is Sammy. Do you like his costume?”
“Sammy?” he repeated, not understanding.
“Sammy. He’s a boy. He’s going in for a pageant.”
“A boy?” A smile of dawning understanding spread slowly over his face. He stared even harder. “Is he a sissy, then?”
There was a moment’s silence, then the whole room exploded in mirth.
“Of course not, silly! Sammy’s just, you know… He likes dressing up as a girl, that’s all.”
“Does he? He looks so pretty. Prettier than you…”
“Oh, thanks very much!” cried Hannah, not at all pleased. “Now stop staring and eat your crisps.”
Sammy was not pleased either. He had put the pageant out of his mind for the time being, and had been concentrating on trying to impress the female guests with his pretended expertise at dress and makeup. Why he should want to impress a bunch of little girls he did not stop to consider. Perhaps he just wanted to divert attention from the basic fact he was nothing more than a big boy in a rather scanty girl’s costume. This little episode didn’t help his purpose. He tried to laugh it off.
“What a cute little kid! Even if he did get the wrong end of the stick.”
“Harry’s very perceptive. I think he’d love to come to your pageant. All those pretty girls…”
“Well, yes, if it happens…. I don’t know if I’ll be accepted…”
“I’m sure you will, don’t worry,” said Hannah sympathetically, touching his arm. “Tell me, if you win, do you get one of those things to hold?”
“A sceptre?” suggested Paige.
“Yes, that’s it!”
“I’m not sure,” said Sammy with a nervous laugh. And then, to change the subject, “Well, I guess we’re all here, and most of the parents have left, so…” He eyed the food.
“Not quite,” said Paige, looking out of the window. “My brother promised to drop in. But he doesn’t always do what he’s promised. So I don’t know…”
“Wait. Isn’t that him now?” said Hannah, pulling back the curtain.
“Oh, yes!” said Paige. “Great! You may know him, Sammy. Are you at Cranfield High? He started there last year.”
An icy hand gripped his heart. The boy now making his way up the front path looked vaguely familiar. Sammy was in year eight. This kid was in year seven. He didn’t know his name.
“Oscar. Do you know him?”
Sammy shook his head. The colour had drained from his face.
“I’ll go let him in.”
A moment later she was back, accompanied by Oscar. He was an inch taller than Sammy, despite being a year younger. He had a pleasant, open face under a thatch of dark hair, and smiling eyes.
“Let me introduce you,” said Paige. She led him over to where Sammy and Hannah were standing. This is Hannah, and this is Sammy. Guys, this is Oscar. You may know Sammy, Oscar.”
“Hi. I don’t think so,” replied Oscar, looking at Sammy with great interest but complete absence of recognition.
“He’s in year eight at your school.”
“He…?” His mouth fell open. “You…you’re Sammy who was in the photos… I mean, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you, I…” He blushed bright red, and nervously brushed his hair back with his hand. Oh, well, thought Sammy, at least I seem to have the advantage of him for the time being. He smiled, but said nothing, preferring to see how Oscar would handle it.
“I…I…I mean, you look completely different. Yes…er…I was just dropping in, you know, cos my sister asked me…” He seemed completely at a loss. He stared at Sammy’s shiny pink lips with something like panic on his face. Sammy had expected smirks and sarcasm, not this. Paige came to the rescue.
“Oscar, Sammy’s entering for a pageant. He practising. What do you think of his outfit?”
“Oh, er, I see.” He gulped. “It’s stunning,” he added, with what seemed like real sincerity, nervously looking Sammy up and down again. “When is it?”
“Next month,” said his sister. “We’re all going. You could come too, if you wanted.”
“Oh, yeah, great!” He was recovering his cool. “I’m sure you’ll do well, Sammy. It’s a great outfit. Will you be wearing other stuff too?”
It seemed like the pageant was inescapable now. Sammy capitulated.
“Yeah, I guess. My aunt’s seems to be in charge, though. You’d have to ask her.”
“Oh, yes. I guess all the competitors have a manager of some sort.”
“Yes, that’s right. I hadn’t even twigged! I’m just a pawn!”
“Putty in her hands.”
“An extension of her ego!”
They laughed. This Oscar really wasn’t a bad bloke. Oscar hesitated.
“Sammy? Would you mind if…” He brought out his phone. Sammy sighed.
“What, so you can hawk them all round school again? No way.”
“No, I wouldn’t!” Oscar looked horrified. “I’d never do anything like that! Tell him, Paige.”
“He wouldn’t. It’s not what you think. He really loves your outfit, that’s all.”
“He loves my outfit?”
“Paige, that’s enough,” interjected Oscar, alarmed. But Paige ignored him.
“He probably envious. Let him take a picture.”
Oscar blushed. Sammy looked from him to Paige, and back again.
“Really?”
“They’d just be for me,” said Oscar, looking at the floor.
“Okay…I guess…”
“With my sister and Hannah?”
“Go ahead then.”
Sammy posed with one, then the other, then with both of them, one on each side, their arms round his waist. Then Paige took one of him and Oscar. The others wanted to get in on the act, too. Daphne, of course. Eventually, the whole party got together in one big bunch. Sammy was enjoying himself. Why was this so much nicer than being out on the streets with the lads? Why did it even matter?
Oscar stayed for several more minutes, but then he had to leave. Sammy walked him to the front door. They exchanged phone numbers.
“I’ll send you the best photos later on today,” said Oscar, “if you like.”
“Yes please.” Sammy paused. “Oscar? Do you really like my costume?”
“It’s very, very cool, Sammy.”
“I didn’t choose it, you know. I was sort of forced.”
“But you like it now? I can see you’re very comfortable wearing it.”
Sammy laughed. “I suppose I am, now. I need to be, if I’m gonna do this pageant they want to put me in.”
“You nervous?”
“Very.”
“Don’t be. If you want any moral support, call me. Okay?”
“You’re a mate, Oscar. See you on Monday, then.”
“Yeah. See you.”
Sammy returned to the party.
“Your brother’s a nice guy,” he said to Paige.
“I know. I’m lucky.”
“You are.”
-
8.
After everyone had given their presents – Amelia loved her new doll - Sammy, his nervousness somewhat dissipated, turned his attention to the food. He didn’t even mind posing for more photographs. He felt confident that though they may be circulated around Lakefield Primary, they would never reach Cranfield, such was the rivalry and distrust between the two schools.
Mrs Hughes approached him, and rubbed one hand gently up and down the small of his back, in a rather too familiar manner.
“Some of the girls would like you to practise your twirls. I think Scarlett put them up to it. She says she can give you some advice about how to present yourself.”
She gave him a friendly leer. Her hand lingered on his back a little too long. He thought it would be a good excuse to escape.
“Sure.”
Scarlett came over and took him by the hand. She led him to the far side on the room. Amelia was there, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Sorry about my mum. She likes you a bit too much. She’s harmless, though.”
“Now,” said Scarlett, “the first thing is balance.” She turned over a square metal wastebin.
“Here, stand on this and let me see how you are.”
She helped him up. The bin was far from stable, and he stood there, swaying and teetering, determined not to fall off.
“Now do a complete circle. Go on.”
Sammy rotated slowly. His face was a picture of concentration. The sight of him lurching about in his tight little swimsuit on his high heels elicited giggles and squeals of laughter from the guests. Mrs Hughes, meanwhile, was gleefully videoing his antics, and deciding which of her friends were going to be lucky enough to be sent the result.
Scarlett really put him through his paces. She coached him on his walking, his curtseying, and his posture.
“Hmm. You need some lessons in deportment. I can probably sort it out for you. Now, you also need to learn to be able to stand still and quiet even when there are all sorts of distractions around. The best test I know is this. Stand up on a chair – here, that’s right. Now, put your hands on your hips, and keep them there. You must attempt to remain calm, graceful and dignified, even when I start to tickle you. I’m going to start gently at your ankles, and work my way up. Get it?”
“Do we have to do this now, Scarlett?”
“What better time? You’ve only got a month. We need to get started straight away. Now face the girls. That’s right. Ready?”
It was the best floor show they could have hoped for. Scarlett’s fingers played lightly up and down his legs, over his bottom, and up to his ribs. She worked relentlessly, with a determined smile or her face, till she had him dancing and squirming on the chair. His audience was helpless with laughter – the girls could hardly hold their phones steady. Mrs Hughes was ecstatic. But Scarlett didn’t let him off the hook. Every time he pleaded for her to stop, or took a hand off his hip, she rebuked him with some severity. Even as he stood there, wriggling and gyrating, he blushed to the roots of his hair at the spectacle he knew he must be presenting. She kept him dancing for the best part of half an hour, till, with a pathetic whimper, he cried, “Please! Let me down! Or I’m going to wet myself!”
Scarlett grinned, and gave him a slap on his bottom.
“Go on then, Princess. But hurry back, mind!”
The girls were exhausted with laughing, and lay around comparing notes on Sammy’s performance. When he returned, still very red-faced, he was greeted with a round of applause. And for the rest of the day he was continually reminded of his humiliation by the stray fingers which every now and then alighted on the backs of his thighs, and the sharp fingertips which were pressed into his ribs.
When the party ended, Sammy was a little surprised to be collected, not by Patricia or Cecily, but by a pretty girl with very long, straight blonde hair.
“Kayley!” shouted Daphne, hugging her, “what are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to collect you, darling. I’ll be staying over tonight. Hello. You must be Sammy. I’m Kayley, Daphne’s cousin. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Hi. Nice to meet you.”
Very nice, thought Sammy.
-
9.
The encounter with Sammy had stirred something profound within Oscar’s psyche. After he got home that evening, and had sent Sammy the pictures, he tried to analyse it. First, there was the obvious and inescapable fact that he had found Sammy breathtakingly attractive when he first saw him and thought he was a girl. He evaded the question of what he felt when he was told the truth. But there was something else, something much more basic. He had envied Sammy. His costume was so perfect, it suited him and fitted him so well. He wondered what it must be like to be dressed like that, and when he did so, his heart beat a little faster, and his cheeks flushed.
When Paige got home, she ran straight upstairs to his room.
“So, Oscar. What did you think of Sammy?”
“He seems really nice.”
“Yeah. But what did you think of his costume?”
“Oh, er, yeah, it was great…”
“Is that all you can say? I saw you looking at it. Weren’t you jealous?”
“Jealous?”
“Yes, jealous! Don’t just repeat what I say. You’re avoiding the question. Wouldn’t you like to wear something like that? I mean, I would.”
“But you’re a girl…”
“Oh, you’ve noticed. Stop prevaricating.” (Paige was quite precocious.)
“I suppose…”
“I know you like girl’s clothes. Mummy knows too. Remember that time she caught you…”
“Yes, all right! Don’t bring that up again! So what if I do? I don’t have an outfit like that, anyway.”
“You could ask mummy. Maybe you could go to the pageant with him…”
“Go to the pageant…what do you mean…take part?”
“Yes, silly. The two of you could go together. You’d be doing him a big favour. Underneath he terribly nervous about it.”
“He is?”
“Yes! It’s his first one!”
Oscar stared at her, startled. He was quite a solitary boy. He had taken a liking to Sammy, to put it mildly, and the thought of sharing such an experience suddenly opened up a new vista in his life. He knew he and Sammy were going to get on, he knew they were going to be friends, and that…that would cement their friendship like nothing else.
“I know you want to. I can tell. And Sammy really likes you, too. He told me so.”
“He said that?”
“Yes! Stop being so shy, Oscar. Go and ask mummy if you can. If you don’t, I will!”
“Give me a moment…”
“Mummy? Mummy!”
Paige was already heading downstairs.
“What is it dear? You seem very hyped up after that party. You on drugs or something?”
“Very funny, mum. And totally inappropriate to say to a ten-year-old.”
“Ten going on thirty,” remarked her mother, under her breath.
“Listen, mum. It’s about Oscar. He wants to go to a pageant. As a girl. Will you help?”
“What?”
“You heard. You know he’s into that dressing-up stuff. Now there’s an opportunity for him to go and do it for real. His friend’s going. He’s gorgeous, by the way. Oscar really wants to go with him, but he’s too timid to say.”
“Well, what does he say? I mean…”
“Mum.” Oscar had appeared in the doorway.
“There you are. What’s all this about a pageant?”
“I know it’s stupid. If my friends ever found out… But it’s true. I can’t actually think of anything more exciting. And I’d be with a friend.”
His mother looked at him and smiled. “You know you can go if you want to. You already know my views. Of course I’ll help, too. Just be sure you’re doing the right thing…”
“I’m sure. I’d have to talk to Sammy first, of course. Make sure he wants me to go too.”
“Course he does,” said Paige, impatiently.
“Okay. Well talk to him, and if you’re sure, we’ll do what’s necessary. Find out about entry fees and all that. Where is it?”
“Westford,” said Paige. “Next month.”
“I wouldn’t need anything fancy. Not the first time…”
“Well we can talk about that when you’ve sorted out the preliminaries. Keep me informed.”
“Thanks, mum.” He went over and gave her a hug. “Thanks for being so understanding.”
She laughed. “I'm understanding, even if I don’t understand. It’s your life, darling, and you must live it according to your own lights.”
Oscar returned to his room. He was trembling slightly, and tingling with excitement. He went to his chest, opened the bottom drawer, and riffled through his little collection of girls’ panties. Imagine a whole outfit! Maybe two! Imagine parading in front of an appreciative audience! He downloaded the photos from his phone, picked out the one of himself and Sammy, printed it, and stuck it on his wall.
He stared at it for a moment. “I hope you’ll be my friend,” he murmured.
-
Sandra B, All I can say is "WOW!! Sammy and the pageant and now Oscar wants to be in it, too. Fantastic chapters. Keep up the fantastic work.
-
Exploit the Third. The Pageant.
1.
Cecily didn’t have to wait long to get a response from the West Counties Pageants Association. She received an email the following Monday, confirming that they would be delighted to accept Sammy for next month’s pageant, and that he could enter for the intermediate girl’s class, or the intermediate boys, on receipt of the appropriate entry fees. She also received a call from Oscar’s mother.
“Hello? Is that Cecily Pemberton?” (Cecily had never married. Pemberton was also Vivien’s maiden name.) “My name is Ashley Warren. I got your number through my son Oscar and your nephew. It seems they’ve become friends all of a sudden.”
“Oh, yes. He did say something about it. How can I help?”
“I understand Sammy wants to enter a pageant next month. Oscar is desperate to go with him.”
“Really? Well, I wouldn’t say he wants to. It’s all part of a process. I won’t go into details, but his mother’s had a…a difficult time with him in recent months. I’m giving her a bit of a rest as much as I can, and the pageant idea is an attempt at…shall we say, reform? We’re trying to - how can I put it - we’re trying to nurture his feminine side.”
“I saw some of the pictures Oscar took at Amelia’s party. I would say you’re succeeding.”
“We’ve made some progress. But I’m still afraid he might try to chicken out at the last minute. I’ve recruited the niece of a friend to help, but if Oscar were able to accompany him, that would be amazing.”
“Well there won’t be any problem with Oscar. He’s always been into dresses and things. What do I have to do to enrol him?”
Cecily gave Ashley the contact details, and it was left that she’d be in touch once his participation was confirmed.
Cecily’s next task was to read through the rules and conditions. She got the impression, partly from the photographs on the website, partly from the eagerness with which Sammy had been accepted, that the Association was small and desperate for more members. Pageants, she knew, were far more popular up north than here in the south. The first thing was to understand the structure of the competition, though she didn’t like the idea of children competing against each other – she was rather naïve about how these things worked in practice – but preferred to think of it as a show where the individual could express her or his sartorial taste. There were three classes in the girls’ section: first, a dress, second, swimsuit or leotard, third and last, open. She read the rules for the “open” stage. Essentially, the child could appear in any costume it chose, from formal to fancy dress to, well, anything – it seemed he or she could dress as a gorilla, or a tree, if they wanted. Plenty of scope, there, she thought. This stage was worth twenty percent of the marks, the others forty percent each. Her mind immediately started working on ideas for something original. As a creative person, she should have been in a good position to come up with something memorable. But there would be time for that. The priority, she decided, was to decide on the costumes for the other two stages, so that the necessary purchases could be made. And whatever they were, Sammy had to be convinced or persuaded or cajoled into acceptance. That was where Kayley would come in.
She emailed all the information to Vivien, then started scrolling through reams of dresses, knickers, camisoles, leotards and the rest. Two hours later, her head spinning, she was still at it, having made precisely no firm decisions.
-
2.
The events of the party had not eased Sammy’s anxiety about the prospect of appearing in a pageant. He had left inwardly determined to avoid it if he could. When Kayley brought up the subject on the drive home, he immediately became suspicious of her motives.
“So, Sammy, I heard you’re thinking of entering a pageant next month.”
“You did?” he replied, noncommittally.
“Yes. I’m sure you’d do well. I mean, your costume is amazing. Don’t you think so, Daphne?”
“Yeah, it’s great. All my friends were jealous.”
“I’m sure they were. I’m jealous. Where did you get it?”
“I didn’t get it. My aunt made it up for me somehow. You’d have to ask her.”
“But you like it, right?”
“Not really. Anyway, I think I’m should skip this pageant thing. Since I’ve been staying with auntie, I haven’t really seen any of my friends. I need to link up with them again.”
“Sammy! Please go! We’re all looking forward to it! ” cried Daphne, disappointed.
“Yeah, well, we’ll see…”
“Auntie Cecily’s made all the arrangements. So you’ve got to go.”
“Daphne’s right, Sammy. But I thought you liked it at your aunt’s, anyway.”
“Yeah, I guess… She’s not as strict as my mum, I suppose…”
“There you are then.” She paused, and then added, in the most persuasive tone she could assume, “You know, I’m going to be staying with Cecily for a bit. I could be your friend, if you liked. I know I wouldn’t be as good as your real friends, but I could be a stand-in. What do you say? We could do some interesting stuff… You know, go places, and things…”
Sammy’s eyes widened.
“Are you staying, Kayley?” cried Daphne, excited. “That’s great! I can come see you whenever I want! In any case, my mum’s always round at Auntie Cecily’s these days. They just natter all the time. So boring. But if you were there…”
Kayley laughed. “I heard they get on, those two. Yes, Daphne, I’m going to stay for a month or so. Of course we’ll do lots of nice things together. But I’ll have to spend time with Sammy, too.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’d really like to get to know you better, Sammy. I’ve heard so many good things about you.”
“You have?” He felt slightly puzzled, and put his satisfaction at her flattery in temporary abeyance.
“Yes. I know you’re a bit of a prankster, but I like that. I was just the same at your age. Maybe I still am…” She laughed seductively.
Sammy found his suspicions beginning to crumble.
“What sort of things did you….?”
“Well, I remember once, at school, there was this girl…she was so snooty…after gym one day, I nicked all her clothes and dumped them in the rubbish! She had to sit there wrapped in a blanket waiting for her mother to come and collect her…”
“Didn’t she find out who did it?”
“No. I was very careful. And then I let all the air out of a teacher’s tyres. He was horrible. He deserved it.”
“Really?” He was becoming more and more impressed.
“Yes. And there was the time I put honey in the washing machine with the powder… My mum never worked out why the clothes came out all sticky! Oh! Never tell anyone about that, will you? Nor you, Daphne.”
“Wow.”
“And once I put melty chocolate on this girl’s chair…”
Sammy was hooked. Not only was Kayley the real-life personification of Beryl the Peril, but she was incredibly pretty. He stared at the smooth hanks of blonde hair lying across her shoulders. He watched the confident, easy way she drove her little car. He listened to her light, musical laugh. His suspicions had now evaporated entirely. He decided it would be a good idea to stay at his aunt’s for a while after all… Maybe, say, a month or so?
-
3.
Oscar’s mother received the same enthusiastic response to her enquiries of the Pageant Society, and soon he too was fully signed up for the girl’s section. Oscar himself was immensely excited by the news. The first thing he did was to text Sammy, the second to start searching the internet for a dress suitable for the opener.
“Mum? What sort of thing do you think I should go for?”
“Something not too expensive, ideally,” she replied, with a smile.
“Mum, you know I’ve got my savings from my paper round and stuff. I won’t ask you for anything.”
“I was only joking, silly. No, I’m going to help you with this. I know it’s something you’ve always wanted to do. But I hope you realise you’re going to have an audience.”
“I know that. That’s part of the fun. Coming out properly at last.”
“Yes, I understand that. But this audience is probably going to be ninety percent parents of your competitors. I can’t imagine they’re going to be very sympathetic, especially given you’re a boy in what they probably consider exclusively a girls’ world.”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yes. So I would play down the exhibitionism a bit if I were you. I think modesty is the key, and the judges won’t penalise you for that.”
“Okay. I get it. I’ll let my clothes do the talking.”
Sammy was none too pleased to receive Oscar’s ecstatic message.
“Shit! I could do without this.”
“What’s the matter, Sammy?”
“It’s my friend Oscar, Kayley. Now he’s going to the pageant too, and he’s all worked up about it. It just makes it more complicated for me.”
“Complicated?”
“Now I’ve got to disappoint him as well.”
“Oh. Do you really want to get out of it, then? Daphne tells me you were boasting about it to Hannah and the girls.”
“I wasn’t boasting! I probably said something, and they misunderstood. They’re stupid! Everyone at that stupid party kept going on about it.”
“So Oscar wants to do it, but you…you don’t?”
“No!”
“Are you frightened?”
“No! Of course I’m not frightened. I just don’t want to. I’ve got other things to do…” He frowned. “I’m not like Oscar. He a fully-fledged cross-dresser – or at least, a wannabe.”
“And you’re not.”
“No!”
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you looked in your pageant outfit? Any idea at all? When I saw you, it blew me away. I thought you were the most attractive boy I’d ever seen.”
Sammy looked at her, startled. “Really? Do you mean that, or are you…just…”
“I mean, I know you probably don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. I’d sooner be seen around with you dressed like that then any of these flash guys in what they think are really cool duds.”
“You would? You wouldn’t be…embarrassed?”
“Embarrassed? You’re joking. I think your one of the cutest boys I’ve ever met. Maybe you just think I’m an idiot…”
“No, no. Course I don’t. If you liked me in girls’ clothes, you know I’d wear them for you… I’d do anything for you…” He sighed. “It’s not even that I don’t like wearing them. It’s just that if the guys at school found out, after that other stuff – you know, the doll-box – I’d be toast. They’d never let me forget it. And the girls are even worse.”
“Okay… Yeah, I get it. I’m beginning to understand…”
At last! Someone who understood him, or at least, wanted to. Someone who was sympathetic, caring….pretty… Sammy felt he could confide in Kayley. They weren’t so different, after all. They were both pranksters. Anti-authoritarian. Rebels.
“That’s why I’ve got to get out of this pageant thing, Kayley. Don’t mention this to anyone. But I’ve decided I’ll seem to go along with it, but I’m gonna disappear on the day. Michael’s parents are away that weekend and I’ve arranged to go round there Saturday morning early. No-one will know where I am. I’ll leave a note saying I’m with friends.”
“Oh, well, if that’s your decision…I guess I understand.”
“It is. I feel much better now I’ve told you.”
“But Oscar… Will you play along for his sake for the time being? Your aunt says she’s going to invite him and his mum round so you can choose your costumes. He’s very excited about it.”
“Well I guess I’ll have to. Anyway, he’s a good guy. I don’t mind helping him. I’ll act like everything’s a go, so he can get his costumes sorted out.”
“You’re a good guy yourself, Sammy. I like you a lot. And if you would dress up for me…sometimes…I’d like you even more.”
“I-I like you, Kayley. Course I will, if you want…”
-
4.
So that’s how things were left. It was only a few weeks till the pageant, so Cecily arranged for Oscar and Ashley to come round the next Saturday. Patricia and Daphne would be coming too, so she asked if Paige could come with them. Sammy was not looking forward to it. But he knew he had at least to pretend to participate, otherwise they’d give him no peace. And Kayley had promised to take him out on the Sunday, just the two of them. She wanted to drive to the coast and eat fish and chips on the beach. He was really looking forward to it.
“You know what?” she said to him, that Friday night. “It’s just occurred to me. Since you’re not actually going to the pageant, you can choose whatever outfits you like. The more outrageous or daring, the better. Your aunt will think you’re a reformed character.”
Sammy stared at her. “Wow, Kayley, you're right! That’s a great idea.”
“It’ll be worth it just to see her face. It can be our first conspiratorial prank!”
“But wait a minute. She’s going to order all this stuff. She’ll be furious with me when she finds out I’m not going.”
“So what? Let her be. From what you’ve told me, she’s played some pretty nasty tricks on you.”
“It’s true. It’ll serve her right. It won’t even begin to pay her back for the doll box.”
“It was her and Patricia, wasn’t it? I heard all about it. It sounds terrible!” Sammy noticed Kayley had a strange expression on her face, as if she was stifling a smile. But it must have been his imagination, for she added, “Fancy them doing that to you! And then putting you in a shop window for everyone to see. It’s inexcusable!”
Yes. That was the word. Inexcusable. But he’d pay them back. Both of them. Aunt Cecily first.
“And then we can go off to the coast on Sunday and leave them to it,” grinned Kayley.
“Yes, and eat fish and chips on the beach!”
“It’ll be fun, Sammy.”
It had been arranged that everyone would come for lunch first, before embarking on the choosing of costumes. Oscar, Paige and Ashley arrived first. Oscar was so pleased to see Sammy, and bubbling over with excitement. Sammy was almost sorry he was going to have to disappoint him. But he was sure Oscar would have lots of fun by himself.
After lunch, they sat down at the table with two laptops, and got to work. The rules specified that the dress for the first class should be “formal to semi-formal: ideally suitable for a ball gown or evening wear or a decorous party. Candidates may be penalised for appearing in ordinary party frocks or similar outfits.”
“Snooty lot,” remarked Sammy. “I can see exactly where this is going.”
“Well, darling,” said his aunt, “don’t worry. You’ll have a chance to express your natural barbarism in the open class.”
“Huh.” Sammy had spent an hour the previous evening ensconced in his room scrolling through pageant clothes. He wanted to make sure he knew exactly what he was going to choose, so he couldn’t be corralled into anything by his aunt or anyone else. He had realised there was no scope for fun in this class, so all by himself he chose a rather plain pink sleeveless satin dress with a flared skirt, embroidered bodice, and oriental collar. He chose it because he thought it was beautiful, much nicer than all the frilly, flouncy things the grown-ups were suggesting.
“That’s so nice,” cried Daphne.
“It’s lovely,” agreed Paige. “I wish I had a dress like that.”
“Where did you find that?” said Cecily, not altogether pleased at having been circ-umvented. “Let me bookmark that.” She stared at him, puzzled. “You’ve got better taste than I thought…”
Sammy blushed slightly. Yeah? Well maybe I do, he thought. Not that you’ve ever noticed. But keep on watching, aunt. In a minute I’m gonna show you what bad taste is!
“Do you want the hairbows too?” she asked, with a faint smirk.
“Of course, aunt. And pale pink tights, and pink ballet shoes.”
Cecily looked at him suspiciously, but he was quite serious. Was he really getting into this stuff? Didn’t he realise this was supposed to be part of his punishment? Never mind. Wait till he was up on stage in front of an audience. Then he wouldn’t be so damn self-satisfied!
“So I see you’ve been doing some research, then. Have you chosen all of your outfits?”
“Yes, aunt. I thought if I was going to do this, I’d better do it properly and wear things that I liked - not whatever you and Patricia might want.”
“Oh, I see!” Cecily felt rebuked. She was a little annoyed by this setback to her plans, and couldn’t think what to say. But while Sammy was irritatingly cool and decisive, Oscar was ecstatic at the prospect of the pageant. He chose a much more flowery creation in the same general style, with a big satin rose sewn to the waistband and layers of gauze under the skirt. Sammy wasn’t surprised.
They moved onto the leotard and one-piece swimsuit class. This would be more interesting. Oscar ended up with a pale pink short-sleeved leotard decorated with tiny violets and a dark pink waistband, mauve tights, and a little mauve cape with silver edging. Then it was Sammy’s turn.
“Okay. This is what I’ve chosen.”
He turned his laptop to face Aunt Cecily. As Kayley had predicted, it was worth it just to see her face. She pulled back from the screen.
“Really?”
Sammy had chosen a pierced one-piece in yellow spandex, with a high collared neck and circular apertures front and back, cut high on the thigh. They all stared at the picture. Paige giggled. Her mother muttered “goodness me” under her breath. Patricia looked at him.
“Are you sure, Sammy. I mean, it’s a bit…”
“A lot…” added Cecily.
“I’m sure,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “And I ‘ve found just the accessories it needs. Matching opera gloves, sheer white stockings – hold-ups - lemon ballet pumps, and a cute yellow bucket hat, to add a hint of the beach. Oh, and I’ll need a jewel to go in my navel. I guess it’ll have to be stick-on. It doesn’t have to match.”
“Opera gloves, stockings, and belly jewellery?” said Cecily. “What has all that got to do with the beach?”
“Nothin’ aunt. Cos this is a pageant, not the beach. I just want to stand out.”
“You’ll do that, all right.”
Oscar looked at his friend admiringly. He was so brave!
“Okay, then,” sighed Cecily. “Just the open class to go, I suppose. And I suppose you've already chosen your costume for this too, Sammy?”
“Oh, yes, aunt. I have.” And he grinned a malicious grin.
-
Sandra B, Sammy and Kayley are two of a kind. They both like pranks. I do love the dresses that you showed at the end of the 3rd chapter. As usual, you did not disappoint with these three chapters. Thank you for doing such a great job.
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Yes - but I suspect Kayley is a double prankster.
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Sandra B, I agree with you 100%.
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5.
Sammy, knowing he would never be going to the pageant, had decided to give his imagination free rein, and choose the most jaw-dropping costume he could devise. His aunt was going to be gobsmacked. But it was Oscar’s turn first.
“Did you know Oscar plays tennis?” asked his mother. “It’s the only sport he likes. And he’s always wanted a girl’s tennis outfit. So we’ve decided this is the moment he gets one. Look at this and tell me what you think.”
She had brought up a picture of the cutest little white two-piece, with a sports bra top and pleated micro mini-skirt.
“Oh, that’s sweet,” said Patricia.
“So cute,” added Kayley.
“And these are the panties that are going to go with it,” added Ashley, showing them a picture of a pair of little mauve briefs, with white lace edging, and four lines of ruffles across the bottom.
“Nice!” said Paige. “That skirt won’t even half cover them!”
“And of course he’ll have a headband, sweatbands on his wrists, and nice white socks and tennis shoes.”
“And a racket?” asked Cecily.
“And a racket, and two balls to hold.”
At this, Paige spluttered with laughter for no apparent reason, earning a frown from her mother.
“Isn’t it pretty?” asked Oscar, excited, looking around for approval. “I wish I could really play tennis in it!”
Sammy felt sick. He covered his face with his hand. Is this really my new best friend? he thought.
“Do you want to borrow my belly jewel?” he asked him, facetiously.
Oscar looked doubtful.
“No, of course not,” said Ashley, irritated. “You know that would be completely inappropriate.”
‘Inappropriate’. Sammy hated that use of the word. His life was dedicated to being inappropriate. And at the moment, it was the keynote to his choices.
“Well, your turn, I suppose,” said Cecily, with a sigh, turning to Sammy.
He sat up alertly.
“Right. I’ve chosen something a bit more daring. It’s intended as a comment on the whole idea of pageants. First, this top…”
He showed them a picture of a little short-sleeved high-collared crop top, red spandex covered with sequins.
“It has a nice high collar, as you can see. And over the collar…this.”
It was a pink leather choker, studded with short silver spikes.
“… and on my hands these short red latex fingerless gloves… and I want a couple of fake tattoos, one on my arm, here, and another on one hip. Maybe hearts with arrows through them, and drops of blood. Something like that. And my hair’s got to be in bunches, with red bows.”
Aunt Cecily’s mouth had fallen open. The others watched with fascination while he continued with his presentation.
“Now, pay attention. The focal point of my costume is this.”
With a flourish, he hit a key, and up popped a picture of a tiny pair of scarlet bikini pants, with ties at each hip.
“What?” cried his aunt. “They’ll hardly cover…your modesty! How can you…?”
“What’s the matter, aunt? I thought you liked having me dress up in embarrassing costumes, and putting me on display.” He glared at her. She muttered something about “not like this, though…” but otherwise declined to reply.
“Yes? Then I’ll have red high-heeled shoes, and a pair of pink fishnet hold-ups, with red bows at the tops. And bright red lipstick. Oh, and the punchline. I want a pink sash with the words “I'M SO GAY” on it.”
Daphne and Paige hugged each other with delight, and collapsed in giggles. Kayley smiled a knowing smile. It was clever combination of styles, at once sweet and wanton, coy and shameless.
“No! I don't agree to this. It's outrageous!” cried his aunt, angrily.
“Either I have the lot, or nothing. It’s my choice, isn’t it? That’s the whole idea of this class. Oscar’s got just what he wanted.”
Cecily was lost for words. Kayley winked slyly at Sammy.
“He’s right, Cec. Isn’t he, Ash? Do you agree?” said Patricia.
“I’m afraid I do, Cecily. It is supposed to be his free choice.”
“But…but…I’m the one who’s going to be embarrassed. Can you imagine what the organisers…the other mothers!...are going to think of me?”
“Well, it was your idea, dear,” said Patricia, quickly divesting herself of any responsibility. “I think you’ll have to bear the consequences.”
Sammy was enjoying himself. He’d achieved his purpose. His aunt was seriously perturbed. It didn’t matter that he would never actually get to appear. She was going to be in a state of anxiety about the whole thing for the next month. And she was going to have to fork out for all his costumes. He grinned at Kayley, and she gave him a surreptitious thumbs up. There was a pause in proceedings. Patricia broke the silence.
“So, ladies… Shall we get on with ordering the costumes, then?”
“I think that’s the next step,” said Kayley. “I can help with some of the more…esoteric items. There are a couple of minor adjustments I think we should make. And we should have a dress rehearsal once we’ve got everything together, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Of course,” said Ashley. “Let’s begin now. The sooner we get everything the better. In case we have to change or replace anything.”
The ladies gathered round the laptops, Cecily looking as if she wanted to protest, but didn't know how to. Kayley suggested the children come into the garden to play, and they all filed out.
“Mission accomplished,” she whispered to Sammy. “You really got to her.”
“Yeah. She’ll actually be relieved when I don’t turn up!”
“Right!”
Oscar was dying to talk to him.
“That outfit, Sammy…. Amazing. Are you really going to…”
“Course! No problem, Oscar. I really like your tennis costume, too.”
“It’s great, isn’t it. I’m so happy I met you, Sammy. It’s so exciting, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, Oscar. Really exciting.”
-
Excellent Sandra B! Sammy better watch out and remember the old saying about being careful what you wish for. Sammy's attitude is refreshing but who will be more embarrassed if/when Sammy actually goes on stage in his choices? Suspicions abound that Kayley is trying for a "double prank" and, unknown to Sammy, he's the principal player. A little disappointing that Sammy at times seems so gullible. Given your development of his character to include no small degree of skepticism and Cecily's prior and current punishment methods, Sammy should not be so accepting of new players introduced into the mix (i.e., Kayley) and you highlight this above. Sammy seems old enough and savvy enough to at least maintain his initial suspicions of Kayley's real intentions and not fall for her smarmy feigned interest in him personally. Nevertheless, Sammy's infatuation with Kayley is not out of character for a 12 year old boy and accepting this weakness is necessary for the plot twists to continue. Also, despite Kayley's manipulations Sammy could still carry it off at the pageant if he keeps his coc-ky attitude and the two outrageous costumes he requested are actually provided. Can't wait to follow where you take your readers.
Finally, don't like to attach files but these panties would seem to be just the thing for Oscar's outfit (https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0114/9072/products/FRILPANT36_400x.jpg?v=1531551936 (https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0114/9072/products/FRILPANT36_400x.jpg?v=1531551936))
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Very nice indeed, babycakes! Frills all round! If only he had seen them before he finalised his costume...
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Sandra B, Another great chapter. Sammy is weaving a web that will be very sticky and will catch not his aunt; but will get Sammy. I love it.
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6.
The succeeding days went quickly. Kayley was as good as her word. The following week was Spring half term, and she and Sammy went on expeditions to the coast, to the surrounding towns, or just to a local pub to eat. Once or twice Oscar came with them. Sammy was beginning to warm to him now. It was Thursday evening. They were all sitting outside the ‘Kinscem’s Cat’ having burgers and chips. Oscar asked what was happening the next day.
“I’m going out with my friends tomorrow,” replied Kayley. We’re going to meet up in the morning, spend the day at Harriet’s house, then in the evening we’re going out for a meal and on to a club.”
“Oh, so I won’t see you tomorrow,” said Sammy, a little disappointed. Kayley looked at him sympathetically.
“Never mind. I’ll be around on Saturday, once I’ve recovered.”
“Recovered? Oh…I see.”
“What are your friends like?” asked Oscar.
“Nice. Of course. Harriet’s my age, Denise is a year younger. In fact, Denise is at Cranfield, in year thirteen. You may now her, Sammy.”
“Denise…”
“Willis. Denise Willis.”
“Oh, I may do. I’d probably recognise her if I saw her.”
“Dark hair, not very tall, Naughty eyes.”
Sammy laughed nervously. “I hope she doesn’t know me. I don’t think those pictures of me got any further than year nine. You haven’t mentioned anything about…?”
“All I’ve said is that I’m staying with my aunt’s friend, and that she has a nephew at Cranfield. Denise didn’t even ask your name. I get the impression year thirteen is cut off from the rest of the school. They wouldn’t lower themselves to take an interest in the younger kids. They’re adults, after all.”
“Yeah. We hardly ever see any of them.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you boys come with me tomorrow morning and say hello? Harriet’s house is just next to the big park. You could have a snack with us and then go off there. There’s a café there. I’ll give you some money for lunch.”
The promise of lunch swung it for Sammy.
“Okay, thanks. Coming Oscar?”
“Yes, please, Kayley. But I suppose I wouldn’t I be able to tell anyone about the pageant, then?”
“Better not,” said Sammy. “Or the next thing she’ll want to know what our costumes are.”
“Sammy’s right, I’m afraid. I know you’re proud of your outfits, Oscar, but I think it’s better we keep the pageant our little secret.”
“Sure, Kayley. It’ll be fun, though. I haven’t been to that park in nearly a year.”
Oscar stayed over that night. Cecily had received a couple of items of their costumes that day, but the rest wasn’t expected until the middle of the following week.
“We’ll have a dress-up after we’ve got everything,” she told the boys. “I hope there’s no problems. The pageant’s in three weeks’ time.”
The following morning at ten thirty they set off for Harriet’s. Earlier, before they got up, Sammy had given his friend a little pep-talk.
“Just remember, Oscar. Not a word about the pageant, okay? I’m sure they wouldn’t say anything. But you can never be quite sure with these teenage girls,” he added, importantly. “And one of them’s at my school.”
“I know, Sammy. Don’t worry. What about Kayley? She’s a teenage girl too. She wouldn’t say anything to them, would she?”
“Of course not, Oscar! She’s different. She’s my friend. She knows when to keep her mouth shut.”
The visit was a great success. Sammy recognised Denise, and she for her part said vaguely she thought she’d seen him about. Just being polite, thought Sammy. Clearly she’d not heard anything about the Charlotte escapade. He was relieved. Harriet was very nice, and handed out compliments freely.
“Kayley tells me very nice things about you two,” she smiled, “though I hear one of you,” - here she looked straight at Sammy - “is a bit of a rascal. No more than Kayley herself was, though, I bet.”
“Come and have a sit down with us,” said Denise. “Would you like coffee, or a squash…? We’ve got in a few cakes, if you’re interested….”
They stayed for nearly an hour, stuffing their faces, chatting and laughing with the girls. They felt very grown-up. Finally it was time to go, and Kayley gave Sammy fifteen pounds for their lunches. All the girls kissed them goodbye – which they very much enjoyed – and made them promise to come again. Harriet said she would ask Kayley to arrange a meal or something.
“That was fun!” grinned Oscar, when they got outside. “Kayley’s got nice friends.”
“Yes. Isn’t it lucky she came to stay? I’ve been so many places with her…”
“She likes you a lot, Sammy. I can see she does….”
“Maybe… Do you sometimes wish you could grow up quicker, Oscar?”
“No. I’m quite happy to be eleven. My mum says, the older you get, the more problems you have. I don’t want to have problems.”
“I’ve got problems now. My mum. And Auntie Cecily. When I grow up, I’m going to leave home, and go away somewhere, where they won’t be able to find me. I’ll only tell Kayley where I am. Oh, and you, of course.”
“Here’s the park.”
“Where’s the café?”
“Aren’t you full, Sammy?”
“Yeah, but…just checking, you know.”
-
7.
In the event, it was the following Thursday before all the clothes had arrived and all the costumes were complete. It was agreed Oscar and his mother would come round Friday night for supper. Paige was excluded – much to her chagrin – and Patricia arranged a baby-sitter for Daphne. So there was just Cecily, Patricia, Ashley, and Kayley, besides the boys. Sammy wasn’t particularly looking forward to the evening, but he realised it was a necessary evil. Oscar was, predictably, over-excited.
Cecily had laid out or hung up all the outfits in the downstairs bedroom. Kayley supervised the changing, and made sure everything was properly fastened and adjusted. Cecily had hung a big white sheet across one wall of the lounge as a background. She had two small floodlights on poles which she used for photographing her artworks, which she arranged at each side, so the ‘stage’ would be brightly illuminated. Inevitably all four of the women had brought their cameras!
First, the dresses. The boys were ushered in by Kayley to a brief round of applause. Oscar was radiant with delight, almost bursting with happiness. He held his hem and rotated so all the ladies could admire his poise. His mother was ecstatic.
“He looks so pretty! Who needs girls?”
Sammy was much more reserved, but with his hairbows and tights, and a demure expression on his face, his appearance created quite a stir. It seemed hardly possible this lovely, serene creature was the mischievous little boy they were acquainted with.
“He’s beautiful,” whispered Patricia.
“He is,” replied Cecily. “If only it weren’t for those other costumes…”
“Never mind, Cec. This is only his first pageant. Maybe he’ll calm down a bit as he gets older.”
“I want lots of pictures of him like this,” said Cecily. “I’m not interested in the slutty stuff.”
Kayley had taken up a position behind them, and was clicking away. I am, she thought, and for my purposes, the sluttier the better! But what those purposes were, no-one but she could possibly guess.
Anyway, the dresses being universally approved, Kayley took the boys back to change into their next costumes. They reappeared, Oscar in front. He looked sweet in his mauve swimsuit and cape. As he entered did a little twirl for his audience, making his cape flutter. Behind him Sammy, with a naughty grin on his face, much more in character now. Aunt Cecily shook her head.
“Really, Sammy, that costume is so inappropriate.” There was that word again. Good. “And where’s your hat?”
“I decided to dispense with it, aunt. It didn’t look sophisticated enough to go with the swimsuit.”
“Sophisticated enough? Really? Not as sophisticated as a tight little yellow swimsuit with a peephole and navel jewellery?”
“Oh, yes. Do you like my jewel? Kayley told me it’s called a faux topaz.”
“Oh, yes, very pretty,” she said, sarcastically. “What’s your game, Sammy? You’re up to something, I know.”
Coyly he adjusted his stocking tops. “You were the one who wanted me to enter for this thing. Well, if I have to, then I’ll do it on my terms.”
“I think you look lovely, Sammy,” said Oscar, innocently.
“You both look lovely,” said Kayley. “Now hold hands and let me take a picture.”
The boys posed happily for the cameras. Only Cecily was frowning. Kayley was particularly enthusiastic, and took a whole series of photos.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed. “I think we can say the swimsuit class is a success. Just the free costumes to see, ladies. I’ll get them changed. Come on, boys!”
Back in the bedroom they disappeared behind the screen and stripped off their swimsuits.
“I can’t wait to try on my tennis outfit,” said Oscar. “And to see you in your costume, too!”
Sammy was struggling with his little bikini bottoms. They weren’t easy to put on. In the end he had to ask Kayley to help.
“What you need to do, silly, is to tie one side before you put them on! Then it’s easy.”
“Oh, yeah, I get it.”
“And Sammy. I made a couple of minor adjustments to your costume. I mean, you’ve got the spiked collar, and you will have your tattoos on the day, so I thought you should emphasize the punky element a bit more. Those red high heels…I mean, a bit generic. So I’ve got you a pair of nice black Doc Martens and black fishnets to go with them. What do you think?”
“Oh, yeah, Kayley. I see where you’re going! That’s even better! Thanks!”
“Yes, I thought it would be a bit more punchy. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”
When he emerged from behind the screen, Oscar gasped with surprise.
“That’s so…amazing, Sammy! No-one would expect to see a costume like that at a pageant!”
Kayley laughed. “That’s true, Oscar. Whether the judges will like it or hate it remains to be seen. Let me just smear some lipstick on you… There. And now your sash… Done. Now we can go and shock the grown-ups! Come on, Oscar. And you, my little anarchist!”
Sammy took a last glance at himself in the mirror. Kayley was so clever. Those little alterations had made him look much more…delinquent. Aunt Cecily would be so annoyed!
Oscar was in first, to a chorus of simpering sighs, led by his mother. He carried a tennis racket in one hand, and two yellow balls in the other. He looked so cute, with his ruffly mauve panties peeping out coyly from under his little tennis skirt. Shyly he tried to hold down the hem, but there was no disguising his innocent joy. Sammy’s entrance was a bit more controversial. After the initial silence, Ashley was the first to speak.
“Oh, that’s very…nice, Sammy,” she said politely, in an attempt to propitiate Cecily.
“Wow!” was all that Patricia could come up with, staring at him disbelievingly.
Aunt Cecily didn’t speak for a moment. Then she tossed her head.
“Really, Sammy, you should see yourself! With all that red lipstick, you look like a…. well, you look rather silly, in my view. I hope you’ve tied those little panties on tightly. I’d use a double knot, if I were you. Not that you could show much more than you are already!”
She was seriously put out. Sammy was triumphant.
“They’re not panties, aunt. They’re bikini bottoms. They won’t come off if that’s what you’re worried about. Anyway, you haven’t seen the whole costume yet. I’m not putting my tattoos on till the day.”
“Tattoos!” she snorted.
“Do you like the boots? I think they’re a great idea. Thanks, Kayley.”
Cecily glared at Kayley. She was just supposed to get him to the pageant, not get involved in his costumes. Kayley smiled back sweetly. She was enjoying herself. She had her own agenda, and she was allied with neither side in this little spat. A Machiavelli with blonde hair.
“Why don’t you two hold hands again? That’s right. Sammy, let me fix your sash. Don’t you think it looks nice, Cecily? I mean, black lettering on pink…it stands out so well…and a nice bouncy font.”
No reply.
“Right. Excuse me, ladies, can I get between you… I need to have a nice clear view…”
Kayley knelt between Patricia’s and Asley’s chairs, and started to snap away. The boys’ two contrasting styles made a striking picture. She had them in a variety of poses: holding hands, looking into each other’s faces, one kneeling looking up at the other, and finally with their arms round each other’s waists. They were both grinning happily, Oscar with sheer innocent delight at finally attaining his ambition, Sammy with malicious pleasure at revenging himself on his aunt.
“How long is this going on?” muttered Cecily, irritably.
“Nearly finished,” said Kayley, cheerfully. She was about to turn off her camera when Oscar, from sheer delight, threw both arms around his friend’s neck, and stared at him adoringly. It was such a perfect tableau, and Kayley just managed to get a picture before Sammy pulled away. She checked her camera. Perfection, she thought.
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Sandra B, That was 2 more great chapters. Thanks for writing some of the best stories on this site.
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Sandra B, you are a skilled writer pulling the reader into the story and not just touching on triggers generally found in this genre. Sammy states, “Of course not, Oscar! She’s [Kayley] different. She’s my friend. She knows when to keep her mouth shut.” Sammy's in for quite a shock and huge disappointment, not for the fact that he'll be blackmailed into pageant participation but because he'll be crushed that Kayley never was and never will be his friend. This won't be a prank to Sammy but something much deeper. The pageant will be humiliating but Sammy could pull it off with his coc-kiness and end up the winner in more ways than one. Nevertheless, the trust he puts in Kayley will be shattered and could/will seriously affect future relationships, especially with females. Likewise, his aunt/mom invent over the top punishments for fairly minor infractions that erode his trust in authority rather than enhance it. As Sammy says, “I’ve got problems now. My mum. And Auntie Cecily. When I grow up, I’m going to leave home, and go away somewhere, where they won’t be able to find me. I’ll only tell Kayley where I am. Oh, and you, of course.”
Who's he to turn to? As you can see, this reader is heavily invested in your work and apologizes for anything that may appear negative.
On a tangential note, your mention of "Kinscem's Cafe" prompted some research. Could you be referring to "Kincsem [who] was the toast of five European nations during her illustrious racing career. She began life as an unprepossessing liver chestnut filly who went unsold on the grounds that she was too common looking. By the time of her retirement from racing, Kincsem was a European household name, winner of fifty-four races without a defeat, a stunning record which to this day marks her as one of the greatest horses that ever raced."?
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I appreciate and take on board all such constructive criticism, babycakes. You're right, they're giving him a hard time at present. But we'll see what transpires.
Kinscem - yes, the famous horse. But it's a pub called "Kinscem's Cat". If you research a little further, you'll find she had a cat as a companion who even travelled abroad with her. It is recorded that once she refused to go on board ship until her cat appeared and jumped up onto her back. She died in 1887. She was unbeaten and still easily holds the record for the number of consecutive wins.
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Will go back and read further. Couldn't find the pub in a Google search. Like the fact that Kinscem had a feline companion. All creatures great and small need a loving companion's support at times.
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8.
The following Monday, the children were back at school. Sammy and Oscar linked up in the playground at lunch. Oscar was enthusing about the pageant, and Sammy was beginning to feel guilty that he was planning to abandon his new friend. The more he got to know Oscar, the more he liked him. He offered unconditional friendship, and though naïve, he was also fearlessly loyal. As had been happening ever since the Charlotte incident, a group of year nine kids approached Sammy and started teasing him.
“Hello, Sammy. How are you today? What happened to your ballet outfit, anyway. Do you secretly dress up in it after you get home?”
Sammy ignored them, and continued talking to Oscar.
“When are you going to come out as a girl?”
“What colour panties are year wearing today?”
“Shut up and leave me alone!”
“Is this your new boyfriend? What’s your name, kid?”
“Oscar…”
“And leave him alone, too. Do us both a favour, and f*** off, all of you!”
“Ooh, she’s getting upset now. Probably her panties are too tight…”
“Why don’t you go away, you bunch of idiots?” put in Oscar. “Leave my friend alone. Don’t you know how pathetic you are? There’s no one of you wouldn’t wet his pants if he had to face up to us by himself!”
This was so unexpected the group was temporarily struck dumb, and Sammy couldn’t suppress a laugh.
“Well said, Oscar!”
But the bullies had recovered, and began to advance on them. Sammy knew that only radical action would put an end to this. He bunched his fist and was preparing to hit the ringleader, when a female voice made him pause.
“Hello Sammy…Oscar. How are you guys today?”
It was Denise.
“What’s going on here? Is everything okay?” She looked from Sammy to the group of boys, and back again.
“I hope you’re not bothering my friends…”
They stared at her, and looked at each other.
“Well?”
One proffered an explanation. “N-no, miss, no, we were just asking Sammy…about…er, homework and stuff…” He trailed off lamely.
“Oh, that’s good. Because I wanted to have a chat. Boys, would you like to come to our canteen and have a coffee? Do you have time?”
“Sure Denise,” said Sammy, with a victorious grin. “Let’s go.”
They left the scene together, leaving the group of would-be tormentors shocked and traumatised.
“Who’s she?”
“Dunno her name. She’s year thirteen.”
This was said in a hushed voice. Year thirteen was never seen in the junior playground. The gods and angels of which it was composed never condescended to such depths.
“She’s fantastic-looking!” whispered one of them. In fact Denise was average-looking, though she had a very nice, expressive face. Nevertheless, there was universal agreement on this point, fuelled by the rarity of the appearance of an older girl in those lowly environs.
“How do they know her?” was the next question – and the rest of the break was dedicated to speculation on this enigma. But Sammy’s reputation had been restored at a stroke, and it was agreed there could be no more taunting of an individual with such connections. At least for the time being.
In the year thirteen canteen, the boys were sitting down with Denise.
“I just wanted to say how nice it was to meet you two the other day.”
“You too!”
“Did you go to the park?”
“Oh, yes, it was great!” replied Oscar, enthusiastically. “They’ve got one of those huge timber climbing frames, like a castle. And there’s a little farm over in one corner.”
“And the café’s amazing,” added Sammy. “They have scrumptious chocolate croissants, and they warm them up for you!”
“I see. Sounds like heaven. You should come for dinner one day, stay over, and we could all go there in the morning. Maybe have a picnic. What do you think?”
The boys looked at each other excitedly. “Yeah!” they chorused.
“Thanks!” added Oscar.
“Not at all. It’d be fun. I live right near Harriet, so you could come to my house this time. I’d ask Harriet and Kayley too, of course.
Denise had taken a shine to the boys. She was an only child, and she had always wanted a kid brother.
“By the way…Kayley's never actually explained quite how she met you…”
Denise had noticed that her friend seem a little evasive about her relationship with the boys.
“Oh, I was staying with my aunt, and Kayley’s my aunt’s friend’s niece, and she staying with us too for a while. But how did you meet her?”
“Me? Oh, we were at school together a few years ago. Then we both moved. My family moved here, and hers went right out to Sandford. So why is she staying with you?”
“Why? I don’t know, really…”
“I think she’s helping with the pag…” said Oscar, forgetting their secret.
Sammy cut him off.
“Yeah. She’s helping Aunt Cecily with something…that’s all.”
Denise looked doubtful. She remembered what sort of a girl Kayley had been back then, the things she had done, and she didn’t altogether trust her motives. There was something about the way she behaved round the boys… Not quite sincere…
“All right. Now listen, you two. We’re friends, right?” Vigorous nodding. “Right. That means if you have any problems, any worries, you can come to me with them. And I can come to you, as well. Agreed?”
“Yes, Denise!”
“Yes!”
“It’s nearly the end of lunch. You’d better get back. See you around!”
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9.
The boys returned to their routine. Now they felt surrounded by a shield of invulnerability. There was no more teasing, and when they left for the day the group of tormentors could be seen huddled in a corner of the playground casting stealthy and uncertain glances in their direction.
Over the succeeding days, Sammy was feeling more and more uncomfortable about his plan. And the more excited Oscar became, the worse he felt. It was the week of the pageant. Sunday night. He was staying at Oscar’s. Oscar was in bed, and he was in his sleeping bag on a mattress against the wall.
“Sammy? Mummy has suggested I wear a summer hat with my dress. What do you think? Would it be too much? I mean, you’ve got those lovely hairbows…”
“Good idea, Oscar. It would look nice. What’s it like?”
“You know, a straw hat with a pink flowery band. It’s very cute. I really think…”
“Oscar?”
“Yes?”
“Listen. I have to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not going to the pageant.”
A long pause.
“Not going? What do you mean…?”
“I’m not going. I can’t. Those outfits I chose… I chose them just to upset my aunt. I never intended to wear them to any pageant. I couldn’t do it. It would just be too…”
“But…you’re joking, right? I mean…”
“No. I’m serious. I’m gonna sneak out at six in the morning that Saturday and go to my friend’s house to hide out till it’s over. I’m sorry, I should have told you…”
Oscar sat up in bed and stared at him.
“You are serious.” His eyes began to fill with tears.
“Look, how can I? You’ve seen what it’s like for me at school… Suppose anyone found out? It would be…a hundred times worse.”
“If you’re not going…neither am I!”
“Oh, come on, Oscar! You’ll love it! You don’t need me there! You’re gonna be a big hit.”
“There’s no point. I only wanted to do it cos you were gonna be with me. It won’t be fun any more. I thought we were friends!” And he collapsed in tears, covered his head with the duvet, and despite Sammy’s pleadings, wouldn’t say another word.
Sammy slid down in his sleeping bag and tried to go to sleep. He lay there, turning from one side to the other. It was no good. He checked his phone. Three fifteen. Oscar was beathing heavily. All at once he tore open his bag and clambered out.
“Oscar. Oscar! Wake up!”
“W-what?”
“Okay. I’ll go. I’ll go, I’ll wear my costumes. We’ll have fun. All right? Happy now?”
“B-but you don’t want to go…” he said, sleepily.
“Now I do. I’ve realised we should be doing things together. And I can’t wait… I can’t wait to outrage all those silly, doting mothers and their simpering little daughters! I’m gonna give them such a show like they’ve never seen…”
“Really? You’re the best, Sammy.” And for the second time, he threw his arms around his friend’s neck.
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10.
Sammy was of course intending to tell Kayley of his decision. But that week she was nowhere to be found, and she wasn’t even answering her phone. He asked his aunt.
“Auntie, where’s Kayley this week? I can’t get in touch with her.”
“Oh, she said she was going back to Sandford for a few days. Probably left her phone turned off.”
“But she’ll be back for the pageant, right?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure she’ll be back for that,” said his aunt, sourly.
“Okay.”
The truth was, Kayley no longer needed to be around at Cecily’s. She’d got everything she wanted – and more – and now she had to prepare Sammy’s nasty surprise. She’d arranged to meet up with Denise, at a coffee shop near Cranfield School, on the Wednesday lunchtime. They ordered their coffees and took them to a corner table. Kayley was carrying her camera. She looked confidential.
“What’s up, Kay? Was there something in particular?”
“Yes, there was.” Her eyes twinkled.
“I know that look. Still up to your pranks?”
“Sometimes,” she replied, casually. “Take a look at these.”
She allowed Denise to scroll through the pictures of the dress rehearsal.
“Oh! Sammy and Oscar!” She laughed. “They look delightful! Oh my god, Sammy in that pink dress! He looks…well, quite a dish.”
“Carry on…”
“Swimsuits? Really? What’s this all about? Sammy? He got a jewel in his navel! And that swimsuit! It’s a bit over the top, isn’t it? What’s going on here?”
“They’ve entered for a pageant. This Saturday. They’re going as girls!”
“Really? They’re brave, then.”
“Oscar’s brave. Sammy? Maybe not so much...”
“I don’t blame him….” She murmured, continuing to flick through the photos. “Oh, god! What’s this? This outfit he’s wearing!”
“Like it?”
“It’s outrageous. And that sash… ‘I’m so gay’? What’s that about? He’s not really going to wear that, is he?
Evading the question, Kayley changed tack.
“See that last piccy. Do you think you could make a poster of it for me? You’re the only person I know with a printer big enough.”
“Well, it’s my dad’s.”
“Yeah but he lets you use it.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Naturally I’d pay for the paper and ink. Matt photo paper. Maybe half a dozen copies?”
“Well, of course I could… But what are you going to do with them?”
“Oh, nothing, really. The boys wanted one each, and then there’s the aunt, and the mother…and me…and perhaps you?”
Denise looked at her friend suspiciously.
“You sure this isn’t for some malicious purpose, Kayley? You used to do some pretty unpleasant things… I remember Sally’s clothes…and poor Mr Turnbull’s car…”
“No, silly. A memento. The two of them together. They’ll be separated at the pageant.”
“I don’t know…”
“Well if you don’t want to, I can easily go to the printer’s in the High Street.”
Denise hesitated a moment. Then she said, “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it for you. When do you need them?”
“Friday ideally.”
“Okay. Give me the memory card. I’ve got to get back. I’ll call you later, okay? Bye.”
“Bye, bye darling,” replied Kayley with a satisfied smile.
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Sandra B, this is getting good. Sammy is in a mess. He WILL be at the pageant, he just doesn't know it yet. Keep up the good work.
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Sammy's planning on going to the pageant after all to support Oscar, which Kayley doesn't know. Sammy's exhibiting a strong character, much more mature than Kayley's. Denise is not so naive to believe Kayley so it will be interesting to see how she proceeds. Here's hoping Sammy prevails, supports his friend Oscar and rules the day. Also, it's much more than a prank when pulled very publicly by an 18 year old on a 12 year old. Kayley may get reactions and experience consequences she doesn't expect.
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11.
On Friday morning, Denise texted Kayley “Posters ready – I’m in all day”. Kayley texted back, “Great! Be over this pm. Stay over with me & come to the pageant?” Denise was tempted. It was an experience so far out of her province that she felt inquisitive. Moreover something told her the boys might need some moral support, and she didn’t trust Kayley to deliver it. So she texted back, “Thanks. Maybe I will.”
Good, thought Kayley. The more the merrier. I can’t wait to see her face when she sees them in the flesh! Then she texted Cecily. “Hi. On my way back. May arrive after Sammy in bed. Tell him I’ll wake him in the morning.” This was a coded message intended to suggest she’d get him up in time to leave for Michael’s. Now all the groundwork was done.
Sammy was relieved to hear Kayley was on her way. He was resigned to the whole idea of the pageant now, and determined to carry it off as well as he could. His aunt told him that Oscar’s mum would be going separately. She had hired a minibus to take all the girls. Patricia would be going with her. Sammy received this news with mixed feelings, but on the whole felt it was positive. He knew the girls would provide a supportive enclave amongst the audience. Aunt Cecily would drive the boys, and Sammy’s mother was coming over in the morning to join them. Sammy wondered what she would think of their costumes. “It’ll be such a surprise for her!” said his aunt. No kidding, thought Sammy.
But there was one thing worrying him. Well, more than one thing. In fact, every part of the second and third costumes. He cursed himself for an idiot. How can I have been so stupid? I was so sure I wouldn’t be going. But now I’m committed. I have to live with it. But the one thing he was thinking about at that moment was the sash. The sash, with its crass, tasteless inscription. The pageant clothes were neatly packed into two plastic boxes, just outside the lounge door. The sash was lying on top of his box. He couldn’t just remove it - his aunt would notice. But just before bedtime he had an idea. What if he could replace it with the Charlotte sash? That wasn’t half so bad. In fact, it would be quite appropriate, and even a bit cheeky. Okay, it was a different colour. But maybe she’d have so much on her mind, it wouldn’t register. So before bed, he sneaked into the studio, closing the door quietly behind him. There, propped against the wall, was his doll box, and inside he could see his leotard and his sash. Carefully he began to unlatch the lid. He had just undone the last latch, and was reaching in to retrieve the sash, when he heard the door being opened.
“What are you doing, Sammy?”
It was Oscar, but his entrance gave Sammy such a fright, he jumped, knocking over the box, which fell with thump onto the floor. He froze, hoping his aunt hadn’t heard. But then he heard her footsteps on the stairs, and he knew he was cooked. She appeared at the door, and looked at him questioningly.
“What’s going on here?”
“Aunt…n-nothing…I was just…”
“Well?”
“It was just that…why can’t I take this sash, instead of that pink one? It’s too…silly.”
“Well you chose it! You were very specific about the wording.”
“But that was when I thought…” He was about to say, “I wouldn’t be going”, but he quickly substituted “it was a funny joke. Now I think it’s rubbish.”
Cecily smiled. Frankly, she would have been happy to get rid of that embarrassing thing herself – even more embarrassing to her than to her nephew. But at the same moment another thought occurred to her, something else that could moderate the impact of his appearance.
“All right, Sammy. I’ll do you a deal. Take the yellow sash.”
“Thanks, auntie,” he gasped in relief.
“But…we’ll take the box too.”
“The box?”
“Yes. We’ll put you in the box, like before. In fact, it can be part of your costume. You can appear as a doll in a box. You won’t need to come out, and they can judge you on the whole thing.”
“Is that allowed?”
“Absolutely. In the open class you can appear as anything you want. You can be ‘the new doll’.”
“That’s clever!” said Oscar.
“It’s brilliant, actually, aunt. It’ll sort of explain my costume. And I won’t feel so exposed. You know, I don’t feel frightened any more. I’m sort of looking forward to it now. But only cos me and Oscar will be doing it together.”
“Then it’s a deal?”
“Deal, aunt!” He slapped her hand.
“Good. That’s settled. Before I go to bed, I’ll respray the wording. What should I put? Let me think. Maybe ‘Punkie Doll’. Something like that.”
It was hard to say who was the more relieved, Sammy or his aunt.
“Okay. Now off to bed, both of you. It’s an early start tomorrow. You need to be up by seven-thirty.”
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12.
In the meantime, Kayley had called at Denise’s to collect the posters. She had printed six. She held one up for Kayley to see.
“Fantastic! Just what I wanted!”
“But what do you want them for?”
“Okay, Den, let me explain. Oscar’s committed to the pageant. He really loves dressing up as a girl. But Sammy? No. Cecily called me in to help persuade him. I didn’t succeed. He’s planning to leave the house early tomorrow morning and hide out at his friend’s. He devised these outrageous costumes just to annoy his aunt, thinking he’d never have to wear them anyway. She is annoyed, too. She believes he’s serious, which means she’s going to have to take responsibility – and take the blame - when he appears on stage.”
“So neither of them want him to go! I don’t understand. Then why is he supposed to be going in the first place?”
“Oh, it’s Cecily’s idea – Cecily’s and his mum’s, I think. They wanted to tame him. He’s been a bit too wild in the past.”
“He didn’t seem wild to me. He seemed a really nice kid. What’s wrong with these people?”
“Well, never mind that, Den. The point is, I’m going to prank them both, Sammy and his aunt. I’m going to make sure he does go!”
“Really. And how are you planning to do that?”
“That’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes. When Sammy wakes up tomorrow, he going to find a new poster – this poster – on the wall. And I’m going to tell him, that if he doesn’t go to the pageant, you are going to post the other five all round Cranfield School!”
Denise stared at her in disbelief.
“What? Why would I do that? That would be f***ing cruel! He’d never live it down.”
“You won’t really need to do it, of course. It’s just a way of persuading him where his best interests lie.”
“It’s blackmail, Kay! I want no part of it. How could you think up such a thing?”
“Oh, come on, Den. It’s just a bit of fun.”
“It’s horrible. Poor Sammy.”
“Well I’ll do it by myself, then, if you haven’t got the stomach for it,” she said, icily. “So you’re not coming then?” She picked up the tube full of posters, slid the odd one in with the others, and made as if to leave.
Denise , frowning, hesitated.
“Wait a minute. I’ll come with you. Let me get my coat.” Denise knew she had to go, if only to protect Sammy, though at that moment, she didn’t know quite how she was going to do that.
On the drive to Cecily’s house, they hardly exchanged a word. Kayley introduced Denise and Cecily to each other. Denise was already prejudiced against her, and her demeanour did nothing to mitigate her view. Vivien arrived soon after, and Denise had the chance to size her up as well. She appeared an over-anxious and distracted character. Not the sort of person able to deal easily with minor problems or irritations. Denise decided to sound them out.
“So why is Sammy being entered for this pageant? Does he want to do it?”
“I don’t know,” said Vivien. “Cecily thinks it’ll be good for him.”
“But what do you think? You’re his mother, after all.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been able to understand why he’s so badly behaved.”
But I do, thought Denise. With a mother like you, he never had a chance.
“It was intended as a gentle reprimand,” explained Cecily. “That’s all.”
“For what?”
“You want the whole story? First of all, he smeared paint over little Daphne’s party dress. So we – that Patricia, Daphne’s mum, and me – we sent him to Amelia’s costume party as a pageant princess. It didn’t seem a harsh punishment. And he was pretty cool with it. So cool, in fact, that he started boasting to all the little girls how he was entering for a real pageant, and they could all come and see him! Then one of the mothers got involved, and the next thing, he couldn’t get out of it. He made a new friend there, too. Oscar. Oscar really wants to be in a pageant, dressed as a girl. He’s really into it. So we thought it would be nice if they went together. However, when it came to the costumes, he insisted on choosing his own. Have you seen what he came up with?”
“I have. The pink dress was lovely.”
“I agree. But the others? Whatever was he thinking about? Now I feel ashamed to take him. I’m doing what I can to moderate the effect. But what the organisers are going to think – quite apart from the other mothers – I don’t know.”
She looked desperate. Now Denise had heard the whole story she began to understand. Vivien was out of it. Cecily wasn’t a bad person, but perhaps she had allowed her sense of fun a little too much leeway. Not that the costume which had started it all was an inappropriate punishment, given the offence. The situation wasn’t without its funny side. If Sammy did go to the pageant, Cecily would learn a lesson. But she wasn’t about to let him be bullied into it. And she wasn’t going to humiliate him at school, either.
So when Kayley pulled her aside, and asked her whether she was in or out, Denise pretended to be in.
“Well I see now how it is, Kay. Sammy was a very bad boy. He deserves his punishment. Okay, I’m in. Let’s get that poster put up, shall we?”
“Great, Den. You get it at last. Let’s do it!”
“Why don’t you let me do it? It may look odd if we both disappear up there together. Keep the ladies talking, and I’ll put it up.”
Kayley looked at her suspiciously.
“You can check on your way to bed. I’ll fix it where he can’t miss it. Got some bluetack?”
“Okay. Go. Up the stairs, and second door on the right. Don’t wake them up, will you?”
“I’ll be very quiet, don’t worry.”
Denise crept upstairs with the rolled poster under her arm. Silently she opened the bedroom door and crept in. A nightlight faintly illuminated the room. The boys were fast asleep. She stuck the poster up as she had promised, right over the desk. Then she knelt by Sammy’s bed and gently stroked his face
“Wake up, Sammy,” she whispered. “Sammy. Wake up. It’s Denise.”
His eyes opened slowly. Her face was close to his in the dim light. He blinked, emerging from some dream, and lay there trying to reconcile it with reality.
“Denise? Why are you here?” he said slowly, his head still resting on the pillow.
“Listen carefully. I know you’re going to sneak off to your friend’s house in the morning. But Kayley wants to force you to go to the pageant instead. I’m here to tell you, you don’t have to go. You don’t have to go. Do you understand?”
“But…but I...I am going…”
“No, you don’t have to. I’ll take care of everything.”
He raised himself on one elbow.
“No. You don’t understand. I want to go. I’ve promised Oscar I’m going. I don’t mind. I’m not afraid.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite sure, Denise. Thank you for asking me, though. Is Kayley here?”
“Yes. We’ll see you in the morning. You know I’m your friend, don’t you? Trust me. No-one else.”
“I know you are. No-one? What about Kayley?”
“Sometimes Kayley has her own agenda, that’s all. You’ll understand eventually. Now go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Denise settled him down, and crept out onto the landing, where she indulged in a silent high five with the wall. Then she descended to join the others.
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13.
Kayley and Denise slept in a bedroom right next to the front door. The window looked out on the front lawn. Kayley set her alarm for six, expecting Sammy to be exiting the house soon after. But in any case she expected him to be knocking at their door asking about the poster before he even thought of leaving.
She forced herself to get up as soon as her alarm went off. Denise just turned over and carried on sleeping. Sleep, then, I don’t need you just yet, she thought. She went and made herself a coffee, and sat in the kitchen waiting for Sammy to appear. She expected him at any minute. But the minutes passed, and soon it was six-thirty, and the rest of the household would soon be waking up. Clearly he had overslept. She had to rouse him, or her plan would founder. She slipped upstairs and opened the bedroom door. The poster was up, but the boys were still asleep. She shook Sammy’s shoulder. “Wake up,” she whispered. “It’s six-thirty!”
“What? What is it?” he asked, sleepily, not opening his eyes.
“It’s six-thirty. You need to get up.”
“Auntie said seven-thirty would be early enough.”
“Sammy. You’re going to Michael’s. Remember?”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“What do you mean, you’re not?”
“I’m going to the pageant. I told Denise… I couldn’t get in touch with you. Didn’t you know?”
He sat up. Kayley was speechless.
“Oh. That poster. Did you make it?”
“Denise made it.”
“Oscar’s going to like it. We look kind of stupid, don’t we?”
“So you’re going?”
“Yes. Oscar, you awake? Look at this poster Denise made for us.”
“W-what? It’s great! Let’s get up and check our costumes, Sammy.”
“Okay! I need some breakfast first, though.”
They jumped out of bed and headed downstairs, still in their pyjamas. Kayley was left standing in the bedroom wondering what had just happened. Sure, Sammy was going, just as she had intended. But her scheming had come to nothing. The prank was a non-prank. The fun part was supposed to be blackmailing Sammy into doing something incredibly embarrassing, and watching him squirm on stage. Suddenly he appeared to think the whole thing was one big laugh.
“What the f***! This is pointless. Do I really want to watch a bunch of stupid little kids showing off in their crappy costumes?”
She stomped downstairs, and started collecting up her belongings from the front bedroom, stuffing them into her bag.
“What are you doing?” asked Denise, sleepily.
“I’m going. What does it look like? You knew he was going to the pageant, didn’t you? Well, you can watch all those stupid kids by yourself if you like them so much. I’ve got better things to do.”
She flounced out.
“I’m off home, Cecily. I’ve got stuff to do. See you around.”
“Kayley?” began Sammy, looking distraught.
“Have fun, kids. Nice knowing you. Bye.”
And she stalked out. They heard her car pull out of the driveway. Sammy looked at his aunt, seeking for an explanation.
“Why has she gone? I wanted her to come to the pageant! She’s, like, my best friend. After Oscar, I mean.”
Denise had emerged from bed, and appeared in the doorway.
“She has lots of things to do, Sammy. She’s a very busy lady. Will I do as a substitute? If I can squeeze into the car with you two, that is.”
“Yeah…course. If you want.” He looked thoughtful. “Why did she leave like that? We had such nice times… I’m going to miss her…” He looked as if he was about to cry.
Denise came and knelt by his chair and put her arms around him.
“Never mind. You did have good times. But she had to leave in the end. I’m still here, for what it’s worth. If I can be your friend, Sammy, I promise I’ll be here for you as long as you want.”
“Will you? Do you want to come to the pageant?”
“Very much. I’ll be your best supporter. Maybe I’ll wear my cheerleader outfit.”
“Really?” said Oscar, wide-eyed.
“Just joking. But I will cheer for you.”
“Oscar,” said Sammy, with a grin, “you really believed her, didn’t you?”
And they both dissolved in giggles.
-
14.
Cecily spent half an hour attending to the boys’ hair. Oscar’s she styled and lacquered, Sammy’s she curled until it was a mass of little golden ringlets. By a quarter to nine they were on their way. Cecily took the estate. She and Vivien in the front, Denise, sandwiched between the boys, in the back, and the clothes and doll box in the boot. Simultaneously Patricia and Ashley were setting out in the minibus, with Daphne, Paige, Amelia and her mother, Morag, Grace, Eleanor, Megan, Courtney, Evie, Scarlett and her mother, Teri, Abbey, Leah and her mother, Sandra, and Hannah and Harry. The roads were not yet that busy, and they arrived in Westford just before eleven. Sammy had been quiet on the journey, and Denise guessed he was pining for Kayley, so she did her best to engage him in conversation, and make him smile. However, he seemed to recover once they neared the venue, which on this occasion was the assembly hall of a local primary school. There were already a dozen cars in the car park, and a scattering of little girls with large mothers – at least, so it seemed. Cecily called Patricia, and as they were only a few minutes behind, they sat in the car to wait for them. As the minibus, crammed with Daphne’s friends, pulled in, the boys realised they would probably have more supporters than most of the other entrants put together.
They were welcomed at the door by a tall, worried looking lady with stiff dyed grey hair.
“Good morning. I’m Lesley Hyde, the organiser. These are the boys? Hello, boys. I understand from your aunt this is your first time. Don’t be nervous. We’re a very small and friendly branch. We try to run our shows as informally as possible.” She paused. “Goodness! Are all these other girls… They’re with you? What a pity some of them couldn’t have entered too.”
Teri came forward.
“My daughter’s done a few pageants, but not here. Don’t worry, I’m sure after today at least some of them will want to enter in the future.”
A chorus of “yess”.
“Well, they’d be very welcome. We’re quiet at the moment. It’s not the best time of year, the second half of the summer term. There’s too many other things going on.”
“Perhaps that’s a good thing, so far as the boys are concerned. It’ll be a bit less nerve-racking.”
“Of course. But boys, a word of advice. Just relax, let the judges – and the audience, of course – have a nice clear view, and then join the others. It’s a very simple process. Oh, and smile! Show them how happy you are to be competing.”
It proved a small affair indeed. Once they were inside the hall they scrutinised the lists of participants. A mere couple of dozen in the girls’ section, aside from the boys, and half that number in the boys’ section. The boys section was first, at twelve-fifteen, and the girls after lunch, at two-thirty. The girls section was divided into ‘Little Miss Westford’ and ‘Junior Miss Westford’, and were due to be held in that order. Sammy and Oscar, being pre-teen, were in the first category, along with nine girls. The boys looked nervously at each other. Oscar no longer appeared so enthusiastic. Sammy began sussing out the competition. Some were quite pretty, most fairly ordinary looking. He was trying to work out which girls were in which section, but it wasn’t always obvious. Anyway, he thought, with a sudden access of panic, it’s all down to the costumes, isn’t it?
Refreshments were provided, and then the audience took their seats for the boys’ section. The chairs were arranged in two blocks, with an aisle down the middle. The boys were dismayed to see a lady setting up a video camera on a tripod at the front of the aisle. “That’s all I need!” remarked Sammy. Despite Teri’s and Ashley’s attempts at control, the herd of Sammy and Oscar supporters made a rush for the front rows, to the evident annoyance of the regulars. Denise, Sammy and Oscar were content to sit at the back. There was a low stage, with some sort of rustic back curtain showing green fields and distant mountains, and a microphone on a stand to the right. “Where are the cows?” whispered Oscar. “I want cows!” “And llamas,” replied Sammy, eccentrically. On the far left was a long table with three chairs and pens and pads. After a few minutes, three people walked across the stage chatting – two women and one man. They took their seats at the table. “Are they the judges? Looks like a murder trial,” whispered Sammy. Then Lesley Hyde appeared on stage, and took the microphone.
“Welcome everyone! Welcome to the fifth spring Westford pageant. As you know, this event is restricted to boys and girls between the ages of ten and fifteen. As we have a small entry for the boys’ section, all ages will compete together. In the girls’ section, we have eleven entries for the title Little Miss Westford, and twelve for Junior Miss Westford. I am pleased and excited to tell you that today, for the first time, we have two boys competing in the first of those categories, in line with our agreed diversity policy, which was ratified last year. We wish them well. May I introduce your judges – many of you will know them already – Barbara, Tony and Cynthia.” Nods and smiles from the judges. “And I wish all of the entrants the best of luck!” She paused. “I’ll now hand over to Catherine to begin proceedings.”
Catherine appeared on stage. Vivacious, probably no more than a year or two older than Denise, bouffant blonde hair and an impressive set of teeth. She began to introduce the boys. One by one they filed onto the stage, the younger ones looking variously lost or terrified. They wore miniature adult clothes, smart trousers and waistcoats. Sammy looked at Oscar. Oscar looked at Sammy, and indicated by sign language that he was about to vomit. Sammy touched Denise’s arm.
“We’re gonna go outside for a bit,” he whispered. And they crept out of the back door.
“Phew,” said Sammy, “imagine being in a boy pageant! It’s horrific!”
“I was scared,” said Oscar.
Sammy looked at his watch. “What time’s lunch?” he asked.
Lunch seemed to be ages. But when it arrived, Sammy didn’t allow his nervousness to affect his appetite. He liked to remember a remark his grandfather had made shortly before he died. His grandfather, whom he’d scarcely got to know, used to be in the navy.
“If you’re about to embark on a rough voyage,” he had said, “make sure to lay in plenty of ballast.”
Good advice, and Sammy had followed it religiously ever since. But now the voyage was about to begin. Cecily gathered up the boys, and Lesley Hyde showed them to the changing rooms. Denise tagged along, much to their relief. It was time.
-
Sandra B, you never cease to amaze, delight and surprise your readers with your excellent prose. Sammy demonstrates his strong character (so unusual in this genre), Kayley retreats with her tail between her legs (getting what she deserves), Cecily gets to understand her nephew has his strengths and is not so easily manipulated and Denise shows who is the mature adult in the room. Don't know how you find the time to deliver this kind of quality work but thank you!
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Sandra B, I have to agree with everything that babycakes said. You are a master at writing these stories. Keep up the fantastic work.
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15.
To return to the supporters for a minute. The girls had watched the boys’ competition with some interest. They found some of the contestants’ obvious discomfort amusing, and sometimes a little puzzling. Several of them seemed more upset at being marked down than was justified.
“Why are they so miserable?” Paige asked Scarlett.
“Dunno,” replied Scarlett, perplexed. “I’ve never seen such gloomy faces in a pageant. It’s not all of them. There’s about half a dozen who look either frightened or grumpy. It must be their mums have really pushed them into this, and threatened to ground them or something if they don’t do well.”
“Poor things,” said Paige, thinking how happy her brother was.
At lunchtime the children made a rush to the back of the hall where sandwiches, snacks and drinks were being dispensed. Several of the boys were amongst them, including one of the ‘sad losers’, as Paige had christened them. He was probably Oscar’s age. He still looked unhappy, so she decided to try to cheer him up. Taking Scarlett with her, she approached him.
“Hi. I’m sorry you didn’t get placed. We thought you were one of the best.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” said Scarlett. “I’ve done a few of these things. I thought your outfits were more interesting that the others.”
“Well, it didn’t make any difference. I didn’t make it. Now I’m gonna have to…” He broke off, and looked at the floor.
“Don’t be sad,” said Paige, sympathetically. “It doesn’t matter. It’s only a stupid pageant.”
“You don’t understand…”
“What’s your name?”
“David.”
“I’m Paige. This is my friend Scarlett. Let’s take our food outside and get some fresh air. Come on!”
“My mum…” he began, looking around.
“Forget your mum for a minute. Let’s go.”
They led him out of the back door. On their way out they passed Oscar and Sammy coming in. They exchanged looks, but didn’t speak. Once outside, they took David to a quiet corner and began to question him.
“Is it your mum?” asked Scarlett. “I suppose she hoped you were going to win. Mothers can have such unrealistic expectations.”
“My mum? Yeah…”
“So what did she say?”
“You’ve never been here before, have you?”
“No. Why? What’s so special about here?”
David remained silent, shaking his head slowly.
“Tell us,” pleaded Paige. “Maybe we can help.”
“You can’t.”
“So what’s the big deal? Not everyone can win.”
David sighed. “I guess you’ll find out eventually. The regulars know all about it.”
“About what?” The girls were puzzled now, and curious.
“All right. Not all of us were in that competition voluntarily.”
“That’s par for the course,” said Scarlett.
“No, you don’t understand. This place has a secret, known only to insiders. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I’m fed up with it all.”
“A secret?”
“Yeah. A horrible secret.” He took a deep breath. “Me and four of the others…we were there as a punishment, or…I dunno, what that Lesley woman calls “corrective therapy”. They advertise it by word of mouth. The parents have to pay. The idea is…the idea is that if you think your son, you know, has issues…or is being difficult…and you can’t sort it out, you enter him for one of their special boys’ competitions. The idea is, if he truly wants to reform, he’ll make an effort, behave like a model kid, make himself smart and cute and agreeable. Then he’ll get a prize, and everyone’ll be happy. That’s the theory.”
“Conform and survive,” suggested Scarlett.
“Exactly.”
“But why should he? I mean, if he doesn’t respect authority in the first place, won’t he just revolt against the whole idea?”
“Course. But there’s a penalty. That’s the whole point. If you don’t get a prize, you have to go on to the next stage…”
“Which is?”
David sighed again, and pinched his right ear hard, perhaps attempting to distract himself from his psychological pain.
“The following month, there’s another pageant. A private one.”
“So you have to try again?”
“No. This is….a baby pageant. In name only, of course.”
The girls gasped.
“Are you serious?” cried Scarlett. “So…you have to…”
“Yes. Dress as babies, behave like babies, get treated as babies. It’s supposed to reform us. But I think it’s just for the entertainment of our parents and their friends. And the organisers. My mum took me to see the last one, as a sort of warning. I felt sorry for those boys. Now I’m gonna have to be in one myself!”
“No!”
“Yes. And if you don’t conform…then the next one, and the next one, till their satisfied.”
“That’s…terrible!” said Paige. “Wouldn’t they let you do a girl one instead?”
“I wish they would. I’d go like a shot. No. This is much more…humiliating. I won’t go into details.”
Lunchtime was over. They had to go back in for the afternoon session. Scarlett grabbed David’s arm.
“Give me your number. I’m gonna have a think about this. If nothing else, maybe we could come and support you…”
David looked alarmed. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he said. “But yeah, let’s swap numbers. It feels better to have told someone…someone outside this place. Someone who understands…”
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16.
As the Little Miss Westford contestants made their way behind the stage, Sammy and Oscar were aware of some disdainful looks from the girls. One of them, a girl with her blonde hair piled up on her head, reminding Sammy of an overcooked meringue, sneered at them and made some remark to her friend, who burst into shrill laughter. Lesley Hyde showed the boys to their own changing room. Denise followed them.
“I’m going to help get them ready,” she said. “Is there anything else they should know?”
“As I said, this is a very informal pageant. You will be called one by one. When you’re called, walk onto the stage. Catherine will ask you a few questions, just so the audience and the judges get some idea of who you are. Then move to the middle of the stage, and do one turn, so the judges can have a good look at your outfit. It’s possible they may ask you something else. Then to the far side, and stand facing the audience just behind the white line. When everyone’s appeared, and your all in the line, Catherine will lead you in one last circuit of the stage and then you’ll file off. In some of these pageants we have the contestants doing a little act of some sort, but not this time. Good luck, boys!”
Denise helped the boys get into their dresses, and did their makeup, using the same peach lip gloss and eye shadow for each. She had painted their nails at home – a uniform pale pink – so there was little else to do. Sammy hair bows were on clips, and slid easily into his curls. Oscar tried on his little straw hat, which sat prettily on his lacquered hair.
“You both look great!” said Denise, when they were all ready. “Now, we have to go backstage and wait to be called. You’re going to be last, Sammy, because it’s in order of surnames. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
The girls started arriving in ones and twos, with their mothers. Without exception, their dresses were vastly more elaborate than the boys’. Meringue’s dress was multi-tiered and generously layered with organza – (“orgasma”, as Oscar had renamed it) – and contained every shade of yellow yet discovered by man. Their reactions to the boys were sometimes startled, sometimes admiring, but more often contemptuous. Meringue sneered. Her mother raised her eyebrows, tut-tutted, and muttered something disparaging to ger daughter, from which the boys discovered her real name was “Arabella darling”, or “Arabella angel”. Denise returned their looks with a bland smile.
And then it was time. The first girl was summoned onto the stage. They could hear Catherine asking her her name and age, and trying to put her at her ease. One by one they followed. Oscar was third in line. He adjusted his hat and shot onto the stage. The conversation lasted a little longer for him, as Catherine tried to uncover his motives for entering the girls’ section, without appearing sexist. He responded to all Catherine’s questions without any sign of nervousness, and when he was asked how the dress had been chosen, he boldly replied that he had chosen the whole outfit himself, and hoped she liked it, which drew a ripple of laughter from the audience. Arabella was on next, and she flounced out of the waiting area with a dismissive toss of the head directed at Sammy. She seemed well-known to the mistress of ceremonies, and required only a short introduction. She responded in a squeaky voice, which made Sammy smile. At last it was his turn, and, giving him a reassuring hug, Denise gently propelled him onto the stage. Oscar’s appearance had been greeted with general, if reserved, approval. He was a boy attempting to infiltrate a girls’ world, certainly, but the nature of his outfit, extravagantly feminine, was accepted as a sort of fitting apology for his presumption, and the members of the audience nodded to, and smiled at, each other, with something like relief. Of course he had no chance of usurping the places of their darlings, for he was, evidently and undeniably, a little boy, albeit one trying as hard as he could (and failing) to emulate his sisters.
In contrast, Sammy drew an audible gasp from the onlookers. He had shattered the first rule of The Pageant – he had appeared in a costume both simple and tasteful. It seemed a direct challenge to all the precepts of the genre. Worse, he was evidently at least as personally beautiful as any of the female contestants, and his entry onto the stage had been both modest and graceful. Surely such impudence could not be borne! There were murmurings and shufflings in the audience, suggestive of rebellion. Even Catherine seemed momentarily unsettled, but the teeth soon reappeared and the smile returned.
“Sammy, I believe? That certainly is a…remarkable dress. I understand this is your first pageant?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you finding it? Is it a little intimidating?”
Sammy knew just how to deal with leading questions. Ignore them.
“Enjoyable. I’ve met so many interesting and friendly people. Everything I’d heard is true.”
“What had you heard?”
“That the contestants are all very pretty.”
A ripple of laughter. Two of the judges looked at each other and smiled. Catherine was unsure if this was said in innocence or mild irony. Again she was slightly thrown. She stared at him hard, but saw only artless sweetness in his expression.
“Well….that’s very nice. Your dress…”
“I chose it myself.”
“It’s quite…unusual…for such an event…”
“I hope it’s not…inappropriate?”
“No, no, of course not…”
Catherine was feeling flustered. She felt she was not in control of this interview. She thought on the whole it would be best to bring it to a close without further ado.
“Well, Sammy. If you’d like to show the judges your outfit, and take your place at the end of the line. Thank you so much.”
Sammy did his twirl, avoiding the judges’ eyes, and took his place. The girl next to him stole a close-up look at his dress, whether with distaste or envy he was not sure. Catherine wound up the first round, and taking up a position next to Sammy, asked the contestants to follow her. They did a circuit of the stage and exited, leaving the judges to confer.
Denise was waiting. She gave him a hug.
“Well done,” she whispered. “You were great!”
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Sandra B, Well done, you were great with these chapters. That pageant was a hoot and that punishment pageant sounds interesting. Can't wait to read more about it.
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17.
They hurried back to the changing room to get ready for the next round. Denise helped Oscar get out of his dress, and left him to put on his leotard. His makeup would be fine. But Sammy would be in yellow. She looked at him doubtfully as he wriggled into his little swimsuit.
“Are you sure you’re up for this, Sammy? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
Oscar looked momentarily alarmed.
“No, I’m fine,” he grinned. “I’ve adjusted to the idea now. I wouldn’t let Oscar down. Besides, my aunt is going to more embarrassed than me. Especially when I tell that Catherine lady it was she who chose this costume!”
“You wouldn’t!”
“If she asked I would. It was her idea to get me here in the first place, remember.”
“But…”
“In any case, I can’t wait to see the faces of all those silly girls and their mothers. It’ll be worth it just for that. After all, I’ll never be back here after today. I can do what I like.”
“Okay…. Here, sit down. I’ll help you with your stockings.”
“Denise…? My makeup…”
“Oh, yes. What will go with this costume? And preferably with the last one, too.”
“Yellow? Blue?”
“They’d be okay for this, but they’d clash with the other, and I don’t want to change it again….
She thought for a second. “I know. Black lipstick, black eyeliner, and a bit more mascara. That would work.”
“Sounds good.”
“And to set it off I’m going to give you a few freckles, so you don’t look too” – she searched for a diplomatic word – “too sophisticated.”
Denise had decided they should arrive at the collection point as late as possible. She didn’t want to cope with the snide remarks and hostile looks she knew they would encounter, for longer than necessary. But then she discovered the perfect thing. In a wardrobe she found a row of robes on hangers – like those boxers wear entering the ring – obviously intended for contestants to keep their costumes secret till the last minute. They were satiny things with the Westford Pageants logo on the fronts and some silly script – “Cutie Pie”, “Sweet Girl”, “Baby Doll” – that sort of thing, on the backs. Denise selected a couple at random, and the boys were soon neatly wrapped up.
When they arrived off-stage, the rest of the contestants were already there. Arabella gave them a contemptuous look, but a couple of the others smiled in a friendly way and looked them up and down, obviously interested in what they were wearing under their gowns. They were called on one by one, as before. When Oscar shed his gown, there was a murmur of admiration from the group of girls. The fact was, the colours of his outfit, the pink and shades of mauve, seemed to suit his complexion perfectly, and with his little cape he looked something between a ballerina, a fairy, and a trainee superhero. He was well received by the audience too, and the mutterings of the disapprovers-on-principle were submerged under a quiet tide of approval. Catherine also seemed surprised.
“Well, young man, that’s a very pretty costume. I think I can say that without being accused of prejudice. Was the cape your idea?”
“Yes, miss. That’s my power cape. I should have a magic wand too, to magic everything ugly and make it pretty.” Here he glanced back to where Arabella was waiting in the wings. “But I forget to order one.”
“Never mind,” laughed Catherine. “Off you go. Show the judges. Give them a twirl.”
Arabella was on next, in an ice-blue swimsuit with white frills like frost at every aperture, and a huge white bow around her waist. The scowl directed at Oscar swiftly transformed itself into a rigid, simpering smile, in which she had been carefully tutored by her devoted parent.
The other girls filed on one by one, until finally it was Sammy’s turn. He made a face at Denise, in comic imitation of abject terror, and stepped onto the stage. His reception was rather different from Oscar’s. Catherine, recollecting his demure appearance in the first round, was completely wrong-footed. She stared at him in dismay, and for once was lost for words. The audience reacted with gasps of amazement, muffled exclamations of disgust, nervous giggles, and, in the case of Sammy’s supporters, cheers of encouragement. Cecily, who had taken up as unostentatious position as possible near the back of the hall, covered her face with her hand. The woman next to her turned to her companion.
“I think it’s disgusting!” she said in a loud whisper. “Dressing him up like a tart!”
“I know,” her companion replied, “in my view they should never have let boys into the girls’ section in the first place. And whoever is responsible” – here they both turned towards Cecily – “should be ashamed!”
Catherine, meanwhile, was attempting to recover her cool.
“Sammy… I-I must say…that’s quite a…striking costume. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like it at Westford before…”
Sammy fluttered his long eyelashes flirtatiously. “I hope not, miss. I was trying to find something original.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done that. The contestants normally wear a proper one-piece.” She raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps, if we see you here again, you’ll appear in a bikini,” she added, with a tinge of sarcasm. But Sammy was equal to it.
“If you change the rules, miss, why not? I’m not ashamed of my tummy.” Titters from the audience. Wait till you see what I’m wearing in the third round, he thought.
“So I see,” she returned, eyeing the jewel. “And that…?”
“It’s a topaz. Symbolic of enterprise and humility.”
There was no reply to this, so she somewhat icily despatched him towards the panel of judges, the female member of which was the only one seeming to appreciate his appearance. She smiled a playful little smile.
“Sammy. May I ask you? You seem very at ease in your costumes, very relaxed. Yet I understand this is your first pageant. How come you have such confidence?”
Sammy thought for a moment. “I suppose, miss, it’s because I know I have no chance of winning, so I can enjoy the whole ritual just for its own sake.”
“Well, I for one think that’s an admirable approach. I hope we see more of you – no, I don’t mean that – I hope we see you here again the future. Personally, I’m all in favour of diversity, and pushing the envelope of this “ritual”, as you call it. Thank you. Please take your place with the others.”
These remarks, from a long-standing and well-respected arbiter of pageant convention, effectively silenced further expressions of disapproval from the audience. Cecily felt suddenly relieved of guilt, and her neighbours contented themselves with sticking their noses in the air and ignoring her.
“The others” had been staring at him with undisguised fascination during this interlude, all except Arabella, whose face was oddly contorted, from a profound internal struggle, between on the one hand, a determination to maintain her outwardly smug demeanour, and on the other, a powerful inclination to aim a kick at her imagined persecutor.
And she hadn’t yet seen his final costume.
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BRAVO. Love Sammy's strong character, his support of Oscar and his willingness to kick convention in the butt. So unique and refreshing when most protagonists are their own worst cowering, wimpy, sniveling and soppy enemy.
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Sandra B, That was another great. The pageant sounded like fun for Oscar. Sammy was another story. I think he accomplished his mission for the pageant so far.
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18.
Denise hadn’t stayed to watch the second round. Instead she had enlisted the help of the school caretaker to get the doll box out of the car. He had also provided a hand trolley so that she could wheel Sammy onto the stage. Cecily had partially resprayed the box. It was still pink, but now the words “Sammy Doll” appeared across the top of the lid, and “Pageant Punk” across the bottom, both painted in bouncy red letters with black edges. Denise’s plan was, first to present him to Catherine, then wheel him over to the judges, and finally park him on the trolley at the back of the stage at the end of the row of contestants until it was time to exit. She and Cecily had discussed the whole thing, and decided that in this way they could extract the maximum effect whilst preserving Sammy’s modesty. Both the box and Sammy were relatively light, so Denise was not envisaging any problems moving him around. The only question was, whether he should be allowed simply to stand in the box, or whether he should be secured like a real brand-new doll. Finally they decided the second course would be the more authentic, and Cecily gave Denise a complete set of pink straps, and showed her how to thread them through the base. Denise explained this to Sammy, and since he wasn’t planning to come out of his box at any stage, he was quite happy with the arrangement.
In the changing room, Oscar slipped into his white tennis outfit, complete with frothy panties, and Denise helped him adjust his skirt for maximum cuteness. She helped him on with his socks and shoes while he pulled on his wristbands. She had found him a little open-head cap to wear, which she thought would look prettier than the towelling headband. All he had to do was take his racket – he had a mauve one to match his panties - and his tennis balls, which Cecily had also dyed mauve for him. Denise thought she had never seen anything quite so sweet. But then it was time to prepare Sammy. He had already stripped off and put on his bikini bottoms, tying them as best he could at each hip with a single bow.
“Shall I help with those?” asked Denise.
“I’m fine. I’ve done it.”
Denise made him sit while she applied transfer tattoos to his arms and one hip. They were Sammy’s choices, of course. On his left arm, a red heart pierced by a black arrow. On his right, a little Betty Boop. And on his right hip, a leopard face. Then she helped him on with his black fishnets and black Doc Marten’s, his red spandex sequined crop top, and his spiked collar, which was now of black leather, being more appropriate to the theme. Denise gave him his fingerless latex gloves to put on while she tied his hair in two tight bunches, secured with scarlet ribbons. Finally she tied a red bandana around his head. She stood back to admire him.
“Well, you certainly look shocking, Sammy! I think we’ll dispense with your sash. It’s a bit superfluous now, don’t you think? Anyway, just as well you’ll be locked up in your box. Even so I think you’re going to cause a bit of a commotion. Are you sure you still want to do this? Even now you’re not obliged to go out there if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m looking forward to it now. With the adjustments, this is such a great outfit.” He admired himself in the mirror.
“Yeah, Sammy, you look really bad!” said Oscar, enthusiastically.
“I do, don’t I? Wait till you see Arabella’s face.”
They laughed.
“Well, come on, time to get you strapped in.”
“Okay, Denise.”
The doll box was standing upright on the trolley, and Sammy climbed carefully in. Denise had already threaded the straps through the base, and she buckled them firmly around his ankles and wrists. When he was secure, she carefully pushed on the lid and closed the latches. Then she put a strap round the box and the back of the trolley so that it couldn’t fall off. Finally, she draped one of the gowns over the front of the box, so no-one would see what was in store.
“Don’t say a word,” she whispered, “at least until you make your appearance.”
Then, sending Oscar on ahead, she pushed him out of the door and towards the stage.
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19.
The other contestants were naturally very curious to know what was under the covering.
“Is Sammy in there?” one of them asked, wide-eyed.
“Maybe,” returned Denise. “You’ll see in a minute.”
“He must be in his coffin,” laughed Arabella, nastily. “Best place for him.”
“If he is, it’s a pink coffin. I can see the bottom,” remarked one of the others.
The girls themselves were dressed in a variety of costumes. There was a clown, a Charlie Chaplin, a very beautiful eighteenth century lady, and a Diana Ross, complete with beehive wig and of course, a sash with her name on it lest anyone should be in any doubt about her identity. Arabella appeared to have come as a slice of cake with a row of four candles on top; but it turned out she was a character from the film The Titanic. Next to such a sartorial cornucopia, Oscar's costume was remarkable for its charming simplicity. One by one they were called, and one by one presented to the judges, who smiled kindly at each. As far as Denise could tell, Oscar went down very well. There was an expression of relief in the judges’ eyes when he walked onto the stage. After all, he appeared, not as some well-known celebrity or stock character, but what was much more striking, as himself.
Eventually Sammy was alone with Denise. His name was called. For maximum effect, Denise left the cover on as she pushed him over to where Catherine was waiting, looking anxious. She had no idea what to expect, but feared the worst. And she was right. As Denise unveiled the doll box, the expression of alarm morphed into one of horror. Denise carefully upended the trolley, and the box rocked a little, then settled into place. Sammy peered out at his interviewer, and gave her a sly wink. The girls lined up on the stage were craning forward, trying to see into the box. Catherine opened her mouth and closed it again. She was staring at Sammy’s shiny bikini bottoms. She obviously needed help.
“He’s a doll,” said Denise in a low voice – a quite superfluous piece of information, but one she hoped might spur Catherine into speech.
“I can see….” She read the legends on the lid. Her mouth soundlessly shaped the words, “Pageant Punk”, but still she seemed at a loss how to proceed.
“You can speak to him,” urged Denise. “There are holes at each side. He can hear you.”
“Oh…yes. Yes. I see. Er…Sammy, once again you seem to have…surprised us all. A doll. That’s so…interesting. I don’t think I have ever seen a doll quite like…quite so…interesting…”
She trailed off.
“I’m a punk doll,” said Sammy. “D’you like my costume?”
“I…er…”
“See? My tummy looks all right, doesn’t it?”
At this point Catherine, the supposed unflappable unprejudiced compere, seemed to lose her self-control. Years of dealing with sweet little girls in elaborate frilly dresses hadn’t prepared her for a situation like this.
“Well. If you really want my opinion, I’m not sure this is an appropriate outfit to parade on our stage…”
She was standing between the audience and the object of her distaste, and this last remark, broadcast all over the hall, had the effect of increasing curiosity to fever pitch. One woman in the front row stood up and shouted, “Well, let’s see it then!”
The line of girls had now broken completely, and they were trespassing on the stage, blocking the view of the judges. Denise, seeing things getting out of hand, took matters into her own hands and trundled Sammy to the middle of the stage and turned him to face the audience. There was a momentary silence, then the place erupted in a mixture of cheers, protests, and whistles. Meanwhile Catherine had regained some of her senses and busied herself with the contestants.
“Girls! Back into line, please! There’s nothing to see.”
“There is!” cried the clown. “I saw him!”
Arabella had also seen him, and was rendered speechless.
Denise turned him and brought him to face the judges. For a moment their faces registered disbelief, until the lady judge smiled.
“Sammy. Now this I call pushing the boundaries,” she said in a raised voice, so that he could hear her through the walls of his box. “Excuse us if we’re a little perplexed. You don’t fit into the usual categories of these events, so we may have trouble…assessing your performance.”
Sammy smiled back and nodded.
Her stare moved from his black makeup, to his tiny crop top, his tattoos, his bare tummy, his little latex gloves, his black fishnets and boots – and his tiny, shiny bikini bottoms. “Tell us – is this also your own creation?”
“Well mainly…” came his muffled voice from inside, “but my friend Denise did make some alterations…”
“You are Denise?” Denise nodded.
“Well, we should probably thank you for the… “alterations”. I would be interested to know what it was like before…”
“Oh, no, it was the same. Roughly. And Sammy’s aunt has done a lot of work. She made the box.”
“I see. Well if Sammy would like to wait in line, I think we would like to confer for a few minutes. You don’t have to wait, Denise. We’ll call you when the children are ready to go off.”
Denise pushed Sammy to the end of the line, and turned him once again to face the front. People were standing up taking photos, and approaching the stage.
“Is it possible to remove that strap?” asked one of the male judges? “Let us get a clearer look at him?”
“Of course.”
Denise unbuckled the strap. “Stand still and don’t move about, okay?” She stole a glance sideways. “You’re popular with the audience, anyway,” she whispered through one of the side holes. “I’ll go backstage, then, till they’re ready.” And she walked off, leaving him in the line.
The judges had their heads together, talking in whispers, trying to agree scores for the third round. At last the lady judge spoke.
“This is a difficult call. We need to have another look at Sammy. He’s the only one we can’t see properly.” She paused. “Catherine? Do you think you could wheel him back here? Be careful. He’s not strapped to the trolley any longer.”
“Certainly, madam,” said Catherine, pursing her lips.
She approached Sammy, and, gently tilting the box back onto the trolley, wheeled him back in front of the judges. The lady judge had that enigmatic smile on her lips again.
“Do you think we might remove the lid for a moment? Perhaps one of the girls could help?”
Arabella immediately stepped forward. Sammy was shaking his head. His muffled voice emerged from the box.
“Miss, I’d rather you didn’t… The box is part of my costume…”
“I know, Sammy. But we need to see every part. Arabella, if you’d unlatch that side, Catherine will do the other.”
They stood one on each side and carefully sprung the latches. They began to detach the lid, which was far lighter than they’d expected. Arabella had volunteered to help so readily in the hope of perpetrating some mischief on her competitor. For a moment it seemed there was nothing she could do. They had just started to detach the lid when she noticed Sammy’s bikini bottoms. The right hand ties were loose, and one end hung down farther than the others. Here was her chance. Standing so her body hid her side of the lid from the judges, she deftly snagged the end on the lower latch. As they slowly lifted off the lid, the bow unravelled. Worse, the lace was caught fast, the left hand bow was also loose – thanks to Sammy’s rather inept knot – and as the lid was removed, it took his bikini bottoms with it!
Sammy gave a loud cry, and struggled ineffectively with the straps that held his wrists. The judges gasped, and the girls at the far end of the row screamed. Arabella was unable to hide her delight. For several seconds no-one seemed to know what to do. The lady judge put her hand to her mouth. At last she acted.
“Catherine! Catherine! Get him off stage, quick!”
Catherine, averting her eyes, tilted the box back onto the trolley, and went to turn it so she could wheel it offstage. Not thinking, she first turned it towards the audience, which reacted with gasps, screams and shouts – and a volley of camera flashes!
“Not that way, girl! The other way!”
Quickly she wheeled it round. Now the row of contestants got their eyeful. They screamed with a mixture of horror and delight. Catherine, blushing with embarrassment, finally headed stage left as fast as her heels would allow, where Denise was waiting to cover him with a gown.
“Why did they have to take the lid off?” she cried. “That wasn’t part of the deal!”
“I’ll get his…clothes,” said Catherine, chastened, in reference to the tiny piece of shiny red material now lying in the middle of the stage. Denise grabbed it from her, and frowning, trundled the complaining Sammy back to the changing room.
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20.
Nothing like it had ever happened before in the annals of Westford Pageants. Cecily and Vivien would gladly have sunk through the floor, if such an exit could have been arranged. Their neighbours in the audience were vindicated in their condemnation, and let them know it.
“I’ve never seen anything like it!” muttered one, outraged.
“He won’t be coming here again!” said the other. “Disgusting!”
But at the front of the hall, the supporters were delighted – not at Sammy’s brief humiliation, but at the chaos he had generated in otherwise dull proceedings.
“Oh my god,” said Paige to Scarlett, “that was the best thing… That’s just what it needed.”
Scarlett had pulled their new friend David into their group. He was in shock.
“I can’t believe…”
“Believe it. That’s our Sammy. He’s an anarchist.”
“Yeah, but…. I mean, how will he live it down…?”
“Live it down? He won’t, silly. He’ll be boasting about it tomorrow. How he blew apart a stupid pageant all by himself. Wait and see.” (And she was right, as it turned out.)
David stared at her in awe. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Everything’s cool.”
It was time for the results. The contestants were asked to put on their first round dresses and gather off-stage. When Sammy appeared, the girls were convulsed with giggles. Sammy blushed, but wasn’t going to be humiliated. After all, he thought he knew who was responsible, and when he saw the smug expression on her face, he was sure. He glared at her but said nothing. Then one of the girls piped up.
“Thank you for that. It was so boring until you…you know.” And she dissolved in laughter again.
Sammy grinned. “I guess I’ve blown any chance I had. But it was fun.”
Gradually the buzz of conversation in the audience subsided, and Lesley Hyde appeared on stage. The contestants could be seen waiting in the wings.
“Thank you. Thank you all for attending. As you know, we’re grateful for your support in our little events. I’m afraid we are a misunderstood community. I hope today has…helped advertise our aims…” She looked doubtful. “Anyway, to the placings. I’ll leave it to Lady Sparsholt to announce the results.”
The lady judge shuffled a sheaf of papers, and walked over to the microphone. Stage right a little glittery podium had been set up.
“We have collated all our scores from the three rounds. These are the results of the Little Miss Westford competition, in reverse order. In third place, Oscar Warren.”
Oscar hesitated, wide-eyed. He stared at Sammy.
“Did she say…?”
“Yes, idiot. Get out there.”
Oscar accepted his sash in a daze, and had to be directed to the lower level of the podium, where he stood in a minor state of shock.
Arabella came second. She made the most of it, but it was obvious from the bad grace with which she allowed her sash to be draped across her shoulder that she thought she should have won. First place went to a quiet girl in a green embroidered tutu dress. She blushed scarlet as she was crowned Little Miss Westford, adorned with her sash, tiara and sceptre, and presented with her winner’s cheque. She took her place at the top of the podium amidst cheers. Her skirt stuck out so far it touched Oscar’s ear.
Lady Sparsholt raised her hand, and the applause died down.
“We have also decided to award one special commendation, for the most original costumes. This is a highly unusual step, but this was a highly unusual event. Sammy Watkins, would you please come forward?”
Arabella’s face was a picture as Sammy stepped onto the stage. How did he deserve an award? After what he’d done! But the audience clearly didn’t wholeheartedly agree with her. As he was decorated with a sash – plain, because it was strictly unofficial – there were cheers and cat-calls. For the first time that day he was lost for words. He had attempted to sabotage the whole process, and there he was receiving an award! All he could do was to bow awkwardly, and stand there self-consciously until the applause died down. But he had made a decision. He glanced over at Oscar. He was obviously ecstatic, and gave his friend a big grin and a thumbs-up.
When Sammy had received his award, Cecily and Vivien looked at each other in disbelief. Their unpleasant neighbours pushed their chairs back and departed noisily in protest.
“I didn’t think….” Began Vivien.
“Neither did I! I thought we were going to be kicked out. But the judges liked him! Oh, here comes Lesley Hyde. She doesn’t look too pleased, though.”
She sat down next to Cecily. Her severe face broke into a smile.
“That boy of yours! What a rascal! He should do slapstick! Of course we’ve had a few complaints. I could have predicted that, and I could have predicted who. But he really livened up the event. People have been asking me if he’s coming back in a couple months for the big one. What do you think?”
Cecily was flabbergasted. She looked at Vivien. “Well, I don’t know. He didn’t exactly come to this one voluntarily. So to be honest, I doubt it.”
“What a pity .”
“Bust Oscar might. He’s loves dressing up.”
“Oh good. He’s so sweet. Please persuade him to come back. And keep in touch. Do let me know…if there’s any chance…”
On the way home, the boys went in the minibus with Paige and Scarlett and some of the other girls. Scarlett was telling them about David.
“We’re gonna help him somehow. I don’t know how just yet. But we’ll come up with a cunning scheme of some sort.”
“I’ll help you,” said Sammy. His mind was already working on the problem.
Oscar seemed a bit sad.
“You’re very quiet, Oscar,” said Sammy. “What’s up?”
“I really had fun. I’m sorry it’s all over. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get to enter a pageant ever again.”
“What do you mean? You can come with me. I’ve already decided. I shall return. And this time, I’ll beat that Arabella fair and square!”
But that’s another story.
The End – at least, for the time being.
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Footnote for babycakes:
Kinscem (from Great Racehorses of the World, Mortimer & Willett, 1969)
Foaled in1874 at the Hungarian National Stud at Kisber……
“Kinscem liked nothing more than a lengthy journey by train. The moment she saw her train she began to whinny with pleasure, and once she was sure that her lad and the cat who went everywhere with her were in too, she invariably settled down in obvious contentment. The only occasion that she gave trouble in transit was at Deauville on the way back from Goodwood. Her cat could not be found when she left the ship and she refused to enter the train. For two hours she stood on the dockside calling for her cat. Eventually the cat heard her voice, came running to her and jumped on her back. Kinscem at once entered the train and lay down. Her lad Frankie apparently had no surname and invariably signed himself “Frankie Kinscem”. Under that name he did his military service and under it he was buried.
Like many great horses Kinscem was a “character”. One cold night she noticed that Frankie had no rug. She somehow pulled her own rug off and put it on Frankie. From that day onwards she would never wear a rug at night. If one was put on her, she always managed to get it off and drop it on Frankie, even if Frankie was already submerged under a stack of blankets.
……….
Unfortunately Kinscem’s stud career was a brief one as she died on her thirteenth birthday. However, although she produced only two sons and three daughters she was an immensely influential brood mare….. All over Europe Kinscem’s descendants founded great families, but two terrible European wars, to say nothing of risings and revolutions, have taken a fearful toll, and sad to say there are very few members of them left.”
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Sandra B, you never cease to delight your readers. Excellent chapters! Can't wait to see Sammy's further adventures.
Also, many, many thanks for the footnote leaving this reader embarrassed by the attention. Never heard of Kinscem before your story. An amazing animal and, based on some research, wholly underestimated and underappreciated prior to her initial victories. Not unlike many people in real life and somewhat symbolic of the lead characters in your stories. Thank you again.
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Sandra B, what a way to end the story. Sammy turned the pageant into chaos. He was surprised when he got the special award and Oscar is hoping he gets to participate in another pageant. Sammy will try again and he plans on winning this time.
WTG, you wrote another hit.
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Hmm poor kids being forced to attend. I want to see what happens with trying to help them, cause I'm enjoying this tale. :)
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Another very enjoyable story Sandra B!
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Thank you for another amazing story. Look forward to the continuing exploits of Sammy. Could it be that he enters the boys section at some time and loses? Be interesting to see his reaction to being dressed as a baby with a nice thick nappy and cute frilly knickers.