Get Your Own!

Get your own!



The commander told me once I crossed the enemy lines I was on my own. I nodded my understanding. The clothes felt strange and familiar at the same time, if they caught me not only would I be liable to be tortured and shot as a spy, which I suppose I was, but I’d also be humiliated. I was wearing women’s clothes and I was a male. I glanced at myself in the mirror, at a glance no one would recognise me as anything but a young woman but would I be able to penetrate the enemy headquarters and find the plans? I turned to leave and as I did so the door swung open and...

“Aw, Mum, he’s wearing my bloody clothes again,” shouted my sister. She stormed out and before I could gather my wits she and my mother were standing in the doorway and I was glowing hot from embarrassment wearing my sister’s skirt and top, her shoes, tights, lingerie and makeup.

“Kevin, just what d’you think you’re doing?”

I chose to keep silent. This was the third time I’d been caught dressed in her stuff and as before I couldn’t explain the urges which made me do it. It was exciting, partly because my mother was in the house but also as just happened, Pauline could come home and catch me. Usually, I just managed to escape before she got back today she was half an hour early.

“Well, I’m waiting,” said my mother tapping her foot.

I shrugged my shoulders as much as if to show I’d heard her than to show I had an answer, because I didn’t. I couldn’t look either of them in the eye and mine were very close to tearing up and dripping onto the clothes.

“Here,” said my sister shoving some tissues in my hand, “Don’t get snot on that top.” I wiped my nose and then my eyes. “And don’t get any on that skirt, I’m wearing it tonight.”

“Where you going?” my mother asked her.

“Out with Carol and Gemma.”

“Don’t be late then.”

“I won’t don’t worry, assuming I can get my clothes back from my little sister.” The last word was said with a tone of sarcasm which I suppose I deserved.

“Have you got some old stuff?”

“Yeah, like my whole wardrobe,” sighed my sister. She bought something new nearly every week, yet she never had any clothes, or so she said.

“No I meant, an old skirt and top, then you could have the ones he’s wearing.”

“Jeez, bloody fairy,” she pushed past me and pulled open the wardrobe and after sighing and tutting she handed me a skirt and top that I’d worn the previous time she’d caught me. “Here,” she said almost hitting me in the chest with her hand as she did so. “Well, come on, get my skirt and top off.”

I glanced at my mother and she nodded. “I’ll go and take them off,” I went to go to my own room.

“No, do it now, Kevin.”

“What here?”

Pauline rolled her eyes, “Duh—what d’you think now means?”

I placed the skirt and top she’d handed me on the bed and carefully pulled her top over my head and handed it to her after pulling it the right way out. Then I undid the button on the skirt and undoing the zip, lowered it and stepped out of it, then offered back to her. She snatched it from my hand. I was now standing in a pair of her panties and matching bra, the cups of which were filled out with balloons containing water. I went to undo the bra and my mother stopped me.

“Put that skirt and top on,” she said pointing at the ones Pauline had retrieved from her wardrobe. The enjoyment had passed and all I felt was stupid and embarrassed.

“I’ll go and change,” I said making to move.

“You won’t, you’ll put on that skirt and top. They’re yours from now on so are the bra and pants—you can buy your sister some new undies to replace them.”

“I wouldn’t wear them after he’d been wearing them anyway, bloody pervert.”

“Please don’t swear, Paul,” she chided my sister, “he’ll have to borrow your shoes for now.” I had on a pair of ballet flats.

“He can have those, I don’t use them anymore.”

I felt like the element of an electric fire I was so hot and bothered but my mother stayed in the doorway until I’d donned the skirt and top my sister had donated.

“Right, Missy, you can come down and help me get the lunch ready and tell me why you keep borrowing your sister’s clothes.”

“I won’t do it again,” I lied, “just let me go and change. What if anyone calls?”

“I’ll introduce them to my younger daughter—what d’you call yourself in skirts?”

“I don’t,” it was true I hadn’t got round to giving myself a name.

“Right,” she faced me and tidied my hair with her fingers, “In here,” she indicated her bedroom and five minutes later she’d combed and brushed my hair into a more feminine style. “Not too bad,” she said, “Okay, Kate, let’s get some lunch.”

Kate? Who’s Kate—must be me.

“I don’t feel very hungry,” I said and it was true, I actually felt sick with anxiety.

“You will when we’ve finished getting it ready, downstairs, Kate.” I led the way as she blocked any retreat to my room.

I followed her into the kitchen and helped her do some jacket potatoes in the microwave with a salad and cheese. I didn’t normally, but then things weren’t normal, were they?

“Okay, while your dad’s away, every day when you finish school, you will change into your tops and skirts and help me get the dinner ready and do your homework. As it appears you need to wear them, let’s establish a routine shall we? After we’ve cleared up lunch, we’ll pop into town and get you a couple more, some more panties and extra bra and another pair of shoes. We’ll also get you some tee shirt nightdresses.”

My sister nearly fell off her chair laughing and I was sitting with my mouth wide open in shock. It wasn’t meant to happen like this—was it? I knew I should be protesting, I was a boy dammit, so why was I sitting in silence feeling the strangest things deep inside me.

“Hurry up and eat your lunch, Kate, we’ve loads to do,” urged my mother. I glanced at the photo of my father resplendent in his naval uniform. He’d be away for another six months—did that mean what I thought it meant? Oh boy.

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